I Didn't kill My Husband

Till Death Do Us Part

Victoria

I remember how I loved reading story books back when I still lived in The Purified Children Orphanage, eighteen years ago. Disney fairy tales used to be my favourites. I loved how the Prince charming falls in love with the princess and they both ride on a pony into happily ever after. I always daydreamt of having similar fates with those princesses for when I grow up, though, a huge part of my spirit doubted it will ever happen and it would remain a fantasy...one to be forgotten as I grew older.

Now I stand emotionally undetermined in front of a mirror, staring at the reflection of my twenty-four years old body frame as it hides itself under my wedding gown. Naturally, I should be blissful, I mean...I'm getting married. Sadly, I'm not. How can I be happy if I'm not getting married to the Man I love. Instead, I'm getting married to his Best Friend. "There you go," said my fashion designer, as she finally got my crown to balance on my blonde-haired head. The last thing needed to complete my wedding dress was it's diaphanous veil.

"How do I look, Kemi" I asked, turning my face away from the mirror and to my Best Friend and Chief-Bridesmaid. She had been complaining about the poor internet connection in the room as she moved about trying to find a bar of service. "Does she not know that the internet has been down since yesternight," my fashion designer asked, in a confused tone. "She has faith in God," I answered, softly. I could swear I heard Kemi praying in her mind. "Oh," the designer understood. It's mostly at desperate times that people turn to God.

"Ah!" Kemi sighed, giving up the ultimate search for service. Turning to look at me whilst dropping her phone, she said, "What were you asking me girlfr...damn you look so amazing." Her face became illuminated. I guessed that she was back to earth and was just noticing my look for the first time. Her eyes trailed up to down then back up on my white-clothed body. The long dreadlocked brown-skinned tall girl with roots from Africa was komije which is the Yoruba word for 'flattering me.' Kemi added, "Girl, this is fantastic-and fabulous." She stretched her hands and helped adjust the veil the designer wore on me. My designer, who goes by the name Matilda, took a few steps away from me and adored her work. "It's fantabulous," she smiled.

For the first time in a while, I felt my inner man smile. At least I looked...glamorous. That fact was the only thing that made the day feel okay to me. The other bridesmaids also agreed with themselves that I looked lustrious. I managed to break a passing smile after they had komije enough.

The shortness of the smile collected Kemi's attention. She held my two palms with her two hands and made sure that I made eye contact with her. "Don't worry baby, it's gonna be alright," Kemi said, hoping that was the last thing required to emigrate the sadness dwelling inside of me into the thin air of nothingness.

Kemi Makinwa has been my best friend since High School. We first met back in the seventh grade and in the cafeteria on the first day of school. Everyone else refused to eat on the same table with her because she was apparently the only black girl in the school. She was a foreign exchange student from Nigeria and was only admitted to diminish the racist image of the school.

We became friends and discovered that we had so much in common, things which were parallel to the other rich snotty kids. We became so close ever since then that we could feel each other's deepest emotion even if our face doesn't display it or shows something different. "Our rides here, let's go," one of my Bridesmaids said after we heard the honking of a car outside the room's window.

A few minutes and a car ride later, I found myself looking through my transparent veil onto the facade of a cathedral. My bridesmaids lined up like dominoes behind me and followed me as I gently climbed the stairs into the church and walked down the aisle. I got closer to the end of the red carpet laid on the path, similar to how the tune of Here comes the bride was reaching it's final double-barline. I climbed the stairs of the pier and held the outstretched hands of my fiancé, who was standing next to the priest. I stared at what I was getting married to and I hated it, even though it was in a hot tuxedo.