IN memory of Davy Jones
When I heard the news today I commented "aww.. my 1st husband died" as it brought back a very special memory. I have been working on my Bio for a long time now and this is just a snippit of it in the middle of a chapter titled "they married young back then." AS a child I was constantly annoyed at how older people would always ask me "so are you married yet?" or "Do you have a boyfriend?." I began to think that perhaps this was the reason for going to school. My sister started school 3 years before me and thats when these annoying questions started cropping up so they HAD to be connected. In kindergaren I picked out the guy I wanted to marry, "Mark Holmes" but my mum ruined that for me (another part of the chapter.. let me kow if you want the entire chapter.. I will gladdly send it to you), so I was back on the market and my sister was busy playing cupid.
One of my biggest fears about getting Married was "singing." You see my mum watching nothing but musicals on TV so I thought that this is how life really was going to be.. at some point I would step out of the humdrum non-show tune world and into a musical at any given moment but first would come love... people always busted into song when they fell in love.... Now on with the story...
.......Though my mother has ruined my first marriage, my sister does follow through with her end of the deal a few days later. She has found me what she thinks is a suitable husband for me. The “wedding” is arranged for after school and she convinces my mom to allow her to invite a girl and her little brother over for an hour after school lets out. I am so excited I can hardly focus on my macaroni art at craft time. I run all the way home from school beating her there.
She arrives and slips into my room closing the door behind her while I try to peer around her shoulder down the hall to get a view of my husband. She does a good block cheating me of seeing him and tells me how important it is that the bride and groom NEVER see each other before the actual wedding- it is “bad luck”. We can’t have that after the Mark fiasco. Lisa goes to my dresser and pulls out one of my polyester nightgowns since it is the closest thing we have to a wedding dress on such short notice. From another drawer she removes a thin white slip. She pulls the slip over my head and then carefully back almost off so that the top of my head remains in the head hole creating a veil.
As she helps me dress she rattles on about the importance of the kiss. “The Kiss,” she says tucking wisp of my hair back in the slip, “is what seals the bond, it makes this a binding contract.” So I know that though I really dread this part, I am going to have to kiss him and I frown. I wonder if I should tell her about my fear of singing and what song I should even BE singing? If I had more time to plan then perhaps we could have agreed on a song but the way things are looking we both most likely will start singing two different songs at the same time. Maybe this is what love is… you know the song with out discussing it and sing it in perfect harmony, opening your mouth and starting without being told exactly at the same time. This is what makes a sole mate. She turns me around a few times and satisfied with her quick ensemble she ushers me into my closet to wait for my groom.
It is dark and crowed with my back pressed up against hangers. I imagine now I am the one that makes the doors budge outwards breathing. So this is it, I sighed. I was not only going to have a boyfriend but I would be married. I listened as the bedroom door opened and feet began shuffling about. I want to peek thru the crack in the doors but I can’t curse my marriage and myself like that. Not after my sister told me it was bad luck. Throats are cleared and then it begins.
My sister and the other girl start humming the wedding march sadly and off key- they are NOT sole mates. I stand stiff in the dark not wanting my veil to fall off - it is clinging to the shirt behind me but there is no room to move my arm to adjust it. They suck in air to start another course of the wedding march. By the time the 3rd course and intake of air I can hear my sister growing impatient. She slides back the closet door to tell me I am suppose to come out when they sing this song- on the FIRST course. Wow I didn’t know other people had to sing too. I wonder if she is nervous? When I still do not move she yanks me forward to the spot in the center of the room. An extremely homely looking girl with long greasy brown hair is kneeling on a chair turned backward with one of her schoolbooks acting as a bible. I guess she is the one who would be monitoring the kiss to make it official; she is our minister. I still can’t see the face of my husband. His back is to me but I note he is wearing a brown plaid dress shirt and matching slacks. His dishwater brown hair is parted on the side. No blond blue eyed babies for me. It’s a bit disappointing. Everything is happening at warp speed and as I am being flung forward my sister is also pushing me in for my first kiss. It is only then that I can get my first look at the man I will spend the rest of my life with.
His face is coming at me with wide-open eyes and the homely girl (who is his sister) pushes him forward to meet my lips. “Kiss your bride.” The lips, slick and slimy coming at me are attached to none other then David Smith the booger eater. I can’t hold back the scream that comes from deep inside me. I try to push away from him but my sister has the back of my skull in a tight grip and keeps trying to aim me towards him like the master puppeteer that she is. She has that grip my dad uses at the base of your neck down pat. David has given up the fight on his end and keeps puckered most likely waiting to experience his first kiss. Just to be sure though his sister places a hand on the small of his back and gives him a shove forward. I can’t marry this booger eater- no way so I do what comes natural to me. I begin swinging my arms madly and my hand just happens to land a sickening slap to that booger eating mouth. At this he burst into tears, stumbles backward in shock before gathering his wits dashing from the room. He is down the hall and out the front door which slams behind him before I stop screaming. His sister turns with a shrug and picks up the rest of her books and follows him calling over her shoulder how she will see my sister tomorrow in class.
“Man… he got all dressed up an everything for your big day and you just went and threw away a perfectly good wedding. We put a lot of planning into that.” Lisa says. But I explain the boogers and the joy he got out of savoring them at his desk everyday she finally understands. She wouldn’t marry a booger eater either.
The next day I come home from school to find my sister has taken some of my more boyish looking clothes and stuffed them with towels and socks to form a human like shape. Where a head should be she has cut out a picture of Davy Jones from Teen Beat magazine. I LOVE Davy with all my heart. My sister and I watch the Monkees on TV every day and do the same foot over leg walk down the hall like they do on opening credits. She says she would marry Peter and I always say I would marry Davy. Now I am. She performs a small ceremony with just us and the cat in attendance and I marry a cut out of Davy. Though I know he cannot kiss me back I am sure he would if he were REALLY there. I also know this isn’t an official marriage because I can’t give a real kiss either but I am spared the singing, which is a GREAT relief, and a load off my mind. Now if anyone asks if I have a boyfriend I can tell them yes.. I not only have a boyfriend but I am Mrs. Davy Jones.
