Once upon a time.

Warning, One swear word.

On Saturday afternoons, Jim typically dedicated his time to studying. However, on this particular Saturday, his role took a different turn as he was tasked with the simple yet important duty of directing wedding guests to their designated seating areas, as Bob, the usual usher, had fallen sick. Armed with the straightforward question, "Are you with the bride or groom?" Jim would then guide guests to either the right or left row of the long, wooden pews based on their responses.

Maree chose not to respond to Jim's inquiry. Instead, she was seen with her arm around a young teenage son. Neither of them made eye contact with anyone else as they walked to the left middle row. Their focus on each other was intense, resembling a chess player contemplating their next move. Seated, Maree and her son texted each other.

The bride's new Guru, once again, carefully reviewed the synastry, which refers to the combined astrology charts of the bride and groom superimposed on each other. The pair had exaltations in their social life together, but various detriments in their personal and family life. The groom had a stellium or proximity of several planets with a progressed squared Uranus directly striking them. The Guru muttered, "Infantiles!" Ignoring Jim, he then handed the papers to a follower dressed in the cult’s formal purple robe, who promptly stored the astrological reports in their shoulder bag. With a regal gesture resembling that of a monarch, the Guru signalled for the group to accompany him to the front right pew, while they enlivened the procession with rhythmic drumming, fresh flower head throwing, resonant singing, and lively dancing. And then they crammed along the front pew together.

The pastor somewhat disrupted by the show noticed the crowd outdoors as well foyer. Wanting to reclaim his territory, he signalled at the organist with his hand to begin playing; the organist happened to be the groom's cousin. The organist couldn't help but smirk to himself as he intentionally played the current pop songs of love, sex, and extravagance incredibly slowly, making them almost unrecognizable and churchy. The musician couldn't help to privately snigger as he recalled the wedding rehearsal, where instead of playing "Here Comes the Bride," he mischievously played the death march and was given a stern lecture about respect later from the pastor.

From the cue of the organ chords, the father of the bride moved and warmly shook Jim's hand. He held his wife's handbag under his free armpit, with his eldest son and his partner standing behind him. He paused and asked, "Do we sit behind them?" Jim sighed as he viewed the filled front bridal pew, to which he replied, "I guess so, mate!"

The artist in her soft pink chiffon dress was next to come forward, with her trusty sketchbook in hand. She stood at the door. Jim thought her pleasing to the eye and waited occasionally breathing her perfume, while she carefully examined the best angle to capture the beautiful chapel light before sitting on the groom's seating side. She was intending to paint a portrait of ‘their’ special day as a wedding gift. And she thought maybe, as she held her iPhone and panned around the room she could capture some perfect images, future tense. The couple did not hire an official photographer and were relying on snapshots or as the suggested "spontaneous authenticity" from any guest for their wedding album. The artist rolled her eyes as she remembered how she made that right excuse, the portraiture and best photographer, to remove her from being asked to be a bridesmaid.

Another woman, Claudia, closed her umbrella and shoke off a few raindrops outside the archway. Upon entering the foyer, she approached Jim and inquired, "Where can I leave this umbrella?" Jim pointed to the long container in the corner. He couldn't help but notice the resemblance between her and the woman who had arrived earlier with what looked like her son, although this woman appeared slightly older. 

Claudia was a more elegant and confident woman. She strolled with purpose, her eyes locked on her youthful doppelgänger in the centre of the right-hand row. With grace and confidence, she navigated her way through the seated guests and slipped into the space beside the younger woman and her son. It was evident there were no introductions necessary, as a warm smile graced her lips as she greeted the small family and waved to the almost adult groomsmen, who stood proudly at the front of the venue with his father. Maree motioned for her son to move. She affectionately embraced her son goodbye and straightened his suit jacket and bow tie. He paced large steps to the altar taking his place beside his elder half-brother at the altar.

A strong gust of wind swept through, causing a group of people in their twenties and forties-something to turn their backs and passage as a pack of wolves to the chapel. After they filed passed Jim, he bent low and hurried to close and bolt half of the church doorway. He noticed the sky had suddenly darkened and thought, "Looks like were in for a storm!"

A woman in a black hooded cloak approached, leaves twirled dramatically around her. She clasped her travelling jacket tightly and with authority. She ascended the stairs her high-heeled boots chimed on their wood. Jim smelt, a pungent mixture of rose and other sweet oils. Her weighted bag jangled as if it were filled with rocks. He murmured, “Sorry Madam” Bang! The other side of the door swung shut obscuring her outdoors.

Once the door was fixed in place, the healer entered the chapel, “Lots of bad mojo here!” With head held high and face concealed, she confidently approached the two look alike ladies and seated herself between them. She placed one warm hand on each of them. "Do you accept the Reiki?" she asked as she channelled the energy. Maree, feeling the surge of energy, leaned forward to speak to Claudia. "I'm truly sorry for taking his side and causing you pain," she said. As the energy continued to flow, Claudia nodded, "I accept your apology. I also apologize for harbouring resentment. I knew he would get you pregnant, too. I'm sorry." 

