When I was a girl, I attempted to imagine getting married to a person someday. I frequently witnessed a man and a person in their early 30s squatting in a restaurant. The collection was silent, but the woman’s lips moved, each of their tongues making the design for either language or laugh. While the female was facing her, her hands poised to cover her belly, while the woman was hunched over a mixing bowl. It must have been a combination of images I’ve seen in movies.
The person never looked like me — she was brown. I not witnessed the expression of the man.
***
I received a call from the sales associate, Haley, the night before my visit at a nearby store to try on wedding gowns. She had three things to say.
In case I wanted to bring champagne with me, I did n’t, there would be champagne flutes. How many people ( none ) would be traveling with me? And: What costume variations did I like?
I was in shock.
The business had already sent me their whole stock list via a Pinterest table, so I took screenshots of the ones I liked and texted them in accordance with their instructions.
I did not know the names of the designs I’d sent, and I resented the idea that I was supposed to.
Haley informed me that she had seen the photos.
More of darling blouses and A-line shapes, then? she asked.
I said, “I don’t know, I guess, I guess. I just like what I like.”
***
Haley posed the question, “But, did you grow up thinking about your marriage?” at the interview.
I laughed and said “No. Not at all.”
Actually, actually? She responded, shocked. “That’s so interesting!”
Julia informed me that I was about to turn six, so we couldn’t kiss anymore just before her sixth birthday.
This occurred shortly after her mother caught her and her mother snuggling up in Julia’s bathroom, or at least we thought she had. We’d instantly flung ourselves to opposing attributes of Julia’s twin bed when we heard the door moving.
What are you currently doing? Her mother laughed as she entered the doorway because, after all, she had not seen what we were up to. She was only teasing us, but sorrow wasn’t in on the joke — it was how we knew to separate ourselves, quickly. Perhaps it’s because Julia even recognized the need to put an end to what we’ve been doing.
***
I disliked buying wedding dresses because I believed I would be made visible by heteronormativity’s blazing brightness.
***
My interview with Haley was not my first effort at finding a dress. Prior to now, I had dipped my feet into the chase more conceitedly. Before deciding to not deal with the difficulties of purchasing anything online, I looked on Etsy. I shopped some non- bridal gown shops at the store, including a ring that sells prom gowns, and flipped through the racks at a thrift shop.
So we did. I detested each of them.
***
I wasn’t sure if I would even dress for my wedding. I am a girl, but my female expression often wants to become “boy”, often wants to become “girl”, and often wants to be neither. How was I supposed to be aware of what I wanted to do on a day that was taking me months and months to prepare?
Can, however, be made in such a basic way with such a wealth of tradition and such linked meaning? I began to ask myself why I wanted a wedding gown the more I considered purchasing one. Did it have something to do with Rachael’s decision to wear a match? Maybe a portion of me enjoyed the comparison. Perhaps I wanted our like to be immediately recognized by other people who were close to a gay wedding (or known a gay couple for that matter) and also by our wedding friends, some of whom were close to family members. Or even I was grasping for something familiar — an easy and consistently traditional theme — so I had just quit thinking about it.
***
We also think that getting married is a token of gratitude for our gay seniors and friends who fought and suffered for our rights. And it’s an act of gratitude to my 18-year-old soul, who sat in church the Sunday after the federal government approved wedding justice and listened as the preacher said, “Despite new policy, I want to make clear that we will never be conducting same-sex ‘marriages’ around.” It’s a gift to that girl who, with no other choice, kept listening as the congregation stood and applauded and applauded and applauded — and who could not imagine queerness as a possibility for herself.
***
Behind the receptionist’s desk, behind the receptionist’s desk, Haley smiled mouthwatering and smiled down, revealing her flawless teeth.
She showed me the dress-show room and the gallery where all the dresses hung.
“Go ahead and look around and pick some”! She spoke clearly.
Panic once more persisted.
We returned the eight dresses to the fitting room after choosing eight, which Haley thought was a reasonable number for the “first batch.” She took one off its hanger and made a donut shape out of it on the floor, so I could step inside and pull it up without tripping. She instructed me to let her know when I put it on so she could clip a row of clips down its back to fit my frame. I stepped out of the fitting room and onto a platform in front of a trifold mirror once I was sufficiently clipped.
This dress wasn’t one I imagined myself liking. Haley told me to “grab a wild card”; I had to pick it off the rack first, but it was only there. A vague floral pattern was stitched across it, and it was pure white.
I embarrassedly said, “Wow, I like this more than I thought I would.”
“Wow, really”?! Haley responded. You may like the A-line fit, then!
“Um, I guess so. .”.
“Okay, let’s try the next one”!
***
Haley looked up at me as I tried on my favorite dress for the third time.
She beamed, “I have one question for you.”
“What?” I mimicked her facial expression. I was trying to play it cool, embarrassed by my genuine excitement.
“Do you accept the dress,” you ask?
“Um..” I said. “Yes? I believe so.”
After Haley measured my hips, belly, and bust, I bought the dress.
She asked if I wanted to pose for a photo with the “say yes to the dress” sign.
I laughed and said, “Yes. My sister will get a kick out of it.”
As Haley took photos with my phone and the shop’s phone, I held the silly wooden sign and grinned.
I texted my sister and the soon-to-be mother-in-law both the “I said yes to the dress” and the “I said yes to the dress” photo. I sat in there smiling. I was so excited to let Rachael know I had chosen my dress. I imagined her wearing it, and I saw her wearing a custom suit that a Brooklyn queer designer had made for her.
We were dressing for love.
***
Maybe it becomes too serious.
***
Rachael and I will dress in love on our wedding day. Our clothing will celebrate it, regardless of what they may or may not convey or convey about us. And when we behold each other — and are beholden by everyone around us — we will see nothing but radiance.