Roadtrip: A Duet? (Part I)
Wedding #3. Now in the rearview mirror. That means one more to go!!
This was a big wedding for me as far as it is the one in which I had bridesmaid responsibilities. By the time of the wedding, it felt like my work was done. The shower was over, the bachelorette party complete. All I had to do was show up and do everything in my power to make the bride happy on her special day. Luckily, she's a laid back kind of gal and things went smoothly.
The wedding location was in the town I grew up in, but have not spent much time in over the last fifteen years. I always get a tad bit emotional when I am in town, and the extended weekend spent there for wedding festivities was the longest I had been there since my family moved in 1997. Driving in Thursday, I had a few hours of daylight left and drove through the town. Some things were the same; many things were different. I drove past the house I grew up in, noting a porch had been added. The small tree in the front yard was not so small any more, and actually large enough to offer a respectable amount of shade. A fence had been built, closing off the back yard to any study; and that hill on the side of the house didn't look as big as I remembered it. Our lamplight at the end of the driveway had been replaced with something slightly fancier and the plain, understated black mailbox was upgraded to a ghastly floral monstrosity. (I literally flinched when I saw it.) The cornfields I remembered that bordered our home were now gone, housing instead new construction. Our gravel lane, where I spun out of control on my bike and sliced my ankle were now paved, complete with a yellow double stripe down the middle. Everything somehow seemed smaller. And distant. There was no longing to see inside the old house. No desire to knock on neighbor's doors to see who might still live on that once quiet country road. Somewhere in me, I accepted life goes on and changes whether I'm there to see it or not.
I drove away and headed to the downtown area, not sure if I remembered which streets led where. I had only ever been a passenger in this town. I took a chance and turned at a light, hoping the road would lead where I wanted it to go. (Kind of like I live my life...) Thankfully, my memories served me true and I was once again in the quaint, Victorian town I still in many ways think of as "home." There was once a coffee shop where I snorted into a cup of hot chocolate, and that street closest to the river that always flooded. (Where the water froze and I once went ice skating with the bride of wedding #3.) The butcher shop was down that street on the left, and up ahead was the "main drag." The toy shop had a new name and I didn't notice any Playmobil or Breyer horses in the window. The local sports shop was gone but good heavens!--On the same block there is now a Barnes and Noble--with an escalator. In my tiny town? The two pizza shops were still where I remembered them and the small town theater somehow didn't look as run down as I would have guessed it would be. Things seemed peaceful and I fought the whisper calling me back. You can't necessarily go home. But there are things in the town that look different when you're an adult. And there are things you realized as an adult that you miss. Like the safe feeling of a certain place, that place being this little town you sometimes loathed as a kid.
This was a big wedding for me as far as it is the one in which I had bridesmaid responsibilities. By the time of the wedding, it felt like my work was done. The shower was over, the bachelorette party complete. All I had to do was show up and do everything in my power to make the bride happy on her special day. Luckily, she's a laid back kind of gal and things went smoothly.
The wedding location was in the town I grew up in, but have not spent much time in over the last fifteen years. I always get a tad bit emotional when I am in town, and the extended weekend spent there for wedding festivities was the longest I had been there since my family moved in 1997. Driving in Thursday, I had a few hours of daylight left and drove through the town. Some things were the same; many things were different. I drove past the house I grew up in, noting a porch had been added. The small tree in the front yard was not so small any more, and actually large enough to offer a respectable amount of shade. A fence had been built, closing off the back yard to any study; and that hill on the side of the house didn't look as big as I remembered it. Our lamplight at the end of the driveway had been replaced with something slightly fancier and the plain, understated black mailbox was upgraded to a ghastly floral monstrosity. (I literally flinched when I saw it.) The cornfields I remembered that bordered our home were now gone, housing instead new construction. Our gravel lane, where I spun out of control on my bike and sliced my ankle were now paved, complete with a yellow double stripe down the middle. Everything somehow seemed smaller. And distant. There was no longing to see inside the old house. No desire to knock on neighbor's doors to see who might still live on that once quiet country road. Somewhere in me, I accepted life goes on and changes whether I'm there to see it or not.
