Weddings. The image of a lavishly designed chapel, filled with elegant colors and decorations. Cheerful families gathered to celebrate a sacred union and the hope of future grandchildren. Purity, innocence, and hope are in each delicate thread upon the bride's beautiful gown. The exchange of vows and glimmering rings is followed by the cheers of guests and sweet church bells. Marriage is the formal transition from one stage of life to the next and the promise for a blissful future for lovers. To hell with that shit.
One over-priced day of fancy tradition and suddenly two people have the legal and moral right to hump each other. Big deal.
I've known my life partner, my dear Shoska, for over ten years. We awkwardly met at college. For me, my sorry-ass needed help with the most basic schoolwork since I screwed around too much in high school. Meanwhile, she was back in school for her second degree. From the start I knew her type: nerdy, timid, and quick to apologize for stuff she didn't do. My total opposite. Despite her book-smarts, she was naļve enough to help edit my papers for class.
Her commitment to academics was sickening. However, during the early months of our friendship I discovered personal depths she feared to show others. She was dedicated to education because it was the only way to survive her youth. She dressed in the most adorable dresses to hide her physical insecurities. She pushed herself to the limits of her physical and mental capacities in order to hide a crippling, shameful secret.
I may be obnoxious and crazy as hell, but I have a soft-spot for shy cuties. Our personalities clash, yet the subtle similarities and ideals between us deepened our friendship to true compassion and dedication. I have a history of flirting with men and women for sport, yet Shoska made me a one-woman woman. Sure, I can't smoke after sex because of her anti-drug morals. In the end though, I'm just happy to have someone who I can share both my bed and heart with.
Marriage is fucked up. Now before I offend someone, I just mean all the legal crap that defines it as "traditional." If there was a way for my lover and me to wed with no complications I'd jump on that opportunity. Since it's not, we feel that our emotional commitment is good enough.
Nevertheless, some nights I find Shoska skimming through wedding magazines. Her fingers trace the contours of gowns while she quietly sobs. She doesn't just cry for the wedding dress she'll never wear; she mourns the womanhood she was denied. She suffers the ache of a woman's heart in a man's body. She beats herself up because she thinks she's hindering our marriage. She isn't; I am. There's no way I would ever let her conceal her identity so we could pretend to be husband and wife. My love for her isn't something that can be expressed through a marriage license.