Ice Tea

Chapter I

Chapter I

You know that classic, cliché, corny, cheesy – take your pick- scene in so many romantic movies where the wedding ceremony is crashed and the “wedding crasher” confesses their undying love for the bride and the bride picks up her white wedding dress above her ankle and runs into the arms of her “true love”? Yeah, you know the one. Yes, the scene where you are rooting for the hero to confess his undying love. Yes, the part where you cry a little even though you deny it vehemently, when they walk out into the sunset whilst the hero carries the ex-bride in a somewhat ironical bridal style. Yup! You’ve got it! Only it sucks to be the groom.

Or in my case, the bride. Especially if the walking out is being done on you.  And the sweeping away is being done by your own best friend. Classic movie scenario. Almost.

 Not much you can do beside stand here watching it all unfold in front of your eyes, helpless, as whom you thought was “the love of your life” steps away from the altar with nothing but a “sorry, I can’t do this. I love her.”  They never showed it from this angle in the movies.

So, I am here in my wedding gown, on a barstool sipping at a drink that the menu said was the “Strongest Alcoholic Beverage-Drink at your own risk”. Now, ‘long island iced tea’ didn’t really sound very convincing but I can only sip at it for the fear of tearing my oesophagus if I take it in large gulps as I should be, because I am grieving.

Yes, I am grieving. And I think I have my right to. The man I was in love with and who I believed was in love with me just left me on the one day that every girl dreams of. I didn’t get my happy ending; I didn’t get the fairytale wedding that I had planned for months, years, ages…  Hell! I didn’t even get to eat the cake! I can’t help but let out a snort of amusement.  My wedding makeup has probably streaked most of my face giving me the appearance of a rather natural raccoon but I can’t seem to stop crying.

I am vaguely aware of the stares I am gathering as I sluggishly sprawl over the bar countertop with my veil still on top of my head but I am beyond the point of caring.

My head is up and I am yelling obscenities into the wind now. However it’s more or less drowned by the dull bass playing from the stereos. The tears have still not stopped flowing and I am constantly made aware of them when they fall into my drink. Like I said, I am past the point of caring and therefore sip the drink anyway in a vain attempt to get drunk and forget about everything.

Even for a little while. I just want to cry myself into oblivion but a hysterical laugh bubbles through my throat every time I get a glimpse of myself in the opposing glass shelve of the bar.  Me in my wedding dress. Oh!  What a sight! The veil has somehow fallen off during this whole process though. I can’t be bothered to search for it.

 I take a rather large gulp of my iced tea and feel it burn down my throat. It is almost the only physical awareness I have anymore.  I believe I have gone through 5 of these by now plus some other drinks called the ‘Irish Car bomb’ which just tasted like Chocolate milk(hence, my mistake of chugging it down in one go) and “Adios Mother F*&%er!!” as it sounded rather promising. After all, that’s all I wanted to say to the world anyways. Adios! Ciao! Au revoir! Sayonara! Goodbye! So, I could be left alone. I just want to be alone. Alone as he left me. Alone and succumbed to misery. I should be a bloody poet!

Ironically, I have quite a crowd around me now. Well, it might be because I am telling them my sob story. Ah! Case of the runaway groom….not really….Most of them are drunks like me and some are kind enough to offer me drink while others just suggest drinks. This is nice. This is kind of what you expect friends to do. Well, not best friends. They are expected to steal your fiancé on the day of your wedding.

“Oh! Lookie! More friends” I can feel myself shouting sluggishly to the crowd as I gesture my whiskey shot glass toward a tall bulky man that has “SQUIRREL” written on his uniform.

“Squirrel!” I shout gleefully.

I extend my arms for a hug but quickly pout when the man says, “I am sorry mam but you are requested to leave the premises. You are causing too much commotion.”

I can’t form coherent sentence which explains why I find myself leaning against a taxi cab outside the pub. On hindsight I think it was “SECURITY”.

The human brain is a miraculous thing and that is the only single explanation that explains how I get home.

With jerky fingers, I open the door to my apartment, giggling all the way through. I fall face down the couch, giggling and laughing hysterically. I am laughing to the extent my stomach has crammed up. I laugh and laugh and laugh. Only minutely I realise, I am no longer laughing but crying. Crying for things I’ve lost today and crying because I don’t know what else to do. Crying, I simply fall asleep.