Forever Stained

“Are you getting married?”

“No, are you?” the girl shot back at me.

“I’m only 8.” I answered as I sat down next to her in the grass.

“I’m only 18.” She pushed her hair back from her face and glanced at me. She was beautiful with green eyes and light brown hair, curls so perfectly placed under a ringlet of flowers perched on her head. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying, but her make-up was perfectly in place.

“I thought maybe that was a wedding dress,” I tried to explain myself.

“It is,” tears welled up in her eyes. “I meant to get married today. I got all dressed up and had my hair done by my friend.” She looked down at the marigolds she held in her hands. She was sitting in a field of them and had been engrossed in the flowers when I approached her. “Where’d you come from?” She asked.

“Over there?” I pointed to where my older brother, Chris sat on a rock with his back to us. “He’s fishing,” I explained. “He lets me come with sometimes. Where’s the guy … the one you meant to marry?” I asked.

“I don’t know. He told me to meet him here by the creek. This is where we first …” her voice trailed off. “He didn’t show.”

“Maybe he’s just a little late,” I looked around as if he was about to walk up on us.

“Maybe …” she paused. “Actually, no. He texted. Told me he changed his mind. Said that he had a whole life to live and didn’t want to be stuck,” she sniffed. “I’m pretty sure that’s the end of that.”

“Your dress is gonna have green and gold stains from the grass and the flowers. Then, you won’t be able to take it back to the store and get your money back.” My mama always said I was too practical in my thinking.

The bride laughed. It was a startling and wild laugh and I liked hearing it. It made me laugh, too. Even though I didn’t know what was funny.

“I like your pink dress,” she stopped suddenly and looked over at me with a new twinkle in her eye. My dress was actually just my favorite t-shirt that was too long for me so I let it hang out over my cut-off shorts. “You could have been one of my bridesmaids.”

I jumped up and smoothed my shirt down over my shorts. “I would have been your maid of honor!” I twirled around as if to show off my beautiful gown.

She grinned and jumped up too. Her flowing white dress encircled her like a princess. I don’t know much about describing dresses, but she looked like an angel and a southern belle all at the same time. “Let’s do it. Let’s have a wedding. I’ll be the bride and you can be my maid of honor.”

I giggled. “What about the groom? I could ask Chris.” I tore off running before she could answer. “Chris! Chris!” I yelled as I ran towards him.

He didn’t answer. He can always tell my yell and would have jumped up if I’d had a problem or needed him, but I didn’t, and he knew it.

“Chris! Chris!” I panted as I stopped behind him.

“What’s up, Buttercup?” he answered without looking at me.

“Do you wanna get married?” I grinned at the back of his head.

He twisted his neck to look back at me quizzingly; as he did, I saw his eyes shift away from me. He stood abruptly, dropping his fishing pole. His eyes got wide and his mouth gaped. “What?” He looked back at me. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I get to be the maid of honor,” I proclaimed proudly, pointing back towards my friend, the bride. I realized then that I didn’t know her name. She looked like a real-life, Disney fairy princess walking towards us with a bouquet of hand-picked marigolds and a delicate, sweet smile on her face.

Chris was staring at her with a look I’d never seen before and a grin bigger than any I’d ever seen on him … and Chris smiled at me a lot.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Carla. Do you want to get married?” she giggled and winked at me.

“I do … Yes!” Chris enthusiastically replied.

I laughed so hard, I snorted. “It’s just a pretend wedding, silly and I’m the maid of honor.”

And I was. Two years later, at the age of 10, I was the youngest maid of honor ever (at least that’s what Chris said). Carla wore a beautiful white dress with marigold and grass stains on the back and I wore a pink dress — an actual dress, not a t-shirt. And Chris, he wore the same enormous grin I first saw on that day.