I loved this week’s writing class. I mean, I love every week (sadly, next Wednesday is the last installment) but this week was a bit of a breakthrough. I took a stab at writing dark comedy for the first time. I loved it.
My class is compiled of what, in my opinion, are a unique and diverse group of characters. You can briefly read about them here. Last week, after class, I had tea with the Procrastinator and a new character I’ll affectionately call Cake, because she made positively the best molasses cake in the whole world and brought it to class yesterday. What a sweetheart.
Anyway, back to last night. Our writing has been getting more intense and turning out to be somewhat of a write-therapy for a lot of us. You can read one of the most personal posts I’ve ever written on this blog here, which was born from an assignment in this very class. (Thank you for your continued supportive comments and emails.) My other class assignment, a sweet yet melancholy story about how my own mother learned of her father’s death, is here. She was only 11 when it happened.
This week’s assignment offered to options (400 words):
1. Begin the story with, “I’ve never told anyone this, but I’ll tell you…”
2. Include a burning wedding dress in the story.
I opted for… well, you’ll see below. Here is my debut at dark comedy, I think:
***
Lavender and Cigarettes
By: Sandy Braz
I had spent the night out of the apartment to avoid seeing Michael before the ceremony. “Bad luck” they called it and so I listened.
He decided it would be putting his mother out to have me spend the night at her house, so I gladly checked myself into a luxurious room at the ace hotel. His credit card.
I called Catherine, my best friend and bridesmaid. I secretly hoped she and Michael organized a surprise pre-wedding Girls Night In, to celebrate my last sleep as a single city girl. But no such luck. She never picked up the phone.
I packed one night’s worth of clothes and hailed a cab.
Something about taking my wedding dress to the hotel felt strange. I couldn’t bare the thought of toting it in a cab up Yonge Street. It would make it feel less special somehow. So I left it at home, with Michael.
Looking back, I didn’t even question why he felt I should be the one to leave the apartment that night. I guess I loved him enough not to ask.
After a hot bath in lavender oil and salts, I turned in. It was just after 9:30 p.m. I wanted to look fresh and feel prim for my walk down the aisle – 2 o’clock at St. Michael’s Cathedral. But, some time around 4:30 the morning of my wedding, I woke up in a cold sweat.
I needed the dress. I needed to see it when I woke up. I needed to know I still loved it. And him.
My uneasy heart had me hailing a cab and ten minutes later I was destined for our apartment. I asked the cab driver for a cigarette. I hadn’t smoked in five years. He handed me a Malboro and a pack of matches. “Keep ‘em”, he said. I did.
When I opened the door to our bedroom I expected to see him laying there, but not with her. Suddenly I understood why she hadn’t answered her phone.
My wedding dress hung on a curtain rod above our bedroom window, shading their naked bodies from the rising sun.
I didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t breath, let alone speak.
My hand found it’s way into the pocket of my trench coat. It reeked of lavender and cigarettes. My fingers found the matches.
I sparked one. And then another. And another and another. I lit books. I lit newspapers. I lit curtains. I lit lampshades. I lit the bed.
They woke up. Screaming.
And then, I lit the dress.
***
*If you’ve read my archives (may the gods bless you) you know how I feel about wedding dresses. If not, then click here. (and get a move on with those archives, will ‘ya!?)
Join the conversation: If you were the narrator (the betrayed woman) in this story what would you have done? Now, what if you were the fiance (the betrayer)?
Good site by Angila Neathery
Love this story – how long did it take you to come up with the idea? Did you know the ending before you started or did the idea come as you were writing? Keep it up! xo L
This…is…awesome. I love it!
Regardless of who wrote it, I think that would be the single best short story I’ve read these last 12 months (I subscribe to a couple of E-zines and a print shorts mag, buy another one a year at a time in back issues cos that way I don’t pay £4 postage on £14 in cover price, have been reading Laurie Moore on the recommendation of TKOG, buy anthologies and still…). Given that it was you, and how you feel about wedding dresses, does give it an extra kick though.
You’re right about the dress seeming more symbolic to the Bride than even her fiance, her ex-BFF, and the wedding bed to be; I’m sure Freudians would have a field day with that!
I just re-read this; hairs on the back of my neck still standing up!
Thank you a hundred times over! What a compliment (I’m afraid my head is growing by the minute here…!)
Lately, I find I’m gravitating towards shorts more and more, mainly because the style can keep up with my bouncing, random thoughts. Apparently, it’s a dying art, although I think all fine forms of writing always have a revival. Maybe this is the year the short story reinvents itself?
Question for you – what lit mags do you subscribe to? It’s a realm I haven’t explored too much and am on the hunt for recommendations.
Awesome story, Sandy! I actually didn’t see the ending coming, although you gave us hints all along the story. Beautiful writing!
great story! i love it :)
Great story. But I don’t know if I could burn the dress…all I’d be able to see was my hard earned money going up in smoke. I would have taken pictures of the 2 of them in bed together and then instead of walking down the ailse, I’d start an impromptu slideshow of the compromising pictures for all our guests while they had to stand there in front of everyone shocked. Meanwhile I would go back to the apartment and throw everything of his out on the curb…then throw a match to that.
Holy shit. I love this. LOVE. I mean, “I’d start an impromptu slideshow of the compromising pictures for all our guests while they had to stand there in front of everyone shocked.”
Sweet, sweet revenge. Nothing better.
the topic is too touchy for me to quickly formulate an answer to your questions, but as soon as i read this piece i knew i had to comment and tell you that i loved it. absolutely. and i wondered briefly where the comedy was until i got to the end and realized i was laughing. great job.
Oh and your story kinda reminds me of Lady Gaga’s music video for Bad Romance. I think she torches the place too. No wedding dress though and of course, no pants either.
Oh no not the dress too!
I know how much you love wedding dresses – that must have been a tough choice for you.
You know, it’ wasn’t, actually. I gravitated right to it. The Wedding Dress symbolizes so much in our society (don’t even get me started!) and wearing my own on my birthday is a bit of a rebellion (versus cleaning and storing it a way like good girls do) as it is fun. I didn’t realize it, but my character in the story burns the bed BEFORE the dress. Hm. The dress seems to be the big finish here and maybe it’s even more symbolic to her. I’m sure you’ve met a bride or two who loved the dress more than the guy, no? Ha!