Celebrant and Witness

Boughs of white and lavender lilacs lay upon the table behind the bride and groom. Their scent was just discernible from where I sat. The smell was fresh and clean, and reminded me of early summer, when everything spring has been building up to finally comes into its own. Lilac is the odor of promise fulfilled. The cold and barren has been replaced by new green leaves in the sunshine. All weddings should smell of lilac.

After, there was the reunion of friends separated by time and distance, and the meeting of friends putting faces to names for the first time. There were drinks to be had, meals to be eaten, and chocolate cake to be marveled at. In all, it was a marvelous nontraditional traditional wedding. I met people I’d like to know better, and came away with a little more balance than I entered. It isn’t often I’ve had the chance to be witness to something with the promise of such permanence, or celebrate something that carried with it such joy.

I did something I’ve never done before in my entire life. I closed the party down. Six hours after the ceremony, when the bar was closed and after the reception and dinner were finished and the socializing was winding down and people were making their goodbyes, I was still mingling. I talked to people about cats and house-hunting and living in New York on 911 and about chocolate and writing and the evil that lurks cyberspace. People I’d never met before that night told me of their divorces and high school crushes and childhood fears. Under it all was a common theme: we were there at the request of two remarkable souls. The invitation to attend meant a great deal to me, and I was loath to let the night end.

But it ended, and I finally retired to my room buzzed on nightcap cups of coffee and adrenaline. I lay awake in bed, watching incomprehensible manga on the Cartoon Network and thinking thoughts. I finally slept, rising later than I intended but with plenty of time to shower, partake of the hotel’s breakfast buffet (while reading Czerneda’s “Survival”, which I’m trying desperately to complete before the next part, “Migration,” comes out next month). Many of the attendees from the wedding were at the buffet at the same time I was, but I kept mostly to myself, partly from shyness and partly in defense of my private space. My now married friends arrived to the restaurant as I was starting to make preparations to return to my room and check out. I again wished them the best, and then tried to slip out unnoticed. I think I succeeded.

Garnet Rogers and Simon and Garfunkle kept me company on the way home. S and G were particularly good companionship. I know all the words, and Simon seldom makes demands that my limited car-voice isn’t up to. I sang “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and “So Long Frank Lloyd Wright” and “Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme” and home grew closer. “Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge Song” may not be big on meaning, but it’s a great sing-along for those behind the wheel.

“The Dangling Conversation” came on. I love that song. When that song came out, I hadn’t yet read a word of Emily Dickinson’s, and I thought the question “Can analysis be worthwhile?” was asking about a mathematics course. I may have been young and stupid, but at least I knew what was meant when they sang: