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dress

2025-06-08 09:17:00, Kulturë Agim Xhafka

dress

When I told Cale that on my wedding day I was wearing a dress, he put his hand on my forehead. According to him, I was talking nonsense. I didn't tell him because no one would believe me. But here's the truth. I, the groom, wore a dress that day. And not one, but several. I looked...hahaha, a star, my late mother used to say. Here's how it happened.

I met my only wife at the faculty. Since the first year we connected, fell in love, got engaged. Then we spent four years swimming in honey. When we finished our studies we thought about getting married. But it was not said. When the appointments came, I was assigned as a teacher in the Korça area, my future wife in the city of Lezha. That's where her father had been transferred.

So our dreams were shattered. But we had to get married so that the ministry could bring us both together in the same area. We agreed, the bride there and we there, and we started the preparations. With friends and acquaintances, we managed to book the “Dinamo” bar, a pub that was filled with park drivers in the afternoon when they returned from work.

Later, since my father had worked at “Birra Korça”, he found that out of the four crates of beer that was the norm for every wedding, he would set aside six. It was called a big win, a guarantee that the marriage would be full of fire, gas and joy. My brother from Pogradec promised a few bottles of “Moskat” or “Perla” brandy, I don’t remember now.

We found the meat with the authorization given to us by the neighborhood council after we brought proof that Agim, Alajdin's son, would be getting married to Nataša, Kristo's daughter, on July 15. We were like triumphants because things were going well for us.

I was in seventh heaven, they say. I told the post office and my future wife when I went to call her. I didn't ask her about her preparations because her father worked in the committee and quickly wrapped things up. The days flew by, the wedding was coming and the bomb dropped on us three days before:

"Did you get the dress? Is it beautiful?" Tasha asked me on the phone.

I stayed for a few moments. I couldn't figure out which dress.

"The groom brings the bride's dress, that's the tradition," she explained to me.

Run home. I told my mom.

"Cuckoo, we forgot the main thing," she said, put on her slippers, and flew away.

I don't know where, but after an hour she came with her aunt and some wedding dresses. She was carrying them, her sister had thrown the long tails over them. The conversation started, this star, this one is the most beautiful, this one is from America, this one from Italy, that one from Greece.

In fact, they were beautiful. They made me feel that the bride's dress is the bride herself, the wedding itself, the symbol of such a special day that most people only experience once. I agreed on the Italian one. It was white, but inside it had a little blue color, as if it was sewn to fly among the clouds.

"Put it aside and fold it well so that when Gimi leaves for Lezha tomorrow, he doesn't crumple it in the taxi," said the father.

After these words I came to my senses. Wow, the day has come, tomorrow I would leave with my uncle to take my heart and soul and bring it straight to the "Dinamo" bar. My chest started to beat rapidly. I was also homesick because it had been two months since we last met. Without seeing each other in the eye and without... My aunt interrupted my dream:

-My lady, is he making this dress for Tasha? Is it tight or loose?

Mom grabbed her cheeks and her eyes almost popped out. Silence gripped us. But as always, I was like me. I grabbed my dress, ran into my parents' room. I stripped down to my panties without straps and quickly fucked inside the dress.

I slipped into the whiteness. I saw myself in the wardrobe mirror. An elegant boy who, if I had put red on my lips and something on my chest, would have been attacked by the neighborhood boys. So I came out all farted and...

"Wow, wow, wow! What a beautiful dress," everyone said.

"You're stupid," Mom laughed.

The serious sister sealed it:

-Make the bride a dress. Gimi and Tasha have the same body.

The next morning found me on the other side of Pogradec. And in the afternoon we arrived in Lezha. As we approached the palace, the orchestra started playing. I left my uncle in front and walked behind him with the dress in my hands. As we entered, I left Tasha and the conversation with my father-in-law to my mother-in-law, who was in the room where the dress was being tried on. After a few minutes, the real bride came out.

Tall, beautiful, elegant, enveloped in a luminous whiteness and amidst a happiness that flowed from her eyes, from her lips, from her words. Until dawn the orchestra did not stop. I saw the bride and felt that I was fainting from impatience.

Waiting until tomorrow is torture. But I had no middle ground. I entered the flow of customs, of tradition.

After a few days we went to Pogradec for our honeymoon. There I told him:

-I was the first to try on the wedding dress, because we have one body, one soul.

She laughed:

"I know. And we have one heart," he told me.

And he kissed me. Because in those days, our days went by in a flash. And the nights too./ CNA