love: accomplished (next?)
30 April 2012 § Leave a comment
Jason and Kim just drove off for their honeymoon.
Well, they have to buy dog food first, and then drop off Chompy the decidedly unvicious Chihuahua, and Madame Mauser, the coolest cat since Macavity (and perhaps más suave), but then they’ll be off for Honeymoon, Part I.
The wedding was a masterpiece; planned entirely by the bride, with the help of her parents and friends (I don’t know where credit is due, so if you deserve it, take it), it went off with only the minor inconvenience of rain. The Lauderdale air show was canceled due to this lovely bit of cold wind and skywater, but miles west, her wedding commenced in a manicured jungle tiki hut.
Months ago she volunteered me to the position of Usher, which traditionally means I’m to lead beautiful women to their seats. That day, however, it meant I carried the chairs to the women, for the rain was come, and dresses cannot ruined by pesky weather.
I admit my twinge of disappointment for not being chosen as a groomsman. The honor went to Jason’s closest, who are around far more often to support him than I. It was the right decision, and I hold no negative feelings about it. On the upside, I was able to elude the requisite photographs – and the white suit. Me alegré. I got to make a speech, anyway, and the emcee even gave me props for it.
Kim’s wedding dress lies on the bed where she sleeps. Two days ago, it stunned everyone into permanent smiles, gathered compliments like boondock Alaskans collect car parts. She’s gone from it, took the beauty with her. It’s a fat corpse in a white body bag. To be cut down, colored, revitalized and worn later to cocktail parties of venture capitalists who fund her new husband’s genius project (I’m not allowed to tell you the idea behind it).
My suit is headed back to where I got it from. Much as I’d like to hitch across the country in a pinstriped suit with a lime green tie. It’s hanging from a noose in the living room. This house is full of ghosts now.
So. They’re married. It’s done. Over with. Enjoyed, talked about, paid for, eaten, drank, and captured by paparazzi who demanded a second kissing of the bride (I think the groom was happy to mind the request).
And with this morning’s departure of Jason’s Scion, so passes the planned extent of my Central America adventure. As well as my reason for returning to the U.S.
(my second favorite question)
A good traveling friend introduced me to putting “stamps” on trips. We summed ours up in a few words; a haiku to wrap up the Illiad. My favorite stamp from a trip was “an open-hearted expedition in the wrong direction.” She called the same trip purple.
On my trip of the last nine months or so, which had a blurry beginning and has no foreseeable end, I stamp: “Being Left: A How-To Guide (incomplete).”
I’m a southpaw liberal who lost count of the people and places I’ve departed from. It was fitting that I learn to be left. Now I get to leave. Again.