The groom looked handsome, even though his suit was a full size too big. But naturally most of the focus was on the bride. Her hair, her makeup, her heart rate, her fluid intake.
Her nurses doubled as her bridesmaids.
Because both sets of parents had signed the consent forms, the marriage was legally valid. It was a formality, a kindness, to allow these teenagers a “real” wedding. It imbued the event with a genuine sense of gravitas. “See, children? You’re not just playing dress up! No, of course not! You’re legally married, in the eyes of the state!” Such was the subtext, which everyone understood.
No one—least of all the bride and groom—expected the marriage to last a month. The vows were real, the way a rain shower is real.
But then the experimental drug did a remarkable thing.
Two years later, he asked her for a divorce. But because they shared a sense of humor, he did it in public, offering her an empty ring box and a pen.
“Yes, oh yes! A thousand times yes!” The onlookers clapped and cheered.
You had to admit, it was a badass way to celebrate beating cancer.
Alaina Hammond is a poet, playwright, fiction writer, and visual artist. Her poems, plays, short stories, philosophical essays, creative nonfiction, paintings, drawings and photographs have been published both online and in print. @alainaheidelberger on Instagram.