Intermission 4: Replaced by a Bible verse
Apparently, one wedding picture of shrew and the late (ok, estranged) Mr. shrew is equivalent to 1 Corinthians 13:13. Or so thinks my mom, who replaced said wedding picture with this verse, which was printed on fake parchment paper in a tasteful font (something close to Garamond). The original picture was one in a triptych of three black and white photos of the weddings of my brother, my sister, and me. Conveniently, my wedding photo was in the center of the triptych, so it was easily replaced with the verse without destroying any balance or sense of continuity. (For those of you who didn’t have this particular verse rammed down your throat a zillion times in Sunday School, here it is: “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Yes, this was the verse read at my wedding. My mom probably doesn’t remember that.) The change is so subtle that it’s difficult to even see a difference in the arrangement of nearly 20 framed wedding photos that adorn an entire wall in my parents’ house. It’s almost as if I was never married. Hell, it’s almost as if I never existed. But you know, why exist if you’re not married.
The Wedding Wall was created after my sister got married in 2000. The Wedding Wall proves once and for all that the shrew family children are not in fact complete defects, contrary to the opinions of many WL Jr./Sr. High School jocks and bullies. They are not totally worthless because look: someone wanted to marry them. Someone can actually stand being in the same room with these losers. They got married, and can now contribute to society in the way that God intended. Look, there they are in white dresses and tuxes. Never mind the drinking, the Manic Panic, the bad grades, the useless degrees of the past. These former weirdos are FINALLY NORMAL. And, thankfully, straight. Whew!
When I got married at the ripe old age of 30, my mother sighed many audible sighs of relief, and my pictures went up onto the Wedding Wall. She could now close the door on the past embarrassment of having 3 nerdy unloved children, and move into a new future where these safely married humans would hopefully begin to spawn, saving her from further embarrassment. But what happens when one of these former losers proves that she actually never transcended loser status by getting a divorce? She becomes a Bible verse.
While I feel frustrated at being tastefully edited out of the Wedding Wall, I realize that these comments are mean. I need to say also that my mom has been really great through this hellish process. For example: number of times I’ve screamed the f-word on the phone to my mom (not in anger toward her, just in anger over the nightmare that is my life) in the last three months: 4. Number of times I’ve said the f-word ever in my life to my mom previously: 0. She doesn’t even flinch when I say it, nor when I say I never should have gotten married, never wanted to get married, etc. etc. She’s listened to me rehash the whole boring story on daily basis. She lets me say that I’m ugly, I’m horrible, I’m abusive—then tells me that I am none of these things, and she should know because she’s known me since I wore a diaper. She bought me a chartreuse love seat. She is wonderful. But she cares about what the neighbors think. And she wants everything to look pretty and perfect to prove that it must be pretty and perfect. This is the kind of thing you do if you were raised by an alcoholic.
Ok, I think the Wedding Wall shouldn’t even be there because: who cares. Yeah, we got married. Who cares. All three of us have done other things that make us happy, things no one bothers to capture on professional film. But it is there, and my wedding pictures clearly can’t be there anymore, so of course she has to take them down. And she has this really expensive frame, and she really really wants to use it, so something else needs to be in the little slot that previously held a picture of me and some guy kissing, some guy who won’t even tell me where he lives. So here are my suggestions for replacements:
1. Picture of me giving the finger.
2. Picture of me finding out that there's a John Hughes marathon on AMC. A 24-HOUR marathon.
3. The James Tate poem “Goodtime Jesus.”
4. Picture of me and my wonderful female friends kissing each other. In wedding dresses.
5. Picture of me marrying my dachshund. In wedding dresses.
6. A Cornellesque shadow box containing three marbles and a nudie picture.
7. Picture of me curled up in bed reading. Alone. Where I am happiest.
(Oh my God! I should have known that the marriage was doomed. I mean, Corinthians 13:13? It has the mark of the devil all over it.)
