The Magnolia Tree

1. MAGNOLIA TREE

May 16, 2009. It may not be the best morning for it, but I’m in desperate need for some reassurance -- any kind, honestly it doesn’t matter, as long as it happens without me spending money on it.

Inside the wardrobe hangs the antique gold dress and underneath it a pair of matching high-heels. Is the head with curly blond hair on the pillow catching butterfly-dreams? Do you remember how you carved your preschool boyfriend’s name with a pin on our headboard and gave your Dad a going-away list for shoes, purses, jewelry and frangrance totalling one hundred Rand at the age of seven? Do you remember how you refused to play with toys in the sand unless it was washed? Do you remember the day you were born?

The delicate morning haze encircles me as I get into the car parked between the many cars of bridesmaids and guests. I’ve no idea where I’m going, but keep driving until I see a huge Magnolia tree to the left. Can it be? I hit the brakes; steer over the dirt road and minutes later standing under the embracing readiness of soft white and purple flowers hanging from the dark branches. With my back against the bark I watch as the morning mist draws magenta stripes against the amber sky. The bumble bee humms its permission and I open the trunk.

Johnny helps me to carry the magnolias into the kitchen, puts it into the copper can and takes my hand in his. “Are you alright, Mother-dear?” He puts his arms around me, pats me lightly on the back as the bride-to-be in pajamas enters. Her bright blue eyes and sunny smile remind us of our commitment -- nothing worse than sharing good or bad news or letting go of emotions that can wait till the next day.

Paula Hairdresser, the breakfast-bunnies and the make-up team arrive on time and turn one after the other vanity into stunning readiness. Ron and Louisa’s garden is in full bloom and the pictures taken, awesome. The wedding party adores the couple and the bridemaids literally pulls the red carpet when it’s time for the bride to get into the Limousine.

Lingering bells announce her arrival. The young bride takes my hand in hers, looks me in the eyes and says: “Let’s give a moment for my soldier brother fighting the war; for Grandma whose name I so proudly carry, the grandparents and family who wished to join us today.”

I tremble to put it mildly. Actually I have the shakes like some thirty years ago, but then again I had my Dad’s arm to hold onto and the bouquet of wild flowers from Mother. 

To the left are roses in memory of the mother of the groom. Christine calmly takes a match and lights the candle next to it, before walking the Royal Trumpet March into the future where Mike smiles, the bridal party smiles, Nicole Flowergirl smiles and so does her father on the pulpit and every guest gathered in presence or absence to celebrate the day.

I give the most gorgeous, joyous bride away.