Devonne Brown

Say yes to the dress. There’s power in the dress. I remember my sister standing in the dressing room as she stepped into the puddle of white satin on the floor. The puddle became an armor of white. Bridal white. 

At twenty-three, I was reluctant to get a wedding dress. I couldn’t bear to go into a bridal shop, not even the bridal department at the Diamond Department Store. I’ve never set foot into one to this day. A white wool suit was the closest I came to a white wedding dress. I wore a pink silk shirt under the jacket that had a bow tie collar for my first wedding. I was too young. It was a mistake. Maybe if I had let the power of a wedding gown take hold of me the marriage may have lasted. 

No, I still don’t see it. I saw where my first husband died last winter. It felt weird to know that it would have been over, and freedom would finally have come. He was better off without me. According to his obituary, his life was full with children, grandchildren, and lots of love.  I wouldn’t have made it through with him. 

My sister’s marriage is solid. She has grandkids and granddogs, and confusion, and chaos in her life. They watch ballgames and organize their lives around each other and for each other.  Something I tried for a bit and couldn’t hold together.

My first marriage was an attempt at atonement. I’ve always known that, but never said it to anyone. It was meant to right a wrong, to cure a transgression. It was the worst reason in the world to get married. The loneliest day of my life.