In June, two weeks before our wedding, my fiance left me for a woman at work. She was younger, slimmer, and apparently better at sex as my fiance explained. A week later, after downing two bottles of Merlot, I texted him in a drunken haze.
<We have to pay the caterer, the venue, the band…fucking everybody>
He texted back.
<I need the engagement ring back. I will sell it and pay everyone. But not the caterer. I didn’t want Mexican food at my wedding. No way. Not paying. It’s on you>
On the day of our canceled wedding, the caterer delivered the food. I was swimming in chimichangas, flautas, and taquitos. They delivered vats of guacamole, sour cream, and salsa. I cried and cried. I then piled my plate after five shots of Tequila. I hated being me. I felt so sorry for myself. I passed out in a dish of sour cream.
When I awoke, I was wearing a big hooped dress. It was a grand dress. I was behind bars. Alone. The guards came jiggling keys. My head tilted. There was a giant wig on it. They yelled at me. In French. Three years of high school French. They said my time was up. They drug me outside. There were vast crowds. Cheering. There was a guillotine.
“To be executed, Marie Antoinette, Queen of France,” said the man in knickers.
I was a queen. Wait. I was to be executed. I was pushed to the platform. The blade awaited me.
“Wait, I’m not Marie Antoinette. I’m just a jilted bride,” I said frantically. They didn’t listen. The blade fell and slice my head off.
I awoke. I was wearing a gingham dress and an apron. My skin was black.
“Move, you nigger,” said the white man. I went onto the platform. White men bid on me. Twenty dollars. I was a slave for life. I tried to run but they caught me. My new owner whipped me. Scalding lashes.
“I’m not a slave. I’m not even black,” I yelled. I closed my eyes.
I woke up. I was back in my kitchen. Sour cream was in my left eye. I was dressed in pajamas. My skin was white.
I had a job, friends, and family that loved me. I had a savings and a house. My fiance had left me. I smiled. I would be fine. My life as a jilted bride wasn’t so horrible.