All Around My Island

Dresses are being hemmed, vows are being written, and the mailbox is brimming with delicate invitations requesting your presence. The spring/summer wedding season has officially arrived and Bryan and I attended the first ceremony of many to come last Sunday. As the beauty of the bride and the euphoric emotion of the ceremony fill my both my heart and eyes to the brim like a waitress topping off a coffee with a little too much enthusiasm, I can’t help but reminisce about my own.       

In the myriad of moments that preceded it all, I was your typical mixture of nerves and excitement, with a special emphasis on the nerve portion of the potion. The concept of a mishap occurring was buried so far under the cloud of chaos that had invaded my mind, it had gone undetected. No form of notice had been set forth: no alarms had been sounded. Therefore, I was completely unprepared for any problematic occurrence. I was ignorant to how bumpy the road I was about to embark down actually was; I was unaware the walk down the aisle was riddled with so many obstacles.

The first hurdle set before me was placed with good intention by my escort. The wedding party had safely made it to the target destination, and we were alone. My brother gently took my trembling hands in his and with a few select phrases erased all the composure I had been holding onto so tightly just seconds before. He gave standard words of love and congratulations, finishing with a mention of how proud he was of me, and how he knew our belated father shared his opinions. Suddenly, tears filled my eyes like a bathtub faucet that had long been forgotten. I tilted my head back in hopes to find a magical drain in which the sadness and joy that had taken a liquid form could vanish, but it was no use; my dam had been broken and I was leaking like a faulty spigot in the sink.

With tears trickling down my face resembling salty little raindrops, we took our initial step out into the blinding light of smiles and ran. A combination of his anxiety and my emotion sent us up to the alter at speeds that rivaled Olympic athletes. The hand off was completed and I was ascending two miniscule stairs when I located my next glitch. The Bo-Peep concoction, appropriately referred to as a slip, maneuvered its way closer to the ground causing me to stumble up the set of steps that had previously seemed so diminutive. I was discreetly rescued from a brutal collision with the runner by my man of the hour and we were in place.

Having made it to my groom with little more damage than some tear stained cheeks burning crimson with embarrassment; we began the ceremony. This too proved to have its own minor malfunctions awaiting my arrival. The heat of discomfiture was causing my palms to produce massive amounts of moisture and my fingers to inflate like tiny little balloons. This inopportune combination made the placing of the ring a particularly difficult task. We fidgeted in frustration until the dampness of my hands that had previously been causing me so much despair aided in completing the task.

Having successfully situated our symbols of love and fidelity, our ceremony traveled nearer to a close. As the finale approached, we were greeted with mispronunciations, murmurs, and nervous sighs being greatly magnified by the microphone that had ignored all other things spoken throughout the evening, as well as an obstinate candle that refused our attempts to ignite it. What type of omen would it be if the flame that represented our union refused to stay alight? Seconds rolled by with the force that accompanies hours of boredom as we waited for our little glimmer of hope to stay ablaze. The sanctuary had long grown silent and the confusion of the crowd collided with the awkward wonder of what we were to do next. At last, the flame grew stronger, feeding off the air we were refusing to breathe, and we proceeded.

We each exhaled huge heavy sighs of relief, and I felt a warm content fill the newly vacant space within my lungs; a satisfaction in knowing the goal we had set forth nine months prior was about to be reached. We sealed the whole fiasco with a kiss as my vale floated delicately to the floor with the grace of a misty little cloud. My maid of honor inconspicuously dove to its rescue; placing it among her already article laden arms. She was now precariously balancing my recently lost garment, my bouquet, and her own mass of flowers. Unaware of my most recent loss, and without attempting to retrieve anything else, I took my new husband’s hand and turned to welcome the awaiting world. 

Eagerly, we set off down the same aisle I had believed was so treacherous a mere fraction of an hour before, my mind once again a blur of sentiment. Each uncomfortable occurrence that had taken place was immediately a whimsical memory. Although things had begun with a customary fear and anticipation, they had been met with humorous misfortune and mishap. Surprisingly, I unequivocally understood how no bride could ever endure a truly unpleasant experience, for every twist of fate merely enhances the unique texture that encompasses your moment. It had been bumpy and daunting despite being accompanied, but the trek back was different I was suddenly eternally grateful for all that had brought me to this point: all the delight, and all the faux pas. This time the obstacles had been removed, and I did not run, for this was no longer an arduous road but the promising path that lead to my future.