Sunday, August 21, 2016

I was busy Friday and Saturday. Mostly driving. I attended a wedding of a young couple.

I think suffered a flash back of a sort.

This present wedding had a small girl tossing rose petals (or the flower part of some flower) followed by a young man as the ring bearer. The pair were older than kids, younger than young adults.

The scene took me back a long way.

That older wedding was the second for the bride. In fact, she had two children in junior high. But she wanted the wedding she hadn’t had back when, and so they planned and performed to her dream wedding.

I was a spectator in the middle rows. Watching the ceremony I observed, in due time the progression of the bride the procession led by a small girl scattering the petals, her followed by the ring bearer – a lad about five, holding a pillow with the rings set centerwise with due consideration to the correct side for the bride and groom to pick up and present.

I was struck by the countenance of the little ring bearer. That pillow and those rings and were the end all of his world. Them and the spot up there by the alter he knew he needed to achieve.

He tripped slightly as he neared my pew, but recovered with that pillow never wavering nor the rings shifting more than a centimeter or so.

He completed his task and stood waiting for what came next. Proud, but with quiet, inner contentment.

The wedding completed the kid escaped observation. The parent that wedded and the girl that scattered the petals were the subjects of the new husbands pederast, and that brides rath and the young lady’s de-flowering.

I’ve often wondered, as I did at this weekends wedding, what happened to that young man, and have wondered also, if he has thoughts of that long ago wedding; does he bring to whatever line of work he now does the same earnest concentration he brought to bear on that pillow and those rings of hope that proved so sour.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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