The Wedding Dress

         I remember it was raining. A cold, biting drizzle actually, but we didn’t run into the charming, little bridal shop; we walked. And when I opened the door, the ringing of a brass bell announcing our arrival, my heart began to pound.

         The petite, well-dressed saleswoman greeted my mother and I immediately, then showed us to a small, white table stacked with bridal magazines and catalogs full of gowns. After more than 20 minutes of turning page after page I had come up with a list of just two gowns I liked.

         “Is that all? Well, it’s a good start. I'll pull a few others I think you might like as well.” The saleswoman disappeared into the back and I watched my mother smiling at me across the table while I tried to discreetly wipe my sweaty palms on my pants.

         Our perky hostess finally returned and declared I had a dressing room full of wedding gowns awaiting me. I slowly followed her back into the dressing area where she proceeded to invite herself into my tiny cubicle and pulled the curtain closed behind her. I’d never had someone actually in the dressing room with me while I changed, but I’d never tried on wedding dresses before either, so I tried to keep my discomfort to myself.

         My new best friend, Marilyn, had also taken the liberty of providing me with a corset, something else I had previously never had the pleasure of being squeezed into, and after what seemed like hours I had managed to find my way through layers of fabric, several buttons fastened down my back and high heels on feet I could no longer see - Thank you, Marilyn.

         I walked around the corner and back out to the front of the shop, holding the dress up in front while Marilyn took up the rear. I reluctantly stepped up onto the 8' x 8' square staging and found myself surrounded by mirrors on three sides. I looked over at my mother, now seated in a beautiful, antique chair placed next to my pedestal, and she was beaming. I forced a half-smile and turned back to scrutinize my reflection.

         Marilyn had straightened the train, which was so long it fell over the end of the stage, so it was laid out perfectly to reveal its intricate detail. She stepped out of view and suddenly I was all alone. That’s when the panic set in. It was as if I was having a heart attack, an anxiety attack and a migrane all at the same time. My skin felt like it was on fire and I was struggling to keep my knees from buckling under the weight of my painfully obvious doubts.

         “I gotta go,” I said and headed for the dressing room.

         “Is everything all right? We can try something else . . .”

         “I just can’t do this right now,” and I disappeared behind the curtain, removed the gown, without assistance, in record time and walked straight out the front door and into the rain.

         It took a few more weeks of contemplation, after all my fiance had done nothing but love and support me since we met four years ago during our senior year of high school, but finally I spoke the words.

         “I'm sorry, but I can’t marry you.”