Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Three Hundred and Ninety-Eight

I had shiny red shoes, with buckles, for my cousin’s wedding. I remember it was cold and holding Dad’s hand tight. 

The church smelled mouldy and old, and the organ sounded wheezy and off key.

Nothing happened for a very long time. Then a man in a white dress came from somewhere and started to talk in a voice that came through his sharp blade of a nose.

I didn’t understand what he said, but Dad looked down at me.

“We can go home now.”

It was ten years before I understood that that wasn’t what weddings were usually like.

©jj 2019

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