One of my biggest fears about getting Married was "singing." You see my mum watching nothing but musicals on TV so I thought that this is how life really was going to be.. at some point I would step out of the humdrum non-show tune world and into a musical at any given moment but first would come love... people always busted into song when they fell in love.... Now on with the story...
.......Though my mother has ruined my first marriage, my sister does follow through with her end of the deal a few days later. She has found me what she thinks is a suitable husband for me. The “wedding” is arranged for after school and she convinces my mom to allow her to invite a girl and her little brother over for an hour after school lets out. I am so excited I can hardly focus on my macaroni art at craft time. I run all the way home from school beating her there.
She arrives and slips into my room closing the door behind her while I try to peer around her shoulder down the hall to get a view of my husband. She does a good block cheating me of seeing him and tells me how important it is that the bride and groom NEVER see each other before the actual wedding- it is “bad luck”. We can’t have that after the Mark fiasco. Lisa goes to my dresser and pulls out one of my polyester nightgowns since it is the closest thing we have to a wedding dress on such short notice. From another drawer she removes a thin white slip. She pulls the slip over my head and then carefully back almost off so that the top of my head remains in the head hole creating a veil.
As she helps me dress she rattles on about the importance of the kiss. “The Kiss,” she says tucking wisp of my hair back in the slip, “is what seals the bond, it makes this a binding contract.” So I know that though I really dread this part, I am going to have to kiss him and I frown. I wonder if I should tell her about my fear of singing and what song I should even BE singing? If I had more time to plan then perhaps we could have agreed on a song but the way things are looking we both most likely will start singing two different songs at the same time. Maybe this is what love is… you know the song with out discussing it and sing it in perfect harmony, opening your mouth and starting without being told exactly at the same time. This is what makes a sole mate. She turns me around a few times and satisfied with her quick ensemble she ushers me into my closet to wait for my groom.
It is dark and crowed with my back pressed up against hangers. I imagine now I am the one that makes the doors budge outwards breathing. So this is it, I sighed. I was not only going to have a boyfriend but I would be married. I listened as the bedroom door opened and feet began shuffling about. I want to peek thru the crack in the doors but I can’t curse my marriage and myself like that. Not after my sister told me it was bad luck. Throats are cleared and then it begins.
My sister and the other girl start humming the wedding march sadly and off key- they are NOT sole mates. I stand stiff in the dark not wanting my veil to fall off - it is clinging to the shirt behind me but there is no room to move my arm to adjust it. They suck in air to start another course of the wedding march. By the time the 3rd course and intake of air I can hear my sister growing impatient. She slides back the closet door to tell me I am suppose to come out when they sing this song- on the FIRST course. Wow I didn’t know other people had to sing too. I wonder if she is nervous? When I still do not move she yanks me forward to the spot in the center of the room. An extremely homely looking girl with long greasy brown hair is kneeling on a chair turned backward with one of her schoolbooks acting as a bible. I guess she is the one who would be monitoring the kiss to make it official; she is our minister. I still can’t see the face of my husband. His back is to me but I note he is wearing a brown plaid dress shirt and matching slacks. His dishwater brown hair is parted on the side. No blond blue eyed babies for me. It’s a bit disappointing. Everything is happening at warp speed and as I am being flung forward my sister is also pushing me in for my first kiss. It is only then that I can get my first look at the man I will spend the rest of my life with.
His face is coming at me with wide-open eyes and the homely girl (who is his sister) pushes him forward to meet my lips. “Kiss your bride.” The lips, slick and slimy coming at me are attached to none other then David Smith the booger eater. I can’t hold back the scream that comes from deep inside me. I try to push away from him but my sister has the back of my skull in a tight grip and keeps trying to aim me towards him like the master puppeteer that she is. She has that grip my dad uses at the base of your neck down pat. David has given up the fight on his end and keeps puckered most likely waiting to experience his first kiss. Just to be sure though his sister places a hand on the small of his back and gives him a shove forward. I can’t marry this booger eater- no way so I do what comes natural to me. I begin swinging my arms madly and my hand just happens to land a sickening slap to that booger eating mouth. At this he burst into tears, stumbles backward in shock before gathering his wits dashing from the room. He is down the hall and out the front door which slams behind him before I stop screaming. His sister turns with a shrug and picks up the rest of her books and follows him calling over her shoulder how she will see my sister tomorrow in class.
“Man… he got all dressed up an everything for your big day and you just went and threw away a perfectly good wedding. We put a lot of planning into that.” Lisa says. But I explain the boogers and the joy he got out of savoring them at his desk everyday she finally understands. She wouldn’t marry a booger eater either.
The next day I come home from school to find my sister has taken some of my more boyish looking clothes and stuffed them with towels and socks to form a human like shape. Where a head should be she has cut out a picture of Davy Jones from Teen Beat magazine. I LOVE Davy with all my heart. My sister and I watch the Monkees on TV every day and do the same foot over leg walk down the hall like they do on opening credits. She says she would marry Peter and I always say I would marry Davy. Now I am. She performs a small ceremony with just us and the cat in attendance and I marry a cut out of Davy. Though I know he cannot kiss me back I am sure he would if he were REALLY there. I also know this isn’t an official marriage because I can’t give a real kiss either but I am spared the singing, which is a GREAT relief, and a load off my mind. Now if anyone asks if I have a boyfriend I can tell them yes.. I not only have a boyfriend but I am Mrs. Davy Jones.