Wedding Bazaar

            I was twenty-one when my parents took me to the wedding bazaar. They brought our grizzled reverend and wove through the trampled grass paths until we reached the appropriate amphitheater for my family’s status.
            Uncertain girls would appear on the platform between beaming parents.
            “Starting dowry 2000! Fluent in French! Great heritage!”
            The reverend whispered in my father’s ear as hours passed and marriage after marriage was purchased.
            He pointed, our bidding card was raised, a restrained applause rippled out, and that was that.
            The next time I saw her was at my wedding. Finally, that night, we felt relieved.