Betrothed

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I called Cameron to come get me when my car didn’t start the morning we were to be married. No way was I going to take a taxi in my full-skirted dress. My best friend, Kristine swore him seeing my dress before the ceremony was a bad idea. She told us, “Don’t you dare do that. It’s supposed to be bad luck.” We didn’t think the superstition would get us in trouble, but  basically Kristine cursed us.

That woman never opened an umbrella inside, avoided ladders and black cats at all costs, and constantly knocked on wood. She believed all those old stories her grandmother told her as a kid. She even had bottles sticking up from stunted limbs on a dead tree in her backyard to ward off evil spirits. I laughed at her silly beliefs every time I heard the glass clinking together outside her kitchen window.

That was back when we were friends. Without being especially maudlin, the rest of my story must be told.

Kristine loosely predicted my demise. Cameron picked me up in his fully restored ‘67 Ford Mustang that we meant to drive away from the reception and take on our honeymoon. It was such a beautiful car – a dark moss green convertible. He loved that car, but I hated how he drove it.

The change in plans threw off the schedule, so we were running late. Cameron put “the pedal to the metal,” as usual. He always drove too fast in the ‘Stang. That last big curve on the way into town is what ended it all, my life anyway.

The top was down, so the wind was whipping my freshly coiffed hair. I reached to grab a hat out of the back seat in hopes of salvaging my hairstyle. Layers of toile in my gown flew about, and errant material caught in Cameron’s sunglasses. It blocked his eyes from the road and ultimately caused the crash that killed me. My ejection from the car coincidentally took his new $300 Versace shades with me. He never found them, and I can’t say that I’m sorry.

My dress was ruined, too. I couldn’t even be buried in it.

To be blunt, I think Kristine jinxed me.

She was at the hospital to console Cameron after my death. She comforted him and nursed him back to health. I know her methods, so I wasn’t surprised when they fell in love so quickly. He’s such a tool.

The ceremony was in Vegas, what there was of it. I’d hardly call a drive-through chapel a proper location for a wedding service, though. The Mustang was totaled, so it took place in Kristine’s car instead.

I bet she even carried the rabbit’s foot keychain from her grandmother for “something old.” Maybe her luck will run out if she didn’t find something borrowed or blue. I can only hope.

***

The Studio 30+ writing prompt “supposed to be bad luck” came from Joe at Mostly Harmless Drivel.

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9 Comments

Filed under fiction, writing

9 responses to “Betrothed

  1. Kir Piccini

    Oh. OH! I am a bit superstitious myself, but I don’t like how this story ended. No, not at all.
    (Well written Katy. I liked her voice and the pacing of it.)

  2. I really enjoyed this read. Nice touch. Something blue might have ben the guy’s bruises from the accident.

  3. Kim

    “He’s such a tool.” I love that line. Very evocative piece, Katy.

  4. I think this calls for a lengthy haunting of good ol’ Kristine and Cameron. Your story reminds me of Isadora Duncan. The 1920s dancer who died while riding in a convertible… her long scarf got tangled in the rear wheels and strangled her.

    • That’s vaguely familiar to me, Tara. I’m going to have to look up Isadora’s story.

      As for the haunting … that sounds like a splendid premise. Cameron deserves a good punch by somebody still living, too. Maybe the unnamed narrator’s sister!

  5. Pingback: Coincidence | katy brandes writes

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