I drove away and headed to the downtown area, not sure if I remembered which streets led where. I had only ever been a passenger in this town. I took a chance and turned at a light, hoping the road would lead where I wanted it to go. (Kind of like I live my life...) Thankfully, my memories served me true and I was once again in the quaint, Victorian town I still in many ways think of as "home." There was once a coffee shop where I snorted into a cup of hot chocolate, and that street closest to the river that always flooded. (Where the water froze and I once went ice skating with the bride of wedding #3.) The butcher shop was down that street on the left, and up ahead was the "main drag." The toy shop had a new name and I didn't notice any Playmobil or Breyer horses in the window. The local sports shop was gone but good heavens!--On the same block there is now a Barnes and Noble--with an escalator. In my tiny town? The two pizza shops were still where I remembered them and the small town theater somehow didn't look as run down as I would have guessed it would be. Things seemed peaceful and I fought the whisper calling me back. You can't necessarily go home. But there are things in the town that look different when you're an adult. And there are things you realized as an adult that you miss. Like the safe feeling of a certain place, that place being this little town you sometimes loathed as a kid.
Wedding festivities were in full swing the next day, and thankfully I didn't have much time to get caught up in my own mind, contemplating the emotions roiling through me at being "home." There were mani/pedis with the bride, matron of honor, and mother of the bride. Then lunch. Then decorating the venue. Then freshening up and the rehearsal dinner, followed by a sleepover at the matron of honor's house with part of the bridal party. The bride's brother was able to swing a last minute leave to make it home for the wedding, much to everyone's surprise and delight. The bride, already in high spirits was buoyed by her brother's surprise appearance and nearly bouncing off the walls for her big day.
Later on, at the matron of honor's house, I was, of course, the first bridesmaid to drop. After an admittedly weak attempt at being social, I headed to bed. My hostess's very friendly cat joined me after I made the mistake of showing it some attention. Rolling over to discourage it, its purring continued and it crawled closer. I felt little kitty feet pressing against my back and burrowed further beneath the covers hoping it would go away. I have a sometimes-allergy to cats and the last thing I needed was itchy, watery red eyes for the wedding. It must have gone away because I don't remember much until morning. Drowsily staring at the wall in the dim light of the morning, I heard footsteps and then the bride's whispered: "I'm getting married today!" It was go time. I sat up and jumped on the bed, echoing her sentiments. Stepping out of bed to give her a hug, my foot slid on the carpet like it was ice and we suddenly had a (wo)man down situation. Falling out of bed on the day of my friend's big day. At least it wasn't her, I guess. The limo arrived in short order and it was off to the salon. Our limo driver may or may not have believed he was a Nascar driver because I can remember getting thrown around at least twice that morning. I had a wonderful time catching up with the bride's mother and getting to know some of the other ladies.
The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. Hair finished, we congregated at the bride's parents' house to get dressed, put the finishing touches on makeup, and added some jewelry. We loaded back into the limo and it was off to pictures, then it was time for the ceremony. After a brief service, the entire bridal party squeezed into the limo and it was time for more pictures. By this time, the sun was hot and the breeze had disappeared and I began to feel as if I was melting. Thankfully, Nascar-limo driver started our ride and cranked the A/C. It was a short drive to the reception venue, where we hustled to a bathroom to touch up hair and makeup, and take any necessary bio breaks. No more details needed there. Suffice to say...rather challenging with all that fabric. The reception was full of revelry and merrymaking, and at the end of the night, the bride hugged me and said she had a great time.
What more could an out-of-town bridesmaid ask for? May they live happily ever after.
What more could an out-of-town bridesmaid ask for? May they live happily ever after.
Comments
Post a Comment