THE GIRL IN THE PINK DRESS by Noah Peterson

I stood looking down the red carpeted isle at the beautiful bride standing on the alter with the priest. My palms were sweating, and I was very nervous. I was wearing my nice tux, and was ready to do it. I could still feel the string from the tag on the coat jacket and kept scratching my back. I was standing in the isle, and looking at the alter in a church while standing next to a girl wearing a dress, but I was not groom. I was, in my five year old eyes, an even more important person. I was the ring-bearer.

I looked into the crowd. It was a fairly small church, but it felt like hundreds of people were there. There were about seventeen old, wooden pews on each side of the isle and multiple shinning granite columns. There were beautifully painted Stations of the Cross pictures hanging on the yellow walls of the Church, and behind me in a balcony was the large choir loft. There were people singing songs getting ready to start the wedding and a huge organ in the choir loft playing along. Behind me, my mom was talking to the flower girl’s mother and catching up. They hadn’t seen each other in years. I looked behind me and asked, “Mom, when is it going to start?” “Oh, it will start soon.” Then she went back to her conversation, “So what were we taking about?”

It seemed like it had already been hours. If I had a watch I would have looked at it a thousand times. My fancy shoes were hurting my feet and I was ready to rip them of any second. I looked back up to the alter, and then to the flower girl. She smiled. I smiled. Then I looked away. I
finally looked back at her fluffy pink dress that had a blue ribbon stitched into the waist of it. Blue was my favorite color. I was wondering why my tux didn’t have any blue on it. Would I look as pretty as she does as if I was wearing pink and blue? I looked at the assortment of flowers in her hands and they were laughing at me. I was so nervous. I started playing with my fluffy pillow that was lonely without a ring. She finally after a long and quiet pause said, “Hi.” I freaked out. What was I going to say? I had a million different words spinning through my head. I knew what I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t know what I would say. These words had to be the perfect ones for the situation. What should I do? Should I nod, say hi, say hello, do nothing, run away, look to my mom for help, or say what I was thinking. In this next moment, my sisters and mother were listening to what I said, and would mock me for these eight words for the rest of my life. I looked at the flower girl and said, Don’t tickle me, touch me or kiss me.”