Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Trials of a maid of honor

So, my best friend since I was five years old is married. Sunday it happened and now she's his. As the wedding coordinator waved for me to go, I glanced back and looked at Mr. Steve, fighting tears. He winked at me and I walked in. You know how people say their life flashes before their eyes in a dangerous situation? I'm not comparing this to a moment of that kind of intensity, but a flood of moments came to mind as I walked to my station, clutching my daisies. I was thinking of when she accidently burped in my ear when she was trying to tell me a secret. I remembered the multiple clubs we formed and Alisa was ALWAYS the president. Our love of old movies and the dismay of braces. Our crush on the same guy. The tape we made that had two songs on it: 'My Girl' again and again and again and.... 'Space Jam.' Weird, I know. Her lack of knowledge (care?) about time ('Angela! Your Dad is at the front door beeping his horn! Let's GO!' "Hey, Amy? C'mere! Which CDs do you want to take and listen to?"). High school, driver's license, college, brothers.... sleepovers. Disney themed birthday parties. Polly Pockets and Littlest Pet Shop. Barbies when everyone said we were too old for them. Jamming three adult bodies into a two-man tent. Alisa and Angela insisting on turning on flashlights and lighting up said tent when they heard something outside, while I wanted everything dark so IT couldn't see us. Garfield. Shirley Temple. Vowing to move to the mountains where the wild ponies live and let our children grow up in the wind and rain.

The crowd stood and she walked in and I realized that I would never get a lot of that back. I know, I know.... I'm being dramatic. Never, Amy? Really? Well.... yeah. He is her priority now, as he should be. Yes, I'm still the best friend. Yes, we will still spend the night with each other sooner or later. BUT... she's a wife. She has different concentrations, different goals, new dreams. And I am looking forward to watching that development! But... I'm still a little sad. Don't shoot me.

I was also nervous about my assignments. At the dress rehearsal the day before the pastor had been very specific about when I should arrange her train, how I should hand him the ring, to pass off my bouquet before taking hers, arrange the train again, don't drop the ring, take my bouquet back, and of course, don't lock my knees.
I was so nervous. In the prepatorium, as we smoothed, glossed, and arranged, I was trying to decide how to hold Jason's ring. Slide it on my thumb? Put it behind my own engagement ring?Hold it against the stems? Clutch it in my sweaty palm? I finally decided that my middle finger was small enough for it to be pulled off of, yet large enough that it wouldn't just slide down, unbeknown to me until it clanked loudly on the wooden floor.
I was nervous, remember? And my hands were clammy. I went to the bathroom one last time and thought that I had better check to make sure it would slide off as easily as I thought it would.

Oh no. Oh... no. No, no, no, no, no! Come off! Please, come off! Please COME OFF NOW!

Shoooooooooom! PING! The ring shot off of my finger and ricocheted off the concrete block wall and into a corner, nearly ringing the waste basket. My sweet brother-in-law later informed me that titanium, if dropped at the perfect angle with the perfect velocity, can shatter. Well, apparently, these two slams didn't quite match the needed numbers to get a pile of dust. I picked it up with my now cold hands, searched for a scratch, thanked God when there wasn't one, and slipped it onto my little finger. That finger remained curled in a death grip in my palm until the pastor stretched out his hand. I didn't drop it. I'm pretty sure I smiled with relief when I turned it over. And I don't think I arranged her train every time I was supposed to.

I was exhausted.

And I didn't even lock my knees.

Friday, June 11, 2010

i am glistening

Well.... I was going to post a sweet blog of my best friend of 20 years who is getting married in two days, BUT, as Porter from the Sandlot said:

"This pop ain't workin' Benny! I'm bakin' like a toasted cheeser! It's so hot here!"

I'm going swimming.