A clear chime interrupted the organ music. The pastor glanced his phone and then at the audience and noticed the large group of people entering the foyer as mist feathered and the clouds wanted to spill. His received video was from Amy, the bride. Her message read, “We will be 15 minutes late.” Her opened video revealed an image of the herself and a bridesmaid sheltered under a blue tarp, skirts held respectably high while heavy raindrops bounce around them and to-and-from the hard earth. The cameraman who was also holding the tarp spoke, “Sorry ladies just get this too!” The chauffeur had pushed up sleeves and rolled the new tyre from his boot to the jacked car, "Gonna pour soon mate"

“Yeah, mate amazing what a rogue nail can do!”

"Yer, worth a coldie later together mate!"

The camera shows a close up of the ruined, old tyre.

The pastor noticed the bride's neckline had been raised and she had adherred to the church community standards. Satisfied, he leaned in to speak to the soloist, who happened to be a close friend of the bride. She had kick-started her career on the internet, and her song had skyrocketed to fame with millions of internet hits. The local radio station even played her song, and it eventually made it to prime time. “Can you do your song now?” A little distracted and slightly nervous she placed her attention on her guitar and plucked the strings tuning them, “Yes, just give me a moment. The pastor announced to the audience, “The bride is a little late, so our very own, Charity Owens is going to start this off.” The audience ossified and distracted, clapped.

The wolf pack had an equal number of men and women. Jim smiled, “Ladies and Gentleman find your seats, the ceremony is about to begin.” When he asked the usual question about the bride or groom association, they laughed heartily. One mentioned, “All of them had been friends with the bride or groom at one stage or another.” A female chuckled, “Yer, real close friends of the bride or groom!” She poked a male in the ribs. Others raised their eyebrows and muffled more mirth. Jim sensed that their statements carried more meaning, as they seemed excessively familiar with each other, engaging in occasional physical contact.

Suddenly a Uber screeched outside, a young man using his suit coat as a rain shelter barged into the foyer. He wore dark sunglasses. The group greeted him by whistling and calling him "Peter, the holy grail." He deliberately strutted past the group, while redressing his jacket with stretched and bent arms. He glanced at both sides of the backbench. Jim wondered if he could really see anything with those shades on. Peter queried Jim, “Which side are they sitting on?” Jim shrugged his shoulders. The group smiled and pointed to the left, after which Peter entered and went right.

Peter crossed his legs and frowned, clearly displaying some internal turmoil, “Neither of them should be married,” he muttered. He pulled out his phone and swiped through his photos. His favourite, Amy and himself passionately kissing on Broadbeach Boulevard. He swiped across, where the groom was crushed against his back. They are both wore tight shorts and cowboy leather chaps over their bare legs. Peter's skin tingled and goosebumped and slightly grinned, "The pic had some energy." His Akubra hat was tilted and the groom’s Akubra flying off. Then his tightened disciplined lips, “Bloody idiot getting married again!”

Charity Owens interrupted Peter’s thoughts, “Welcome Ladies and Gents to this beautiful moment.” She turned to the audio team. She strummed her guitar in C major and then went silent as the accompanying track played a monkey grinder music. The audience clapped and whistled. Her country voice was about to soar like a bird protecting its young.

She strummed her guitar upbeat.

"We were raised to show compassion.

Oh yeah.

We were raised to be love.

We were taught to be generous,

Perhaps too much!

So when times get tough and the problems are not your own,

Remember to stay on your throne.

(Organ plays bells)

Let them,

Let them,

Say little

Let them,

Let them.

We were born with blindfolds.

We were raised to adhere.

But freedom,

Comes with a price

To carry our own weight,

To walk our own path.

So let me hear you say,

(Organ plays bells)

Let them,

Let them,

Say little

Let them,

Let them.

Everyone!

Let them be

Let them be 

Say little

And let them.

(Whispering)

Be kind, be true, love others but love yourself too.

The audience stamped, whistled, hooted and clapped. The healer raised her hands high and the energy cut all negative cords. The guru and his followers chanted their healing mantras. The pastor mouthed a prayer.

I heard the cup and saucer tingle on the bedside cupboard. As I awoke, my husband kissed my forehead. He supposed, “Are you in my dream, or am I in yours?” That was his first pick up line when he met me, the wallflower at the pub. I replied back then, as I reply now, “What is real for you is real for you!” He sat beside my rested body, “That bridal gown was a wowser!” I retorted, “She should be married now!”

"Where's Jija," I asked. "She was right there"

The bride's daughter, the flower girl, appeared at the church door. She smiled to expose two missing front teeth, "Oh Jija you decided to visit today?" She stroked the cat along her back. The organ heralded with the Bridal March. Jija trotted and the young girls courage grew as she followed the sewing ladies cat.