Don't Say Yes

PROMPT from "Writer's Digest Magazine": The love of your life is getting married to someone else. In a last-ditch attempt to win the love of your life back, you bust into the wedding and profess your love mid-ceremony. Start your story with the line, "Don't say yes!"

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"Don't say yes!"

My command (though I won't say it sounded authoritative) ricocheted off the walls of the church and the bride and groom looked at me simultaneously. The rest of the church's eyes followed. What they were staring at was a pathetic woman whose jeans were dripping wet (can I just mention, right now, how uncomfortable wet jeans are?) and whose mascara was running down her cheeks. Not to mention the fact that my shirt had practically melted in the rain outside, and my socks were rubbing up against my sore feet.

It would have been a LOT easier if it hadn't rained. It was hard enough that I had to drive three hours to get to Chicago, only to find that there were NO parking spaces by the church. So I ended up parking about half the city away. And by the time I parked, what happened? It started raining. And then, and then it turns out I Ieft my umbrella at home. So I ran, in the rain, through the city, all the way to the church.

That was how I ended up here in front of everyone, looking like a fool.

"Don't say yes," I repeated, swallowing. Matt's face showed shock, but his eyes showed anger. Not that I blamed him. After all, didn't I just burst into his wedding mid-ceremony, and tell him to not marry his fiancee?

"Allison--" he began. I cut him off. I was seriously hamming up my appealingness, yeah?

"Don't! Because-because-I love you!" I announced, right in front of his bride. I stepped closer. "You know that, don't you?"

"I wasn't aware," he snapped.

"You do," I insisted, by now having lost all of my self-dignity. I came even closer. "We're meant to be together, Matt. N-not..."

"Not me?" His bride's eyes started getting all slitty and twitchy. I knew she wanted me OUT.

Oh well. Too bad for her. Because this was my last chance, and by golly I was going to use it.

"It's not about you," I told her. "Wait - okay, so maybe it is. A little. But it's about," I turned back to the love of my life, "us."

"As far as I know, there hasn't been 'us' in approximately four years, Ally."

"Yes, there has." Now I was really desperate. And really obvious. "There totally has. You just...missed it!"

I'll admit it, I was hoping for his eyes to light up, and for him to grab me and exclaim, "I did! But now I see it. We need to be the ones getting married, not me and Heather!"

It didn't happen quite like that. Sure, he said "I did see" but instead of "our love" it was "I did see you never grew up". Then Heather lunged at me, but if you know a thing or two about giant, poofy wedding dresses, it's that they're not built for action. She toppled over in her heels, and we both went down onto the church's red carpet. I never did appreciate the ceiling lighting until then.

Matt reached for his bride, but we had rolled over and collided with the pulpit. She was going at me with her hands, her nails, her knees (though they didn't prove to be much of a threat, since her knees and my stomach were separated by about a foot of thick white lace).

I grabbed her oh-so-perfectly-plaited hair and brought her face down into the carpet. It was strange, because neither of us were making a sound...until I grabbed her hair, of course. That set her off and Matt lunged towards us, but by then we had moved elsewhere on the church's front platform, and his head smacked into the pulpit. I heard a crunch, prayed it wasn't his head, and continued defending myself from the enraged bride.

Now she was using teeth and shoes. I scrambled away, but she pursued. I wondered if Matt would still marry her after seeing her like this. She got a kick into my shin. I got my hands back into her hair.

Someone from the pews ran towards us, and somehow untangled me and Heather. The Samaritan (I wasn't quite sure to call him 'good' yet) pinned her down. Police from the road outside were now in the church.. They towed her away and then went to check on Matt.

The Samaritan looked down at me. "You know, I'm a security guard."

I swore inside. He's going to arrest me. He's going to arrest me. He's going to--

"I won't arrest you, though." He pulled me back to my aching feet.

I stared at him. He had the audacity to grin at me.

"I like your eyes," he said.

I was still staring.

"Do you talk, or only fight?"

"No, no, I talk." This whole situation was turning a bit embarrassing. Okay, so from the beginning it was pretty embarrassing. "I talk."

"WELL," he exhaled loudly. "Do you need a ride home?"

I thought back to my car, practically parked on the Illinois-Michigan border. "Yeah. My car is far." I looked out the window. It was still raining.

"I didn't realize someone would do that for love," he told me as I struggled to arrange my damp, frizzy hair.

"Oh...well...you know, 'love makes you do crazy things'?" I smiled weakly.

"Still in love?"

I looked back at the shreds of white fabric on the carpet, and the little bloodstain on the pulpit. "I think I'm back to my senses again."

"I'm glad."

"Me too." I couldn't think of anything less moronic to say.

"You're glad that I'm glad that you're not in love with him anymore?"

"Something like that." I looked up at him. "You're really not going to arrest me?"