The Politician

The Assignment - Write a scene in which a character speaks politely or enthusiastically but whose thoughts run in strong contradiction. Characterize the listener by appearance, action and dialogue.

She sat there, transfixed by her own reflection in the mirror, preparing for what was internationally recognized as "the biggest day of her life". A day only to be eclipsed by the birth of gorgeous, bouncing, bundles of baby joy, as has been repeated to her by generations of women far and wide her entire 26 years. Yup, there she sat. The Bride. Covered in what felt like miles of silk charmeuse, freshly manicured and pedicured in a color that only seemed natural to beauty pageant contestants, southern debutantes or corpses, coiffed within one inch of her life, waxed the remaining half inch, dieted a.k.a. starved for the past 6 months and wearing what felt like 10 pounds of wire and straps they called corsets (more like 21st century chastity belts undoubtedly created by men). Without a knock, a flock of women exploded into the room rushing towards her like an out of control cotton candy machine - pastel yards of fine tulle, silk, chiffon, satin and - tumbling over itself to catch a glimpse of the bride on her "special day".

"OHMYGOD! Isn't she GORGEOUS!!!" squealed a woman covered in a pale rose version of the same silk charmuese. She leaned over with an undeniable bounce to embrace The Bride with squeak and a giggle.

Crinkling her nose and bringing her hands together in front of her face like a good girl, The Bride smiled back.

"What was I thinking picking THAT color?" she wondered horrified at the site in front of her.

"Simply a picture" gasped and older woman standing before her, hands clasped, as if admiring a work of art in the finest museum.

"I have never seen a more beautiful bride," wept her mother into her Great Grandmother's handkerchief.

"There goes my something old..." she sighed internally, but smiled politely at her mother.

She was hoping that her mother would noticed the sadness in her eyes, shoe everyone from the room and have that mother daughter talk she had always wanted, longed for. The one that started with "Is everything alright darling? Are you sure you want to do this?" where she would then burst into tears, confess her dreams of travelling the world, learning Portuguese while sipping Ribatejo in a tiny fishing village, going diving in the Great Barrier Reef, photograph lions in Kenya, learn to sew, compose her first novel while sleeping with countless beautiful, shallow men for the sake of her art among other frivolous adventures.

"Isn't the fabric of her dress simply decadent" her mother coos.

No dice.

"We had it flown in from Milan. Only the best for our special girl" her mother beams. This was WAY more about her mother than it was her. But frankly, aren't all weddings?

"Darling?" her mother quietly asks turning toward her

"Yes?" The Bride looked at her breathless with anticipation. Could she be wrong? Did her mother see inside her fragile shell?

"Are you happy?" she asked

Silence.

"Darling? Are you ok" her mother’s face changed from one of excitement to concern.

Silence.

"DAMMIT! Why won't I speak?!" she scolded herself.

"I'm wonderful, mother. Happy as can be. This is the best day of my life." she smiled widely, like a perfect bride on the eve of her most special day.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!?" she shocked even herself.

Her mother, visibly relieved, lovingly placed her hand on one side of her daughter's cheek and leaned down to kiss her forehead and said "I'm so happy for you my darling". With that she pivoted around to face the assembly and suggested that they give The Bride some peace and quiet before the festivities begin. As quickly as they rushed in, they were gone. Her mother's was the last face she saw before the door closed with a firm thump. Again, silence.

Just then, visions of Runaway Bride with Julia Roberts and verses of Eat Pray Love began to swirl in her head.

"Isn't Julia Roberts suppose to star in that too?" she thought "God, life according to Julia Roberts movies, how pathetic is that?" she joked to herself while inspecting her lipstick, trying to break the tension.

"It's just nerves." she assured herself.

"No it's not" said a voice she recognized, yet unfamiliar.

Scanning the room feverishly, she realized that the gaggle had all departed.

"Ok, now I'm just going nuts" she dabs yet another layer of powder on her impeccable face.

"No you're not" the voice insisted.

"Who...What..." she tentatively asked.

"You" the voice replied "I am You.'"

"And YOU are telling me that I'm not going crazy?" she scoffs.

"The truth of who you are is never crazy" the voice calmly explained.

"My Truth. My truth is that I have a room full of guests and family and vendors and wedding planners and my childhood priest..."

"What about David?"

"What about him?" she argued

"You didn't mention him."

"That goes without saying" she brushes off.

"Does it?"

"Are you saying I don't care about David?!" she gets defensive

Silence.

"Because I do, he's a wonderful, caring, loving, beautiful man. He loves me. He's good for me. Everyone wishes they WERE me."

Silence.

"Hello? Are you still there" she asks agitated at the nerve of...herself.

Silence.

A knock at the door interrupted her thought. A woman with a silver bob, a clip board and a walkie talkie slowly enter the room. It was Yvette, her wedding planner. She hears the refrains of Pachabel's Cannon and the soft chatter of her 200 guests in the background.

"It's time" Yvette smiled.

Yvette must have seen hundreds of brides just like her. With doubts. With mixed emotions. For a moment she contemplated confiding in Yvette. She fantasized making her an accomplis to her planned escape. You know the one. There are countless movies, books and even television commercials all about it - the bride runs through the front doors of the church, veil caught in the wind, diving into the first cab/limousine/convertible driven by a gorgeous mystery man that crosses her path, to ride off into the sunset with her newfound freedom, the world at her feet.

"Ok Julia. Get a grip. Everyone wishes they were you. " she shook herself back to reality.

She got up, smiled widely, grabbed her bouquet with the extra white lilies because they were her favorite, and followed Yvette out of The Bride's Room to the front of the church where she stood behind the intricately carved oak doors.

"I CAN have it all AND be a wife, right? RIGHT?!" she pleaded with the voice in her head.

Silence. Except for the collective sound of the congregation drawing to their feet at those heavy wooden doors swung open, welcoming her to her life.

As she glided up the aisle, Portugal, Kenya and the beautiful, shallow men dropped away like discarded toys on Christmas morning - replaced by newer models, new adventures and new dreams. She glanced over at the adoring man on her right who gave her hand a little extra squeeze. He loved her. She was lucky.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here..." began her childhood Priest.

"Oh God help me..."