WA 5 draft 1

There are booms of happiness all around me. I reflect and image of pure joy. A woman in white, a man in a suit, a grand five tear cake, and smiling faces. My intricate grooves and indentations scatter the illustration until it is almost undecipherable, but I know. But no matter how beautiful the scene around me is I am at the center of it. People gasp when they look at me, their faces exclaim praise of my unwavering exquisiteness. Their looks of shock give me sensations of elation that could only be compared to the pageant I’m submersed in. My elegant design is flawless. I sit upon a long uninterrupted lustrous neck that cranes to see what’s happening even in the far stretches of the chuppah. I flare outwards into a draping goblet that looks like a facsimile of the bride’s skirt. The wedding procession begins. Women all clad in matching hideous gowns walk down the isle. Their facial expressions are thinly hiding their disgust over their outfits. A young girl walks down in a jittery skipping way. She flings out flower petals and then stumbles and the entire contents of her basket dump out into a pile in the middle of the pathway. The girl looks unembarrassed although here mother seeps anger out her ears. She knew one last practice was necessary. Then just as the music is reaching its peak an older man and the bride step onto the runway. She is donning an eloquent dress and a shimmering veil. She sashays to her future husband. There is no doubt that this is her day. She finally makes it to her fiancé who is sweating bullets. The music cuts off, children are shushed, camcorders are clicked on, and the Rabbi begins. People on both sides of the ceremony settle in for a long wait. Eventually the talking ceases and people realize it’s their turn. They acknowledge their que by cheers that seem a little too over zealous. A man stands up and fluffs his coat. He exudes fake importance; clearly he has taken the littlest job appointed to him to his head. He takes a step in my direction. Then another. And another. Just one more. His clammy hands grab me and fumbles around. I’m captured! I shine with excitement what are they doing, will they honor me as they should. I am handed to the Rabbi who handles me with much more care. He holds me to the audience. He is presenting me and people applaud. Not like the nervous “I wasn’t paying attention to what was happening but I guess you’re married now” cheers they displayed earlier. No! These were genuine claps that proved their need to glorify me. The Rabbi pulls out a long silk cloth from his robe. It is embroidered and breathtaking. Gently he starts wrapping me in it. I’m covered, and I can see nothing. I am cradled like and infant then delicately placed on the ground. I can hear the attendees counting down and a swoosh and then


“Mazel Tov!"