Shut Your Mouth and Get Down on the Floor
Don't Listen
It was the day before my wedding.
I was in my apartment, alone. It was still raining. I sat on my bed, flipping through guest books and pictures and reminded myself in my head what all had to be done the next day.
A bolt of thunder veined across the sky. I let out an enormous sigh and laid down on the bed, on top of all the piles of papers and pictures and useless junk.
Why couldn’t a wedding just be ‘I Do’?
Thousands of dollars, months of planning, stressed family and friends...
When the day is finally in your grasp you can’t have any second thoughts because its months and money lost. So you go through with the wedding day even if your months engaged didn’t go as well as you thought.
Maybe their family was crazy, maybe there was something about them that you just didn’t know. Maybe they had jealous ex’s or brother or sisters. Maybe their parents didn’t think the two of you would be good together. Maybe none of the bride’s maids agreed on the outfits. Maybe you expressed your thoughts with them, but they didn’t listen. ‘You’re the one that said yes.’
Maybe that’s why so many people get divorced.
They smile wide for the thousand-dollar-per-hour photographer and hope they turn out great.
You’re with them for one, two years. They ask for children and you say ‘divorce.’ And that’s all because you learned their true colors while engaged. Hopefully by then the wedding is paid off and you can be happy and single once again.
Maybe it will happen all over again. Because maybe you’re stupid enough to get married twice.
Another vein of lightning pierced the sky and the crackle of thunder shook the room. Besides the rain and the thunder, it was quiet.
I laid on my stomach on my bed and watched the blurry city lights. The moon was invisible beneath the clouds.
You pray for your wedding day to be sunny just for the sake of good hair, good pictures. Some say rainy weddings are the sign of a good marriage. I don’t want my hair to be terrible on my wedding day, really...
I looked at the clock. It was one in the morning. I should have gone to bed, but I really didn’t feel tired. I don’t want to have bags under my eyes on my wedding day, really...
I pulled myself out of bed and washed my face again. I don’t want to have dry or oily skin on my wedding day, really...
I looked at myself in the mirror. I was getting older. I certainly wasn’t old, but I wasn’t that young girl any more, thriving off of the new scene fashions in New York, following Midtown wherever they went on tour.
I let out a sigh and just looked at myself.
“I don’t want to have second thoughts on my wedding day,” I muttered. “Really.”
I dried my face with a towel took out some hairspray, styling my hair like I used to when I was a teen. I remembered how I’d done perfectly. It was like I was seventeen again...
When I finished putting on that extra coat of mascara, I went to my closet. It took me awhile to find what I wanted, but I found the worn-out, faded purple jeans that I used to wear at least once a week. There were small holes in the knees and the bottoms were a bit stretched out, but they still fit me like before.
I slipped on the white tee shirt and searched through every drawer in the bathroom to try and find the necklace with the big brown heart. It took me almost an hour. I put that on.
My nails weren’t blue, they had actually been done in red that day, so I wouldn’t risk changing them, it would have to do.
I grabbed my big white sunglasses in my room and the Forget What You Know CD from my CD case.
I didn’t care how loud it was. I didn’t care if the neighbors complained. I’d ignore them completely.
I grabbed a full bottle of vodka from the fridge and sat on my bed as the music played loud, blasting my ear drums.
An hour later the bottle lay beside me, scattered among the guest list and the food plans and the table markers and the service pamphlets.
I held a pillow to my chest and my eyes were closed, a steady stream of tears pouring down.
“You don’t listen...you don’t listen...don’t listen...you don’t listen,” I sang almost inaudibly along to the music.
The soothing repetitiveness eventually put my tearful, shaking, alcohol-filled body to sleep. And there was something I finally knew.
I was going to marry Devin. Really.
I was in my apartment, alone. It was still raining. I sat on my bed, flipping through guest books and pictures and reminded myself in my head what all had to be done the next day.
A bolt of thunder veined across the sky. I let out an enormous sigh and laid down on the bed, on top of all the piles of papers and pictures and useless junk.
Why couldn’t a wedding just be ‘I Do’?
Thousands of dollars, months of planning, stressed family and friends...
When the day is finally in your grasp you can’t have any second thoughts because its months and money lost. So you go through with the wedding day even if your months engaged didn’t go as well as you thought.
Maybe their family was crazy, maybe there was something about them that you just didn’t know. Maybe they had jealous ex’s or brother or sisters. Maybe their parents didn’t think the two of you would be good together. Maybe none of the bride’s maids agreed on the outfits. Maybe you expressed your thoughts with them, but they didn’t listen. ‘You’re the one that said yes.’
Maybe that’s why so many people get divorced.
They smile wide for the thousand-dollar-per-hour photographer and hope they turn out great.
You’re with them for one, two years. They ask for children and you say ‘divorce.’ And that’s all because you learned their true colors while engaged. Hopefully by then the wedding is paid off and you can be happy and single once again.
Maybe it will happen all over again. Because maybe you’re stupid enough to get married twice.
Another vein of lightning pierced the sky and the crackle of thunder shook the room. Besides the rain and the thunder, it was quiet.
I laid on my stomach on my bed and watched the blurry city lights. The moon was invisible beneath the clouds.
You pray for your wedding day to be sunny just for the sake of good hair, good pictures. Some say rainy weddings are the sign of a good marriage. I don’t want my hair to be terrible on my wedding day, really...
I looked at the clock. It was one in the morning. I should have gone to bed, but I really didn’t feel tired. I don’t want to have bags under my eyes on my wedding day, really...
I pulled myself out of bed and washed my face again. I don’t want to have dry or oily skin on my wedding day, really...
I looked at myself in the mirror. I was getting older. I certainly wasn’t old, but I wasn’t that young girl any more, thriving off of the new scene fashions in New York, following Midtown wherever they went on tour.
I let out a sigh and just looked at myself.
“I don’t want to have second thoughts on my wedding day,” I muttered. “Really.”
I dried my face with a towel took out some hairspray, styling my hair like I used to when I was a teen. I remembered how I’d done perfectly. It was like I was seventeen again...
When I finished putting on that extra coat of mascara, I went to my closet. It took me awhile to find what I wanted, but I found the worn-out, faded purple jeans that I used to wear at least once a week. There were small holes in the knees and the bottoms were a bit stretched out, but they still fit me like before.
I slipped on the white tee shirt and searched through every drawer in the bathroom to try and find the necklace with the big brown heart. It took me almost an hour. I put that on.
My nails weren’t blue, they had actually been done in red that day, so I wouldn’t risk changing them, it would have to do.
I grabbed my big white sunglasses in my room and the Forget What You Know CD from my CD case.
I didn’t care how loud it was. I didn’t care if the neighbors complained. I’d ignore them completely.
I grabbed a full bottle of vodka from the fridge and sat on my bed as the music played loud, blasting my ear drums.
An hour later the bottle lay beside me, scattered among the guest list and the food plans and the table markers and the service pamphlets.
I held a pillow to my chest and my eyes were closed, a steady stream of tears pouring down.
“You don’t listen...you don’t listen...don’t listen...you don’t listen,” I sang almost inaudibly along to the music.
The soothing repetitiveness eventually put my tearful, shaking, alcohol-filled body to sleep. And there was something I finally knew.
I was going to marry Devin. Really.
♠ ♠ ♠
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