It Ends Like This (Short Story)

It Ends Like This (1)

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Is it the air of thick jasmine scented perfumes blanketing the tight dressing room, the cooing, and the legion that was my bridal train fanning their selves in a corner as they talked and swooned dazzlingly about my honeymoon as though it was some fairytale that makes it impossible for me to breathe?

Is it the tightness of my corset that I fear has bruised my ribs?

Why can’t I breathe?

Why am I gasping for air and swallowing lumps in my throat?

More importantly, why can’t anyone freaking notice?

Furi wants my hair tighter. She thinks the plastic baby’s breath scattered all over my thick hair they’d managed to slick back with gel that smells like coconut isn’t tight enough. But it is tight. Too tight.

She thinks my lips aren’t glossy enough and it agitates the makeup artist who just stands there taking pictures of my face and saying I look like a princess.

Furi also thinks the corset isn’t tight enough, either. I do not know how to tell my sister and maid–of–honour that I'd like her to pry me off my wedding dress with the sharpest thing she can find in this room.

I hadn’t said a word since I saw myself in the mirror. Reality had dawned on me, and it had hit me like a ton of bricks.

Today, on a Saturday morning blessed by screeching canaries on the palm tree right outside my window, I am going to become Mrs Ataku.

I would say those vows and make those promises that I must keep for the rest of my life with my family and friends there to witness.

It feels surreal. Like a fever dream, you can't seem to pinch yourself out of it. It feels like cockroaches gnawing at my stomach instead of those butterflies I used to feel.

It doesn’t feel like this when you pick a wedding dress out of a plethora of wedding dresses that look the same in a showroom that only plays Banky W and Timi Dakolo to ‘get you in the feel’, though.

It doesn’t hit you – that your life is about to change in a matter of weeks when you’re tasting cakes and wines and making sure every one your mother knows has been sent a PDF file of the wedding invitations.

I try to take deep breaths. I try to swallow. I feel my nails digging into my palms. I hadn’t even realized I had balled them into fists.

‘’Ofure, calm down jor. You're taking this maid of honour thing too seriously. I think she looks beautiful,’’ I hear Tana say. I see her eyes welling up with tears. Jesus Christ.

Tana and I have known each other since Secondary school. We’ve talked about this day, and dreamt about this day, cut out dresses from allure magazines and stuck them on long notes and planned out how we wanted our weddings to be.

She wanted the big wedding with the red carpets and everything - and she had that. I was about to have my garden-themed wedding with gold cutleries and a violin band.

So, of course, she was excited for me.

Of course, she'd think that this is all I've ever wanted.

But my dreams had changed and it felt like I was stuck in someone else's.

Perhaps it had become my father’ who had reason to raise his shoulders with pride, or my mother’ - dressed in gold-coloured aso-Ebi. Regal as always. ‘’look how beautiful you are, Wey.’’ She makes a motion for my hair but stops. She doesn’t want to ruin it – her eyes are watering, as well.