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Tanya Marchun   English  315   Memoir  Final  Draft       The  pungent  smell  of  the  white  stargazer  lilies  was  strong  even  from  a  distance.    With   skinny  stamen  reaching  out  of  the  center  and  anthers  that  look  like  dark  orange  parachutes,  the   bouquet  of  these  flowers  was  heavy  and  larger  than  I  had  expected.    I  was  constantly  twirling   the  white  ribbon  fashioned  around  the  stems  to  take  my  attention  off  my  nervous  stomach  and   thumping  heart.        

It was  like  a  roller  coaster  in  my  stomach,  constantly  turning  and  flipping  only  I  was  not  

screaming.  It  was  the  most  nervous  I  have  ever  been  in  my  life.    It  was  difficult  standing   without  my  knees  buckling  under  the  weight  of  my  delicate  but  bulky  dress.    The  white  heels,   that  matched  my  dress  perfectly,  did  not  make  the  anticipation  any  easier.    My  legs  felt   unstable  and  I  would  not  dare  bend  my  knees  for  fear  of  dropping  straight  to  the  floor.    The   overly  large  burgundy  chair  was  my  constant  support.        

The fifteen  of  us  were  standing  lined  up  like  a  small  army  ready  and  waiting  to  charge,  

with me  at  the  back  of  the  line  providing  commands.       Each  pair  asking  me,  “Tanya,  can  we  go?”   “Wait  a  little  bit,”  I’d  say,  waiting  for  the  right  moment  in  the  music  to  come  along,  “Okay,  now   go.”   I’d  send  each  pair  off  starting  with  my  grandparents-­‐to-­‐be  making  their  way  down  the   brown  creaky  steps  onto  the  soft  green  sea  of  grass,  in  the  background  my  Aunt  singing   Amazing  Grace.      

My aunt’s  voice  was  raspy  but  passionate.    Coming  from  Florida,  the  higher  elevation   seemed  to  make  her  throat  dry  and  her  moist  mouth  turn  to  a  parched  desert.        It  seemed  coincidental,  though  it  was  intentional,  that  this  ceremony  was  in  the  same   place  where  my  grandparents-­‐to-­‐be  had  gotten  married  nearly  ten  years  before.    The  massive   willow,  with  its  flowing  vines,  provided  a  vast  area  of  shade.    The  vast  blazing  white  vinyl  tents   provided  shade  for  the  nearly  one  hundred  guests  in  attendance.       Next  was  my  mother-­‐in-­‐law-­‐to-­‐be  whose  dress  looked  abnormally  similar  to  a   bridesmaid’s  dress,  with  the  exception  of  the  length.      Following  her  was  my  mother,  dressed  in   black  who  was  afraid  it  would  seem  like  she  was  in  mourning.    Together  they  lit  the  unity  taper   candles,  while  the  wind  blew  out  each  attempt  they  made.   Being  at  the  back  of  the  line  made  me  even  more  impatient.    Thoughts  running  through   my  head  about  if  each  person  had  done  what  he  or  she  was  supposed  to  do.    As  I  wait  for  my   turn,  I  grip  my  father’s  arm  and  ruffle  the  arm  of  his  tuxedo  jacket  between  my  palm  and   fingers.    It  was  his  tuxedo  from  twenty  years  ago;  he  still  fit  into  it  and  still  looked  handsome.     With  the  black  cummerbund  around  his  waist  and  small  triangle  of  red  handkerchief  peeking   out  of  this  left  jacket  pocket.    The  jacket  that  would  later  get  locked  in  the  car  and  required  four   men  to  get  it  unlocked.       As  the  line  of  the  small  army  lessened,  the  nervousness  was  nearly  unbearable.    The   closer  I  got  to  the  door,  the  more  fearful  I  became.    Reassuring  the  six  year  old,  dark  haired   flower  girl  that  she  would  be  fine,  she  smiled  big  enough  that  her  eyes  nearly  disappeared,   turned  and  made  her  way  down  the  stairs.    Turning  to  my  father  I  said,   “I  am  going  to  forget  everything,  dad.”  

“I am  so  nervous.  I’m  going  to  forget  my  vows.”   Leaning  in  to  give  me  an  always  reassuring,  gentle  kiss  on  the  cheek  he  said,  “You’ll  be   fine.”   All  the  while,  I  was  reassuring  myself  that  I  would  not  trip  on  my  dress,  or  that  my  heel   would  not  get  caught  in  the  miniscule  crack  between  the  wood  panels.       “Dad,  you’ve  got  to  hold  me  so  I  don’t  fall.”   The  steps  were  simple  compared  to  the  sea  of  green  grass.    It  had  been  fertilized  and  so   well  maintained  that  the  ground  was  like  water.    With  each  step  I  took,  I  felt  my  heel  sink   deeper  into  the  ground.    I  aerated  the  lawn  while  I  walked  down  the  aisle,  leaving  holes  the  size   of  pennies  and  my  white  heels  a  brownish  green.       Look  straight  ahead,  I  recall  telling  myself  as  I  approached  the  pastor  and  my  soon-­‐to-­‐be   husband.    I  knew  if  I  looked  at  the  guests,  whom  I  strategically  placed  within  rows  of  eleven   chairs,  my  attention  would  easily  shift  to  who  was  in  attendance  and  who  was  not.    Exchanging   glances  between  my  bridesmaids  and  fiancé,  every  now  and  again  I  would  peer  past  the   wedding  party  at  the  distant  mountains  decorating  the  horizon.    My  father  and  I  came  to  a  stop,   kissed  and  hugged  each  other  and  my  fiancé  took  my  arm.       It  was  the  beginning.    The  microphones  which  we  had  tested  the  previous  day  did  not   work.    Luckily,  my  aunt  could  project  her  voice  while  singing  Amazing  Grace;  however,  the   pastor  spoke  in  a  soft  quiet  tone  which  seemed  like  only  my  fiancé  and  I  could  hear  nearly  two   feet  away.    The  sun  was  scorching;  the  breeze  provided  some  relief  to  the  groomsmen  dressed   in  black.      

A bright,  neon  yellow  index  card  was  what  my  fiancé  wrote  his  vows  upon.    With  a   mixture  of  humor  and  seriousness  he  promised  to  honor,  respect  and  support  me;  even   occasionally  do  the  dishes.    While  saying  my  vows,  either  the  nervousness  of  forgetting  them  or   the  heat  causing  his  finger  to  swell  up,  I  could  not  put  the  ring  on  his  finger.    This  provided  a   little  comic  relief.       At  the  exact  moment  we  said  ‘I  Do’  the  breeze  wisped  my  veil  straight  up,  pointing   towards  God.    It  must  have  been  a  sign.    After  walking  down  the  aisle  with  my  husband,  our   bridal  party  formed  a  receiving  line  where  we  greeted  guests  with  hugs  and  enormous  smiles.       The  ceremony  that  took  hours  upon  hours  to  create  seemed  to  flash  by  in  an  instant.     The  months  of  planning  and  organizing,  not  to  mention  the  money  and  tears,  was  over.    While   the  advice  to  stay  calm,  not  get  overwhelmed,  or  be  too  nervous  is  easier  said  than  done,  it   does  offer  a  little  piece  of  mind  that  when  the  time  comes  everything  will  work  out  the  way  it  is   supposed  to.    Reflecting  on  my  experience,  many  events  and  things  did  not  work  the  way  they   were  supposed  to;  however,  it  was  not  about  those  small  miniscule  worries  like  the  candles  and   the  microphones,  instead  it  was  about  sharing  the  joy  of  a  special  day  with  family  and  friends.      


My memoir I wrote for my media writing class.

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