The Wedding Wall was created after my sister got married in 2000. The Wedding Wall proves once and for all that the shrew family children are not in fact complete defects, contrary to the opinions of many WL Jr./Sr. High School jocks and bullies. They are not totally worthless because look: someone wanted to marry them. Someone can actually stand being in the same room with these losers. They got married, and can now contribute to society in the way that God intended. Look, there they are in white dresses and tuxes. Never mind the drinking, the Manic Panic, the bad grades, the useless degrees of the past. These former weirdos are FINALLY NORMAL. And, thankfully, straight. Whew!
When I got married at the ripe old age of 30, my mother sighed many audible sighs of relief, and my pictures went up onto the Wedding Wall. She could now close the door on the past embarrassment of having 3 nerdy unloved children, and move into a new future where these safely married humans would hopefully begin to spawn, saving her from further embarrassment. But what happens when one of these former losers proves that she actually never transcended loser status by getting a divorce? She becomes a Bible verse.
While I feel frustrated at being tastefully edited out of the Wedding Wall, I realize that these comments are mean. I need to say also that my mom has been really great through this hellish process. For example: number of times I’ve screamed the f-word on the phone to my mom (not in anger toward her, just in anger over the nightmare that is my life) in the last three months: 4. Number of times I’ve said the f-word ever in my life to my mom previously: 0. She doesn’t even flinch when I say it, nor when I say I never should have gotten married, never wanted to get married, etc. etc. She’s listened to me rehash the whole boring story on daily basis. She lets me say that I’m ugly, I’m horrible, I’m abusive—then tells me that I am none of these things, and she should know because she’s known me since I wore a diaper. She bought me a chartreuse love seat. She is wonderful. But she cares about what the neighbors think. And she wants everything to look pretty and perfect to prove that it must be pretty and perfect. This is the kind of thing you do if you were raised by an alcoholic.
Ok, I think the Wedding Wall shouldn’t even be there because: who cares. Yeah, we got married. Who cares. All three of us have done other things that make us happy, things no one bothers to capture on professional film. But it is there, and my wedding pictures clearly can’t be there anymore, so of course she has to take them down. And she has this really expensive frame, and she really really wants to use it, so something else needs to be in the little slot that previously held a picture of me and some guy kissing, some guy who won’t even tell me where he lives. So here are my suggestions for replacements:
1. Picture of me giving the finger.
2. Picture of me finding out that there's a John Hughes marathon on AMC. A 24-HOUR marathon.
3. The James Tate poem “Goodtime Jesus.”
4. Picture of me and my wonderful female friends kissing each other. In wedding dresses.
5. Picture of me marrying my dachshund. In wedding dresses.
6. A Cornellesque shadow box containing three marbles and a nudie picture.
7. Picture of me curled up in bed reading. Alone. Where I am happiest.
(Oh my God! I should have known that the marriage was doomed. I mean, Corinthians 13:13? It has the mark of the devil all over it.)
posted by Julia Story at 7:47 AM
4 Comments:
You have the rare faculty of being charming when you are angry, or of writing in charming ways about it, at least.
Does a picture exist of you giving the finger? If not, let's make one immediately.
Likewise the other portraits, of kisses and dachsunds. I have a wedding dress and a camera, and am happy to participate in the project.
You must get out of there, immediately. I miss you, I miss you. Marriage can be a word in the dictionary again. I promise.
I found a dachshund wedding dress online (I'm not kidding.) I still have my wedding dress--I think a portrait is in order. Would you two be bridesmaids?
I know, I SO need to get out of here. It is on the horizon, as are many other things...including a life with less anger. I gotta get it out now, though. Thank you, reader-friends, for allowing me to dump my bitterness here. I do feel it receding.
I found a dachshund wedding dress online (I'm not kidding.) I still have my wedding dress--I think a portrait is in order. Would you two be bridesmaids?
I know, I SO need to get out of here. It is on the horizon, as are many other things...including a life with less anger. I gotta get it out now, though. Thank you, reader-friends, for allowing me to dump my bitterness here. I do feel it receding.
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