DOWN THE AISLE I GO

By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2021

Warning: If you don't like reading transgender or related fiction, then stop reading now.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Note: I originally wrote this under a different name on a different website when I was doing some quick, just-for-fun, creative writing. It stood out, and I thought it better placed here. So, I revised it a little and tidied it up and — voila — here it is.

RT

-----000-----

I stared in the mirror.

I looked at myself.

Had you looked in the mirror, you’d hardly know that I was a hardened combat veteran. Once upon a time, long ago, I had decided to go SOF, Special Ops Forces; I had succeeded. Multiple tours in Iraq. Multiple in Afghanistan. I could not tell you the number of exercises and conferences and courses that had taken me away from my family over the years. I was now 45 years old and very different than the young, impressionable, full-of-piss-and-vinegar man who had enlisted long ago.

My absences had taken a toll. On my relationship with my family. On me. Part of me was still the soldier. Yet part of me had evolved, grown, blossomed even. I can use that sort of soft wording now. Once upon a time, I never would have.

My time away from my home and family had done something to me. I had seen a great deal of human-to-human violence. I had witnessed firsthand the consequences of abhorrence and repudiation, blasphemy and excommunication. I knew what hate looked like. I knew to my core that there’s a lot of hate in the world.

It got me thinking a lot about the meaning and importance of love. Who gives it? Who gets it? And can I love myself? Like I said, I had evolved.

I stared in the mirror.

I knew I had to do this. More importantly, I now knew I wanted to do this.

Several years ago, I swore to be true to myself, to my feelings, to my instincts, no matter what anyone else said. What I do and what I say speak for me. No one else does. Not anymore. “They say” or “those people” or “they really shouldn’t” or “that’s not right”, and all that constraining background chatter: I now ignored it. I had resolved to be true to me, to my feelings.

Now, today, there was a person downstairs waiting for me, waiting for my love, and nothing would prevent me from proudly showing it; fuck everyone else.

I glanced at watch. It was time. I heard the music start to play in the background. Pachelbel's “Canon in D Major”: standard wedding fare. I had to get going.

A final look in the mirror. I knew exactly how I looked.

I flashed my reflection a reassuring grin. Yes: this is right.

-----000-----

A few moments later, I stood in the narthex. I looked up the nave toward the chancel.

That man was there. He was smiling my way. I was no longer ashamed to say he was handsome. It had taken me sometime to orient myself that way. The fact is he was; I say it freely now; he was handsome. He was a handsome groom.

A handsome groom awaiting a beautiful bride.

I steeled myself to prepare for the slow processional march up the nave. Focus. Focus. Focus. I’m only concerned about my three-meter space; I control that; ignore everything else. I felt the adrenaline.

An arm hooked mine.

I turned to look. So plain to see: a cheery, loving smile, a smile of admiration and pure love, a smile that no caring family or loved one could ever ignore or pass off. Here I am: combat vet, long-serving soldier, tough as nails guy. Here I am: walking up the aisle at a wedding. And a part of me is thinking how lucky I am to have a supportive smile here today for me. I never would have expected it.

I never thought it would happen — this way.

I had never wished it would happen — this way.

But now it was happening — this way.

And now I wanted it too — this way.

Mendelssohn's “Wedding March” began. The congregation rose. I was buoyed by the large number that were attending. I frankly hadn’t expected so many. There had been, I sadly learnt, several declinations of invitations. And yet the seasoned soldier in me said, “Fuck ’em.”

We slowly made our way down the pews. Grins. Smiles. A few stoic looks. Splendid dresses. Business suits. A few military dress uniforms here and there; not as many as I had hoped but more than I had expected. I issued each a quick smile. My feet trembled step by step on the red carpet. My companion thankfully didn’t notice.

As we drew closer to the rector, I saw more of the groom and bridal parties.

On the groom’s side — and yes, he was in fact ‘handsomer’ the closer I got — there were his brothers, sisters, and dearest friends. I had met them all: great people, very supportive people. Very tolerant people.

On the bride’s side, I cried at the sight. On the bride’s side stood my first and second born and my ex-wife. Each looked resplendent in their wedding attire. I cast a fond and knowing glance to my ex. She smiled, wiped a tear, and nodded back.

We had confronted many challenges in our marriage. Some we had managed to work through together. Others we had not.

But on this particular challenge, we had been in unison. We had evolved to be in unison. Our love had prevailed over everything else. I understood her and she me. “Be true to yourself,” we had often said to each other and to our children.

At the second to last pew, I stopped.

My companion whose arm I held stopped too and looked at me, puzzled.

I looked at the bridal party. I looked at the groom, the best man, and the groomsmen. I turned and briefly looked at the congregation. They began to softly murmur, puzzled. All of them stared back at me.

I had known well how to be a man. I had killed people with my hands. I had destroyed things with my hands. I knew how to fight with my hands. I had blood on my hands.

Mustering every single fibre of excellence in my body, every single force of will and determination I had ever relied upon in the darkest of moments, I lifted my head to speak.

And I tenderly touched the much smaller, unstained hand that I held in my bloodied one.

Loud enough so all could hear, I spoke to my companion.

This is what I said:

-----000-----

“I am never giving you away.

“I will let this young man take you, but only after he vows to love, honor, and cherish you forever.

“As I did. And as your mother did. And as your older brother and sister did.

“You have always been loved. By us. Always. And you always will be.

“I never expected my baby boy to become my beautiful daughter, Darlene, but here you are.

“You have always been true to yourself. And to your friends and to us, your family; it’s a standard of bravery that, despite all my many accomplishments in service to this country, I will likely never attain. I am so incredibly proud of you, my super-brave kid.

“You are in so many ways my hero.

“I love you, Darlene, and nothing in the world would have stopped me from being here with you today.

“I am honored to walk you up the aisle.

“I am honored to tell everyone that you are my child, my love, my pride.

“I will let him take you.

“But I will never give you away.”

-----000-----

I cried.

My tears wetted my several medals on my tux.

Those medals never looked better.