Days Of Me: The Long and the Short Of It
1. I learned about weddings when I was 11, and one of the women at our family’s church had been engaged the night before. She and several of her friends were standing around after the morning service talking about it, and it was the buzz for the afternoon it seemed.
I only knew a couple of the women, but my curiosity has a way of overriding my shyness, and I approached them with a million questions burning in my mind.
As I approached, the future bride turned to me and said, “I’m getting married! I hope you and your family can come to the wedding.” she said, smiling with twice as many teeth than any normal person should.
“When is it?” I asked, deciding that was a good place to start as any.
I didn’t think it was possible, but her smile widened as she said, “July of next year.”
I thought for a second, and realized that the wedding was planned over a year in advance.
I cocked my head as I asked, “Why so long?”
With patience, she looked down at me and said, “Weddings take a very long time to prepare for, Billy.”
I still didn’t understand, and I felt that my other questions were pointless just then, so I let it go.
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For the next year, The Wedding was a subject that was discussed frequently, and each time it came up, with was with more and more buzz. It was going to be held there in the church sanctuary, of course, and there was family and friends flying from all over the country to witness the event.
About 4 months before the Wedding, there was a snag. Not a big snag, but a snag nonetheless. After many meetings with the caterer, and despite the fact that the menu was well on its way to being agreed upon, the catering company folded suddenly after one of the three partners became terminally ill and died quite suddenly. While the future couple was very understanding and held no ill feelings, it was apparent that this was a snafu that went against the schedule and as far as the food was concerned, they had to start all over.
Finally it was two weeks before the Wedding, and things seem to be going well. It was after the Sunday Service, and most of the prominent women in the church was busy doing one thing or another getting prepared for the Big Day. I had approached the future bride and I asked her if there was anything I could do to help.
“No, honey, we have everything under control. Just bring your family. It’s going to be a joyous day!” she said, almost as if she had said it a million times in the past year.
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The day came, and by then I was sick of the whole thing. Instead of someone just mentioning the Wedding in conversation, it seemed that everyone was having entire conversations about the event. The church sanctuary was large, but that didn’t stop the decorators from using every trick in the book to turn the once plain sanctuary into a Garden of Ceremony.
I was extremely uncomfortable in my Nice Sunday Clothes which had only been worn at Easter once before. I was growing and they were a little small but it had to do.
The Ceremony itself was a grand, but rather standard affair. There was an entire army in the front of the church between the bridesmaids, the parents, and everyone else who was asked to stand there while the lucky couple said their vows. After all of the waiting and anticipation, it seemed rather anticlimactic that the ceremony really only consisted of the parade, the mini sermon, the vows, and the exit. I wasn’t sure I knew what to expect, but after all of that work, I thought it was going to be a bit more involved.
Afterwards there was a reception which seemed to be where all of the preparation went. There were appetizers and dinner, and a contemporary Christian cover band. There were speeches and toasts. There were tears of joy from the newlyweds and tears of trying to let go by their parents.
When it was all said and done, I was extremely confused. I wasn’t entirely sure what part of the Wedding was the most important part. If I had to make a guess. It was the duck dinner. It was the one thing that everyone went completely apeshit over. Even the next Sunday service, I heard a couple of people talking about getting the recipe for that duck.
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2. I learned about marriage when my other half came down with an abscess which went staph.
After coming home after a trip to the hospital, he lay on our couch, pale and drifting in and out of sleep while I sit nearby, my mind in a complete disarray because for the first time I was faced with the possibility of losing the man I loved.
It occurred to me that my other half was a keystone in my life, and without him, everything went to shit. This wasn’t a guess, it was a fact in my mind. But it wasn’t a matter of what I was going to do should the unthinkable happened. That didn’t matter as much as who I was going to fucking *be*. I didn’t realize up until that point that without even putting any effort into it, I had bonded with this man in a way that became vital to who I am. Not in a codependent sort of way. Instead, he had somehow became part of my identity and I never even saw it coming.
I sat there, my mind marinating in this line of thinking, when he stirred and asked me for a glass of water.
“How are you doing?” I asked putting my hand to his face, both to confirm he was still there and to check his fever. I couldn’t tell if it had changed, but it didn’t matter. He was awake and he was real. That was good enough for now.
He smiled weakly and said, “I feel like shit. And I feel thirsty, but mostly like shit.”
I kissed his forehead and went to get him some water. When I got back with his glass, he sipped at it, then handed the glass back to me. Then he lay back down, and sort of drifted again.
I put the water aside and kissed his forehead again. Then I went back to my chair, sat, and became lost in worry again.
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It was after that day that I began to refer to my other half as my husband. While we don’t have a signed document declaring it, and while we haven’t had a big ceremony complete with a reception with a duck dinner everyone raves about, and while we don’t have pictures in an album that show us in our tuxes, smiling as if nothing could ever touch us, I was convinced we were married.
The bond between us was what mattered, and I wondered what had to happen to make other couples realize they had this bond. I wondered how many of them never felt this bond, but because of the ceremony and marriage license, never learned that those things don’t matter at all.
I know that there are some who bristle at the thought of our idea of marriage, but it doesn’t matter. Regardless of the law, for or against, it changes nothing for us except our legal and financial status with the state.
I know this and I am comforted by it.