Daddy

A life long dream when you're a kid is nothing. It had been your life long dream when you were six to conquer the ice cream mountain at the shoppe down the block. You'd ended up with a tummy ache, caramel smeared lips crying out to your daddy as he hoisted you into his arms and carried you home. 

When you were a teen, you had claimed it was your life long dream to become a performer. Your parents entertained the notion and sent you off to summer camp, and you stood on that final stage, fingers clamped onto that microphone like it was the only thing holding you upright. Your stomach began to gurgle, and you upchucked on daddy's shoes as he crouched in the front row, getting your big debut on film. 

Fast forward a decade. You're twenty three, and this time you mean it. It's your life long dream to find your happily ever after Prince Charming, and marry him in a wedding so perfect that the heavens will open up to a chorus of angels singing out in glee. You've pawed through all the bridal magazines, dog earring so many pages you could mistake your desk for a kennel. Every detail has to be immaculate. You've changed your mind on the bouquet three times, but you settled on an array of cornflowers, because it matches the blue of your fiancé's eyes so perfectly, and it has to be perfect. 

Choosing the caterer was an endeavor. You've subsisted off of grapes and diet cola, trying to squeeze your body into that glove you call a dress, and he's throwing plates of pasta under your nose. Your fiancé takes a forkful, and you can hear them moan in pleasure as the sauce catches on their lip. You swipe your thumb across and you lick it clean, and dang, it tastes good. You clean your plate and excuse yourself to the bathroom before it can hit your hips.

Your dress is bedazzled to the nines, glistening in the sunlight. Your seamstress has spent hours tailoring it to your every curve, propping you up on a pedestal to adjust the hem as you debate between kitten heels and stilettos, because your mate is so tall, and if you strain too far to kiss them, you'll trip, and this day has to be perfect.

You've been dreaming about this for years.

You hum to yourself as your hairdresser applies highlights to your hair. Here comes the bride, you hum, and she glances down at your finger, jealous of the rock that weighs it down. Two months salary. Nothing too expensive for their precious wife to be. 

"Four more days," you sigh, twisting the gem to face front. Four more days until your life long dream becomes a reality.

But then what? You're twenty three, and life doesn't end when your dream does. And if it does, well, until death do us part is going to be awfully short lived. Maybe you can strike a deal with the Reaper?

"You're going to look amazing."

The days blur past, and it's the day. THE day, capital letters, because it's too important to not. It's too important for it to be as overcast as it is. You're wearing white, for goodness sake, at an outdoor wedding, with 100 chairs on the lawn, waiting for that forecasted sun to poke its head out of the clouds. 

An hour passes, but the weather does not.

"It's not supposed to rain until tomorrow." You sigh, letting your shoulders droop. 

"Everything will be fine," they promise you. Taking your hand for a brief moment, they kiss it. "As long as we are together, everything will be fine."

You've waited all your life for this. You don't want fine, you want perfect. And to eat some real food, because all these grapes are making you woozy, and you've been dreaming about that pasta for weeks.

You head to the changing room to look in the mirror. Your reflection looks positively divine, hair twisted into a chignon, sequins cascading down your sides. The reflection smiles, and she looks like she means it, but you know that you don't, and that it's all an illusion. Your nerves are bungled. You want your daddy. If he could hold you in his arms and tell you everything you need to hear, squishing all the fabric that he would try to fluff back up before running out of the room to cry, because his little girl is all grown up- man, how you need that.

Your maid of honor knocks on the door.

"You ready?"

A string quartet plays the wedding march as you carry the urn down the aisle. You always dreamt that daddy would escort you, but the shoe is on the other foot, and you're escorting him, or what is left of him, to the altar. Straightening the affixed bowtie, you set him down on the chair in the front row. A tear pools in your eye. 

When your mate says I do, you leap to kiss them. They stumble backwards, catching themselves to lean right back into you. Now's the time for the heavens to open. 

The angel choir sounds a lot like rain. It's a soft drizzle, and your guests want you to wrap things up so they can duck for cover under the reception tents. You release their lips and let that tear finally drop.

"I think your dad is crying tears of joy," they whisper. You laugh, looking up to the sky, wondering just how waterproof your mascara is. It's not, you learn, and let it streak down your face. 

The thing about lifelong dreams is that they evolve. You learn that you're going to have to tackle the mountain together. You learn that you hate being in front of huge crowds. Well, unless you're too busy staring into the eyes of the person you've devoted your life to, because you don't even sense the audience until your nephew yells out "can we get this show on the road?" as you laugh and run down the aisle, dodging a slippery patch in the grass.

So yeah, maybe you achieved your life long dream of marrying Prince Charming. What comes next? Another dream?

Perhaps just an addendum. The ultimate dream.

Live happily ever after.