I know it was Ireland, though I've never been there. It was all hill, uniformly green and treeless, and the sky grey, thick fog obscuring the horizon. I knew I was going to marry Chris, and felt little more than tired resignation at the thought of it, as though this was something I had to do and didn't care enough to rebell against. I was dressed formally in an ivory gown with a full skirt, and walked alone to a rough stone church, not sure where I was supposed to be, feeling vaguely that I was arriving late. Inside, the church was full with relative strangers, all in casual clothes - jeans, t-shirts, sneakers. They were milling around, talking to each other quietly, and no one paid any attention to me. Eventually, I realized a line was forming outside the church for the procession.
Outside in the fog, I felt a mild panic, realizing that there was no one to give me away. I said this out loud, and a woman turned to me and said, "Of course there is. Your father will give you away." My father stepped from the line, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, and I stood beside him. As we walked towards the door of the church, a young girl, about twelve years old in a thin dress ran up to me and said, "Don't forget this." She handed me a veil, attached to a large hair comb. I tried to push the veil into my hair as my father and I walked into the church, but was having a miserable time at it. It wasn't until I had reached the front that I finally locked it into place.
There was a plain stone altar, empty, in front of me. No priest. Chris stood to my right, distantly, not looking at me, dressed as casually as everyone else. We were married - I just knew that it had been done, and he kissed me, and it was a hollow kiss. I pulled the veil out of my hair and dropped it, looked down at myself and realized I was wearing a grey t-shirt with my wedding skirt. I felt a loss, a tired sadness, and then the dream ended.