Bridesmaids
It is a truth universally known that a
girl’s wedding day is supposed to be perfect.
It is good to know that when the universe forgets that truth, her
bridesmaids do not. In ancient times,
bridesmaids were chosen to protect the bride, from evil spirits, or from
larcenous clans looking to steal her away.
I chose Griffin, Kristen, Jillian, Heather, and Jill to stand at my side
and be my support and companions as I entered a new stage of my life. I had also unwittingly chosen the fiercest
defenders of my perfect day.
I woke up that early November morning
expecting to look out the window and see a day fit for a Disney princess. The sun would be shining, making the foliage
of the New England autumn as vibrant as a Technicolor movie. Birds would be chirping joyfully as they flit
past my window, celebrating a beautiful day…my wedding day. The reality I gazed out upon was the complete
opposite. I saw wet. Everything was wet. It was becoming wetter. I
was watching the skin chilling drenching of a New England rainstorm in the
fall. The birds that should have been
chirping and flitting, were huddled in their nests, their songs drowned out by
the harsh smack of raindrops on leaves.
As the water streamed from the grey sky outside, my eyes filled up
reciprocally and I let out an involuntary wail that woke Griffin, my maid of
honor. It was at her house that I had spent the night as we observed that
strange tradition of separating the groom and his bride on the night before the
wedding. Griffin is not a morning person, and being startled awake by a pitiful
wail was not her preferred alarm clock, so rather grumpily she joined me at
the window. “It’s raining.” She was very matter of fact when she made this
statement. I immediately started
sniffling and whining, “It’s not supposed to rain! I’m going to get muddy! We
can’t take pictures outside! My day is ruined!” Her response to this was classic
Griffin. She smacked me on the back of my bobby pin covered head (which hurt)
and stated, “It’s 9 am. I haven’t had coffee yet, you’re making your eyes
puffy, and everyone knows that a bit of rain on your wedding day is good luck. Now quit your whining, and let’s go get some
coffee.” She walked out and just like that, she put a spin on the first crisis
of the day.
By 11, both of us had been caffeinated,
showered, (my hair was still in pins awaiting the hairdresser), and we were on
our way to my aunt’s house to meet up with the rest of my bridal party. My mood
was lightened by the sight of the sun and patches of blue sky fighting their way
clear of the clouds. Blackstreet’s “No Diggity” was pounding out on the radio
and both Griffin and I were car dancing and singing along at the top of our
lungs. The sight of the rest of my bridal party waiting for us was enough to
lift my spirits completely: Kristen, my sister, we were just learning to like
each other beyond the sibling rivalry that had been such a part of our past;
Jillian, the pagan of our group who I always admired for her ability to defend
her beliefs; Jill, a close friend from high school with the most amazing red
hair and green eyes; and Heather, the quirky woman I had befriended at work. For the next hour or so, we giggled and
laughed, told stories and “remember when’s” and took pleasure in the company of
each other as we waited for the hairdresser to arrive to do our hair.
The hairdresser never showed
up. By one thirty, Griffin and Heather
were taking turns calling her but to no avail.
I was in full blown panic mode. The limousine was going to be there at
4:30 and the photographer was on his way, and we didn’t have our hair done yet!
Jill and Kristen started calling beauty parlors in the area trying to find a place
that could squeeze me in to their immediate schedule. Griffin, a wonder woman
with a curling iron, told me that she would take care of the bridal party hair,
and Jillian took it upon herself to calm me down out of the anxiety attack I
was experiencing. She kept up a mantra, that echoes in my head to this day in
times of stress, “Breathe in sunshine. Exhale smog.” Over and over she repeated this. Breathe in sunshine. The sun is now shining.
Exhale smog. This too shall pass. We have got this. We are together and we can
overcome. She brought me back.
By that time, Kristen and Jill had
been successful. Out of all the shops in town, there was only one that could
fit me in..... the shop that did all the elderly women’s hair in town. I was out of choices, so I headed out to the
geriatric hair salon. Fast forward two
hours and I was back with my hair done. My ladies were momentarily stunned into
silence upon seeing the bouffant beehive that had been created upon my
head. All I could do was laugh at this
point, and they all hugged me and assured me it was not nearly as bad as I
imagined. After all, I had a veil. I
looked at them and was just amazed at what I saw. They all looked amazing.
Griffin had somehow finished all their hair (and her own) and they were dressed
in their matching black ensembles. They looked exactly as they were: strong,
beautiful, vibrant, and confidant young women.
In a flurry of last minute activities, we finished getting dressed. The
photographer darted around the room, documenting my last hours as a single
woman. We all teared up as we looked at
ourselves as a group.
Finally, it was time to leave. We
piled into the black stretch limousine that was to bring us to the reception
hall. As the car set off, Heather
started to sing, “Going to the chapel and we’re/ gonna get married.” One by one
we all joined in, until our six voices blended into perfect harmony. The
stresses of the day melted away as we sang together. Then the limo driver got
lost. In the final rescue of the day, Jill and Heather got him situated back on
the right route to my destiny. I
remember looking around that limo and thinking about all the love it contained.
Biologically, only one of these amazing women was my sister, but love and
friendship and loyalty had bonded all of us together so that we were all soul
sisters. I was overwhelmed with the love and support that they had shown me on
this day. As the Spice Girls anthem, “Say You’ll Be There” came over the radio, I poured out a bottle
of champagne from the limo’s wet bar and proposed a final toast. “To us. To sisters.”
