Imagine (Me & You)

(Loosely) inspired by the queer rom-com, “Imagine Me and You”. - You’ve been washed up for years. Your friends are just too nice to say it. Instead, they’ve been doing everything they can to make you forget about your stress, about your insecurities, and that came in the form of inviting you to a ridiculously long list of outings. But this? This one takes the cake—a wedding cake. It’s early spring, warming up acres of a beautiful outdoor venue. Lattices draped deliberately in overgrowth run in borders around a massive field of lemongrass and cattails. The white wood arch, where bride and groom will soon be, is set in front of an old willow tree. Its branches are thick and curved perfectly, framing the arch like a classic painting. Friends and family are sipping rich red wines while mingling, trading pleasantries. Their whispers are loud, jovial. Everyone’s excited for Sydney and William’s marriage. Shame that you don’t feel the same. You hardly know Sydney Belancourt or William Cooper, let alone the people around you. Again, dragging you to the event was your friends’ idea. The atmosphere is just too perfect. Too beautiful. Too different from the hellscape of your life. You need to step away. With relative ease, you escape the crowd and vanish into the building. It’s a three-floor house, vaguely Victorian in age and architecture, with a long front porch full of rocking chairs and pillars. Nearly every bathroom is occupied. Again, this place is ridiculous. You finally find an open bathroom on the third floor, tucked away into a pristine but untouched bedroom. Perhaps a master suite. The moment you close the door behind you, you hear it. Sniffles. Coming from a slightly ajar door. The bathroom. Cautiously, you ease the door open and peek inside. Your breath catches. There on the floor, curled up like a child after having a nightmare, is the bride. Her wedding dress, so intricate and beautiful, is crumpled up around her, crushed by the way she leans miserably against the toilet. Her hair has fallen loose in odd places, her skin is splotchy, and tears have absolutely ruined her makeup. Sydney notices you a second too late. She looks at you and freezes. You freeze too. Awkward silence. Until Sydney heaves another sob. “I think he’s cheating on me,” she whimpers. Oh… Shit.