At Least the Reception Was Decent

Strings of vintage bulbs shined warm light into the old barn's rafters as rain battered the holey roof. Water steadily leaked downward into the barn, where it filled and flooded periwinkle and pink floral arrangements atop pedestals. Already, the roses seemed to droop and drown.

Two rustic whiskey barrels held up a slab of finished oak adorned with ribbon and lace, making a quaint country altar. The groom stood under a stream of rain alongside the minister, who used part of his vestment as an umbrella. Groomsmen and bridesmaids stood still like soldiers, the guys holding back bursts of laughter, the girls trying to stay composed as mascara ran down their made-up faces.

Rows of guests sat squirming and shuffling as the barn's dry dirt floor transformed into an encasement of mud. We sat in the sixth row on the bride's side, sitting next to some aunt of hers who wouldn't stop gasping at such a sight. We looked at each other and barely held back bursts of laughter.

"So, barn weddings, huh?" I asked Emily.

"All the rage. And you wouldn't believe the deal they got on this place. She wouldn't stop bragging to the office about it for months," she said.

"Can't imagine it being too cheap, this place is five-star quality," I said.

The aunt overheard us and scoffed. She slunk down two empty fold-out chairs. Unfortunately, she ended up sitting in a puddle.

Finally, the groom stopped squirming in his allotted spot and jotted down the aisle toward the barn entry. Everybody's eyes followed him. Then, right at our row, his left leather shoe was claimed by the mud, and he landed his socked foot right into the grime. He looked up at us and forced a chuckle, lip trembling. I rushed over, my own shoes becoming immersed in the mud, and helped pull it out. He snatched it from my hand and wobbled down the aisle, murmuring under his breath.

I couldn't hold it in any longer, and I burst out laughing as I sat back down. A similar laugh echoed throughout the barn from the few guests who weren’t gawking at the wedding conditions.

"You're the hero of the wedding," Emily said.

"Just trying to help the poor schmuck out."

From an unseen corner of the entryway, we heard him talking to the bride.

"Dammit, Brian, you're not supposed to see me before the wedding," a voice said.

"Cheryl, for God's sake, let's just postpone it. It's like a hurricane," Brian said.

"You’re not going to mention my dress? It’s the first time you’re seeing it,” Cheryl said.

“It’s beautiful. You’re gorgeous. But I think we need to reschedule.”

“Absolutely not. It's just a light drizzle. Besides, everyone is here and having a good time."

"Pastor Phil looks like he just fell into a pool. The flowers are floating. The guests are getting ready to go."

"Brian, this is our wedding day! Are you going to let a little weather ruin it? Some water? Is that what you think of our marriage?"

"No, of course not! It's just that, well, everyone is soaking wet in there."

"Brian's right, sweetheart, let's just --" an old man tried to say.

"You too, Dad?" she said.

"No, no, I'm just saying--"

"Brian, listen to me. You get back in there right now. We're doing this," she said.

Emily and I turned back around as he sloshed up the aisle. He waved over to the violinists and flutists, who were shielding their sheet music with their jackets. They quickly scrambled in formation and began playing a classical piece of music. The boom of nearby thunder drowned out any sounds the musicians could make.

Despite all that, though, Cheryl did not miss her queue. She strode in, holding a bright pink rose bouquet. Her father escorted her in, smiling with darting eyes back and forth at the soaked guests.

Mud immediately began splashing up on her white lace dress, but she paid it no mind. The thunder smashed through again, causing the ring bearer to wail, yet she simply smiled in serene happiness. At the third row of seats, she slipped, shrieked, and landed face-first in the mud. Everyone gasped as if they were watching a pro athlete bomb their great performance. Brian ran to her, and alongside her father, they stood her up. Her entire front side was covered in a thick, dark brown sludge, demolishing any eloquence the dress once had.

"My God, honey, are you okay?" Brian said.

"Get back to your position, dear," she said through a teeth-grinding smile.

He ran back up to his spot to accept his bride.

The rain only got heavier, creating streams of water throughout the barn. It was brutal to watch. We couldn't even laugh anymore. Pastor Phil looked at the bride and groom standing before him and gulped. He wiped the water off his bald head and began.

"Dearly beloved, we are, uh, gathered here today to witness," he began.

As he did so, a crash echoed through the back of the barn. Over a dozen sheep trailed in. Some plowed through the center aisle, toppling the floral arrangements and sending them into the strings of lights. In the dim light, other sheep barged through the guests, corralling them to random parts of the dilapidated building. One walked past us chewing on the flower crown that the flower girl had worn, which raised concerns. The aunt from our row screamed and ran out toward the entry —only to bump into the soaked and lumbering farmer who ran inside shouting at his animals. All the while, Emily and I sat still and watched slack jawed.

"Sorry, sorry," the farmer said. "I know you're all doing your thing up in here. The sheep don't like the rain, though. Can't control 'em when they get all irritated. You're lucky the horses didn't wanta' be in here."

He then stopped in his tracks and stumbled backward when he saw the blushing, boiling bride beaming her blazing eyes at the poor soul.

"Sweet Jesus. What happened to you? You know, you probably shoulda' postponed this thing. Weather ain't so good," he said.

"Get out!" she screeched. It made the thunder seem like a grumble.

The farmer bolted toward the door, and most of the sheep followed.

Only a few of the guests remained. In the middle of it all, one of the violinists and several members from the bridal party had fled. I'm not sure if we stayed because we were petrified or too enthralled. Now, a steady shower flowed into the barn, one right on top of Cheryl and her shriveling groom. Yet, perhaps a silver lining by the end of it, there was enough water beating down on her head to clear off some of the mud from her face. She then turned back around and dawned a serene smile once again.

"Now then, let's continue," she said.