I walked down the aisle on the arm of my father in a dress my mother made. I wore flowers in my hair, white sandals on my feet, and a grin all over my face. My future husband waited for me at the end of the aisle in a gray tuxedo chosen because it made his blue eyes bluer. I was a young eighteen while Randy had already been around the world and back.
Somehow, he found me.
We planned the simple ceremony and cake reception with people we loved, songs that meant something, and our own vows with words that came easy to us. On that day, I held back tears as one man reluctantly handed me to another. Then, the minister told Randy to repeat after him and Randy did. When I was done repeating, there was a pause which Randy believed meant the ceremony was over and it was time for the kiss. I was stunned that he thought we were done already and held up my hand to keep him from coming closer.
“Wait,” I mouthed with no sound.
The minister frowned but continued, glancing at his notes to see what he had missed. Our chosen Bible verse was next and then Randy was asked again to “repeat after me”, and he did, smiling like he had it made. My turn was next and when I was through, once again, Randy leaned down to claim his wedding kiss. This time the minister muttered.
“Almost there.”
Now the minister picked up the pace, speed reading from the script he was given. The rings were exchanged, and then the congregation was asked to pray for us, which I was beginning to believe we seriously needed.
As soon as that minister said the word “Amen”, Romeo, I mean Randy, leaned down for his wedding kiss, again thinking the time was right. Immediately, both my hands went to his grey lapels.
“NOT YET.”
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard
