After Today She Will Need To Be Reminded Of This
Tuesday, March 10, 2009 One of my high school good friends is squeezing a baby out of her birth canal as I type this post... Last year on February 8 she married her dream man, today she is having their baby....here is my column from her wedding!! This column appeared in the Sandpoint Reader February 28, 08. What a difference a year makes!!
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Single in Sandpoint: On wedded bliss
I’m back. I spent a week in paradise sipping Mai Tais, soaking up the sun and watching whales. It wasn’t all fun and games though; I was there to witness the nuptials of one of my best friends. Which you know, was great for her, and everything, but a little bittersweet for me.
You see, we were the last of a dying breed. We were the hot divorcees in the dusk of our twenties. Now she’s a glowing, gushing, newlywed, and I’m a 31-year-old divorcee living somewhere between a cold version of Hell and Timbuktu. I have a great boyfriend, yes, that much is true; but as far as “life success” goes, having a husband and/or the ownership of real estate always trumps boyfriend. (No matter how hot, rich or physically gifted he is.)
To her credit my friend picked a real competitor. I don’t know how any other guy was ever going to challenge him for her affections. He’s cute, he’s employed, he’s fun and he even held her hand when her dog died. I didn’t even know there were real live men like that running around amongst us.
To put this in perspective, he bought her a horse for Christmas, a real horse. This girl, who loves horses more than anything and has been saving up for one, even paying rent on an empty stable so she’ll have a good place to board it when she buys it, gets surprised with a horse. I mean, most single girls I know can’t get a guy to buy them dinner; she gets a horse, a ring and a tropical wedding. I’m telling you, her karma must be on track.
Back to the wedding: First, there were tons of freshly married people in attendance. And they brought their flashy little babies with them. (Note to self: Babies are the new handbags, no wonder all those celebrities are getting knocked up.)
In fact, when it came time to throw the bouquet, there were only two, I’m frickin’ serious, two single women (besides the flower girls) at the entire wedding. And, since the bride has some apparent hatred (or sympathy) for me, she turned around and threw the bouquet so hard at me that I dropped my drink. (You see, I was holding a drink because I had no intention whatsoever of trying to catch the thing. I’ve caught one before, I will no doubt catch one again, and it never works. I’m still filing single on my W-2’s.)
I feel it necessary to interject something here. I wasn’t completely in my right mind at this wedding. Yes, I was buzzed, but that’s nothing new. A week before I went on the trip a very young and loved relative of mine passed away. I’d been trying to make sense of it, deal with it and file it in my to-do box so that I could enjoy the trip without worrying about his mother and the rest of my family.
I was emotionally volatile; and, therefore, uncharacteristically emotional. I had to wear giant sunglasses to protect the world from my inconvenient tears.
Anyway, I held the bouquet in my hand and forced a smile for my adoring audience of married women nursing their babies. It was scary. I saw my life flash before my eyes. Pretty soon I’d be designing centerpieces and asking for crème of tartar (whatever that is). I’d be wearing khakis and Crocs.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. The bouquet is a gateway into their world, that’s why they were smiling. My boyfriend was probably in the bathroom in a cold sweat, because I didn’t see him anywhere. Actually, I didn’t look, it would be waaaaaaaay to weird to look at him, raise the bouquet high in the air and scream out “Where’s my ring bitch?” That’s what you’re supposed to do right?
I needed a familiar, yet safe, face. I looked around for my newlywed friend. Even if we didn’t make contact it would have been perfectly acceptable to stare at her, she’s The Bride and you’re supposed to stare at her.
When I saw her I truly understood why I subjected myself to yet another wedding. She was smiling with her entire being. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone smile like that, at any wedding. Ever. I mean she was really happy, she was sucking the happiness out of the air and putting it in a to-go box.
I don’t know, maybe there is such a thing as “the one.” I’m not going soft on ya’ll but she was pretty convincing. I couldn’t hold a grudge; she wanted me to be happy too. That’s why she pelted me with flowers.
Which leads me to the philosophical portion of this week’s column: There is a reason that humans have weddings and funerals. In a world in which we see images of death and deprivation every day, we want to be reminded of our ability to be moved to tears – whether they be joyous or sad.
No person can keep that much joy or that much sadness to themselves, they need to have the people they love by their side to help soak it up. You can say sorry to someone a million times when they lose a loved one, but the only solace you can really give them isn’t in your words it’s in your presence.
I flew something like 3,000 miles not for the free booze and tan (honestly), I made the trip to Hawaii to see her amazingly happy, and experience joy on her behalf. I’m thinking that is a better present than a gift card to Target (my second choice).
I’ll have to bear witness so that when she calls me one day to tell me how her “husband is a selfish ass and went out with the boys on American Idol night.” I can remind her of how she was smiling on her wedding day. And if she needs sympathy she will have to call the nursers. (I’m only good for advice on food, outfits, the backstabbing office mate, the perfect sister and up-to-date celebrity gossip. Marriage is not my specialty.)
So she’s crossed over. She’s married now. We’ll never do body shots in Vegas again. (Insert moment of silence here.) The next time I see her we’ll probably have to go to Build-a-Bear and the Home Depot.
I’m going to have to be okay with that.
I’ll keep reminding myself that she’s still the same person I knew in kindergarten; only this time, her dress was so big I had to hold it up so she could pee behind a tree. You celebrate your way, and we’ll celebrate ours.
Holding onto my tan with all my might,
Scarlette Quille
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