My best friend's wedding is next week.

My bestfriend’s wedding is next week. I bought a gift, I bought a new dress. She bought hers: her tan skin, darkened by the sun and the sea was in contrast with the paleness of the white, with the purity of the lace, which I already saw stained by the blood on the hands of her husband, those same hands that until now barely ever touched her. But it’s a known fact that in marriage chivarly rules don’t matter. If before one would preserve himself from scaring their trophy-girlfriend, from scraping away the gold patina that was on her and from getting the witheness of the dress dirty, now that the trophy has been won one doesn’t think twice before smashing it, sending it into a milion pieces and getting his hands bloody. Or even leaving it on a shelf.

I sit down, I do a little small talk in which I show all my good manners in the attempt of hiding the palpitations, the sweat and the anxiety. I should be happy, I think. Getting married is what every woman has ever wanted. But still i can’t help but wonder why I only feel anxious for her and not him, who’s still a good friend of mine. But it’s not proper anxiety, I realise. It’s anxiety towards her future life. And for her right now, it’s pity almost. I see her mom in the first bench, I see her husband at the altar, I don’t see her dad. It suddenly hits me, that feeling of disgust towards yourself when you’ve done nothing wrong. That feeling of looking into everybody else’s face in desperate need of a face as distorted and cracked as yours. But not finding it.

The doors began to open and you realize that everybody else is fine, they don’t find anything odd at the thought of a girl firmly holding onto her dad’s arm, and looking up to him as they walk down as if it was her last look. Because that’s what he’s doing right? Walking with her one last time before setting her free. That was probably the concept. To me it just seemed like a man I did not know passing his favorite toy to another man I did not know. But that toy was my best friend. As she walks past me she gets more excited. Excited about what, I fell the need to scream out loud. But I don’t. I let my best friend enjoy her moment of stopping belonging to her father and starting belonging to her husband. I watch her change surname. I’ll watch her change her signature, I think; both the middle school and high school diploma that we signed together will now count as nothing more than a memory. I glance at her mom, wrapped in her lilac tailleur as she almost cheers, happy tears sliding down her scarlet cheeks. Her daughter never belonged to her, I think. And my best friend never belonged to me. The girl I grew up with was her dad’s property. Her maiden name will disappear and it will drag our childhood into oblivion, too. Well, it will leave to me the duty of preserving it, keeping it. She will slowly fade from our pictures as if she was never there, as if her maiden name was always designed to turn into the married one.

I watch her saying “I do” and i swear i can see her dress darkening a little. I swear I can already see a little stain on it. I swear I can see her rolled up in bed sheets with her husband tonight, losing a piece of herself she’ll never get back. I will stare silently as her life belonging to her dad crumbles and as our childhood memories become her maiden life story.

Her husband grabs her by the waist and kisses her. I think about her as a child one last time. And then I realise she’s always been like the toys we played with. She’s always been a doll. And I have too, it’s just that I’m still in the stage where my first owner is keeping me jealously to himself, not ready to leave me in the dirty hands of the next child.

They start stepping out of the building and everybody cheers, I force myself to do so too as one single weary tear rolls down my cheeks. This wedding was probably just a fever dream, I think to myself.

Thanks for spending your time reading my story, it matters the world to me!

Leave a comment with your thoughts and please be respectful!<3