Oh, what a night!
It was 11:00 PM and the four of us were there, at the Cambridge City Hall to witness history. One rarely has the opportunity to witness history, and I wasn’t going to miss it.
I acquired gaudily sparkled roses, 3 dozens of them, to give to the prospective newlyweds; the roses were festive and colorful and cheerful, I found them fitting.
The licensing of the first gay marriage to be legally allowed in the US was about to begin.
And they came, the 250-odd couples who wanted to marry. Regular people, ones you see every day on the street.
And we cheered, and sang, and screamed our joy and love and collective triumph; and we whistled and stomped and waved banners and flung (cooked) rice.
At my suggestion, Dusky and Erica went to the very front to give the flowers to the affianced; I felt the two very attractive girls would make “good copy”, that is look appealing to the ubiquitous news and TV cameras; Chris and I stayed a bit further to the rear, still within full sight of the stairs leading into City Hall, into the coveted marriage certificate few dreamed would be possible.
We turned fanatical every time one of the couples made their way up the stairs; it was a most moving experience, witnessing their faces, sensing their elation.
One couple carried a sign saying “49 years together”; they carried it humbly, happily, unassumingly, and a girl behind me burst into tears as they gradually made their way up the stairs. There they stood, two older gents who have loved one another for nearly half a century, through inconceivable (to me) trials and tribulations, and spoke unpretentiously to the reporters.
But my personal highlight was a woman in her early 30’s. As she was ascending the stairs, her expression was one that I cannot describe: Serendipitous happiness… Unanticipated triumph… Joy and love and gratitude that overwhelmed her… and me… I told Chris that this expression alone is worth the night for me, and I will forever remember her and hope for her marriage to be as sweet and as happy as her face showed that moment.
I got goose bumps, deliciously standing my hair on end as this inexpressible, deep moment passed; Chris said he wished I could see the back of my neck; my hair was standing on end there, too!
The police were in full riot gear, but the only threat the newlyweds faced was being smothered by ecstatic, loving, joyous people who wished to shower them with kisses, hugs and adoration. The protesters were somewhere across the street, a forlorn bunch who carried signs which included tolerant lines such as “God hates fags”. I discovered Chris had a vigilante streak in him, as he manfully controlled his urge to show those protesters just what HE thought of them. But they were a very, very minute blot on a wonderful night, completely forgotten as supporters flooded the streets, and anything that projected slightly above the ground, such as a tree, was soon climbed upon by eager, jubilant supporters.
I’m not overly optimistic that narrow-mindedness and intolerance will disappear overnight. I’m aware of the backlash that is building right now, as I type this, that will harden the position of the religious right and strengthen them. I’m aware that it took 60 years for African Americans to gain their full rights and move from slavery.
But I also know that the moment I witnessed, the moment I cherished, is the unquestionable, recognizable event that will one day usher a greater moment: One in which all who wish to marry will be able to do so legally and happily.
I hope it happens in my lifetime.