Not The Stuff of Fairy Tales
You would think my wedding night was the happiest night of my life. You'd be wrong.
The year was 1991. The date was November 1st. I don't remember what the weather was like that day, but I have to guess it was your typical late-autumn day in northeast Ohio, with a chill in the air, leaves falling from the trees. You know, fall.
For me, however, the sun shone brightly on that morning, for it was the day I'd become Mrs. Trina High, brushing off my first married name like day-old bread.
We were having a priest come to our apartment, while his mother and sister would act as the two witnesses. We would liked to have had a mid-size or large wedding, but my fiancé's addiction to crack cocaine made it impossible to have anything but the bare essentials - and sometimmes not even that - so we were having the miniumum needed to make us legal.
Shortly before time to say "I do", my mother-in-law-to-be called to say she was held up at work, but she hoped to be there shortly after the appointed time. There was no word from his sister, so I assumed all was well with her.
Neither of our witnesses made it on time. I should have taken that as a sign, but still I insisted we go through with it, using neighbors in the apartment complex as witnesses, if need be.
So, with two people we barely knew watching, we said our vows, but I didn't mind, for I had finally become one with my man. Just as we were finishing up, his mother showed up, so per our plans, we decided to ride around to relatives' houses, to say hello as a newly-married couple.
I changed out of the pink evening gown of my mother's that I had "borrowed" into a nice skirt and sweater set, while he swapped his suit for corduroys and a sweater. Thus attired, we set out.
I don't recall everywhere we stopped, but I do recall the last stop, where we were just dropped off so his mother could go home. It was over his uncle's house. His uncle lived in one of the worst areas of town and sold marijuana, so I didn't particularly want to stop there, but he insisted and said we wouldn't be long.
After greeting his relative, we all sat down and engaged in the idle chit-chat that was typical for a visit over there. After about 20 minutes, my new husband said he was heading "down the block" for a moment. My heart sank, as I knew that meant he intended to get some of his powder, but I quieted my mind, telling myself he wouldn't be long, as it was our wedding night and we were both very much looking forward to it.
30 minutes later, I started worrying.
60 minutes later, I was trying to stay positive.
90 minutes later, his uncle was handing me a box of Kleenex.
As the minutes ticked by, ever-so-slowly, I began to second-guess myself. I was twenty-three and had just divorced my first husband seven months before. I knew my husband from high school, where I had crushed on him for the 4 months or so before he was transferred to another school. Unbeknownst me to, he had returned my feelings, but never got a chance to say so, so when we finally declared our love five years after graduating, we wasted no time in deciding to solidify things. Also, I was naive about the world of drugs. I had lived a mostly sheltered life, being raised by two upstanding parents who didn't so much as curse in front of me, let alone do anything straight-up illegal. So I believed my guy when he told me he was just having a rough time and would kick the habit again, as he had been clean for over a year when we met up and he only went back because he was nervous about impending fatherhood (I was five months pregnant at the time of our wedding).
120 minutes after he had left, my new husband was still a no-show and I was seriously considering calling my father, to have him come get me. Where I wanted him to take me, I didn't know, but I didn't want to sit there, under my new uncle-in-law's pitying gaze, any longer.
Just as I was opening my mouth to ask to use the phone, he showed up. 133 minutes after having left. He apologized profusely and asked his uncle to take us home.
I tried to be happy - who wants to spend their wedding night crying and arguing? - but the damage was already done and with that, the death knell rang on our marriage. It took nearly eighteen years to come to fruition in the form of divorce, but come it did. And it all started on that night. My wedding night.
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Another true story from my life...Me and wedding days just don't mix well, do we (see my post just before this one for elaboration)? Still, I'm sure that if I ever marry my current love, the third will truly be the charm.