In All Reality - I can’t be a rockstar…so I do this instead.

It’s no secret to anyone who knows me (even vaguely) that my life has changed substantially within the last year or so. I had never considered myself unhappy; I’ve been fortunate enough to have fantastic friends throughout the years, a supportive and loving (if somewhat eccentric) family, the blessing of a keen intellect, a stable upbringing, financial common sense, etc. etc. The list continues on to the point that I start to become vapid and lose the humility I strive so carefully to cultivate.

That being said, I was unhappy… whether I knew it or not. I spent most of my college years in a relationship that everyone but myself knew was going nowhere. There were fights, there were good times, there was ambivalence – the details are unimportant. I knew what an ideal relationship should be, and this wasn’t it. I felt like a hopeless romantic, and was teetering on the point of coming to terms with a reality in which love is just another imperfect facet of a flawed existence.

I’m rambling here. I want to describe my wedding day.

Fast forward to 2008. Relationship has been on the rocks and is finally over. I’m working a job I see going nowhere but can’t leave because I absolutely love the family of friends I’ve developed there. One in particular. Brenda and I had worked together for roughly two years, becoming very close friends. Best friends. More than friends. Everyone but us knew we were destined to be together in the type of relationship that makes other people’s teeth rot from the cuteness – the same people who, of course, knew my previous relationship was heading to the landfill.

The series of events that led to the day I am laboriously attempting to even try to describe are legion – saved some day for our children and grandchildren. On September 1^st, 2008 at roughly 12:15ish AM I proposed to Brenda after a wonderful party with all of our friends at the townhouse I lived in at the time. A little over a year later, on October 17^th, 2009… we were married. Let me describe that day:

Like most important events in our all too brief lives, our wedding day arrived at once much too quickly and after what seemed an eternity of planning. Flowers had been ordered, food prepared, expensive and uncomfortable garments leased for ridiculous prices, friends and family briefed, cameras readied, cakes baked, rehearsal dinners consumed, and money spent, money spent, money spent. We were frugal, but also keenly aware that we only intended to do this once. It wasn’t going to be big, it wasn’t going to be lavish, but it was going to be ours.

The day started oddly. I had spent the night in the guest bedroom because of the strange idea of waking up next to my imminent wife-to-be and languidly saying “Good morning, dear… shall we get married today?” A good friend of ours who would be an usher had stayed the evening on the couch after he and I had consumed a nontrivial amount of wine (beer in his case), recalling old times, weird co-workers, and general philosophy. I awoke to the sound of Brenda knocking on the door, telling me she loved me, and that she would see me in a little while.

Our friend, Eric, went off to run some pre-event errands while I bathed and groomed hurriedly in an attempt to make to time get my car washed so I could pick Brenda up in it at the end of the day. I went to Auto Magic where the salesman on duty tried to sell me the full package. I waved him off with a grin and said “I’m in a bit of a hurry… getting married today. She won’t care what the inside looks like. Probably won’t care what the outside looks like either.” I pulled on through and spent the next 30 minutes contemplating the buying decisions of the owners of the cars that rolled through the wash through the large windows inside, out of the cold. The day was overcast and windy, but not insurmountably so. I thought about the past, the road – sometimes rocky – that Brenda and I had traveled and reflected on how lucky I felt to be standing here, fidgeting while I waited for my car to be made presentable for the most important day of my life.

I drove to the church, which had been the subject of much discussion in the planning phase. It was not our home church but one that we held only loose associations with, largely to do with their college student ministry and our involvement therein. Entering in through the main doors I stared up into the space of the atrium and, much like the night we made the decision to have our wedding here, banished all thought of this day of days being held anywhere else. The church proper was beautiful, a modern testament to the love of people for God and his blessings in return. And what the reception area had in Gothic architectural appeal, the sanctuary matched in the classical wonder of its stained glass, stone, and wood facades.

Much of the next few hours until immediately before the ceremony is a blur. Brenda and her entourage were getting ready in the bridal suite located below the sanctuary, while I spent a brief period of time pouring myself into a tux and then relaxing in the downstairs lounge. Relatives came and went, jokes were made in the vein of “It’s not too late to back out now.. ha ha!”, stories were shared, and we generally attempted to keep the nerves and boredom from consuming us. There was ping pong. Some pictures were taken. And then the time came. I and four of my closest friends were standing behind the side door to the sanctuary, ears straining to hear if the processional tune had been struck up. Brian, our minister, looked around to us and said “Here we go.”

I only remember clearly two items after that. The first was Brenda, walking down the isle on the arm of our friend Kyle… grinning at me. She had purposefully kept her dress a secret, and the amazing beauty of it – of her – was well worth the wait. White strapless, with burgundy floral workings up the bodice, completed with the perfectly arranged bouquet of orange calla lilies. Second, I remember our kiss. It wasn’t unique or even particularly memorable in itself, but I remember understanding that this marks the beginning of what will hopefully be a very, very long journey together.

And then we’re running down the spiral stairs to the bridal suite, stopping to stare at each other for a moment, kiss, hug, breathe… and now back up. Pictures must be taken! The government document that allows us to get married (I’m still angry about that whole pretense) must be signed! Hugs must be given! Congratulations received! We cut the pictures short because we just didn’t care anymore; we wanted to see our friends, talk with the family, eat our freaking cake we paid for.

The cake was fantastic. So was the food – Qdoba catered in. I don’t remember much of it in detail except a profound irony that we had paid for all of this food and that I really wasn’t hungry at all, and that we wouldn’t be able to eat the leftovers because we would be in Chicago on our honeymoon. A bouquet was thrown at some people, and I flung a garter belt at some suspiciously eager male peers – a product of the thankfully bygone practice of needing proof that the marriage has been consummated.

We talked. People ate. People left. Our parents gathered up the ridiculous amount of gifts we had received, to be dropped by our house at a later time. I pulled the gleaming Mustang around, we got in the car, and left. I remember holding hands on the way home. We always do that when we drive, but I took particular note of it now. We laughed at the absurdity of the frenetic activity of the day, all so we could come home to a house we already lived in and prove to the world what we already had long known in our own hearts. I’ve forgotten a lot of the little details, but the end result is the same. I had married my best friend that day.