As mentioned previously, I went to a college friend's wedding this weekend. There were two tables of friend groups. One, the one I was sitting at, was comprised of friends who knew the bride only. All the others at my table were married with children. The other table was comprised of friends of both the bride and the groom. I had a few classes with a couple of them, and could have been comfortable enough at that table, as well.
It wasn't until the morning of that I realized the invitation on the fridge only had information about the reception. Since my invite was sent as a trial (the bride was anxious about a regular stamp not being enough postage to mail them) I wondered if maybe the invite was just inaccurate. I should have texted the friend coming from out of state to see what her invite said, as I knew another friend of mine was in the wedding party. I texted the bride, instead. She replied that the ceremony was for immediate family only. Not something I'm unaccustomed to.
My brain went right back to being ten or eleven years old, though. My cousin got married, my dad was the disc jockey, my mom was a bridesmaid, and my sister was a flower girl. The other flower girl was the cousin who is only a month older than I am. I was told that they wanted the flower girls to look alike, which makes zero sense to me. My sister has a dark complexion with brown hair and brown eyes; my cousin and I both have lighter complexions with blond hair and blue eyes. Whatever, people are weird; honestly, I would've gotten over it pretty quickly if I hadn't had to go dress shopping with all of them. Not that I'm particularly fond of getting dolled up or dress shopping, but who wants to sit in a dress shop while everyone with you is getting a pretty new dress and you are not? I hold my mom accountable for that. I was old enough and trustworthy enough to have been left alone for a few hours. Or at a grandparent's or aunt's.
The drive there was lovely, though. While it was new territory, I recognized many of the towns as being home to some patients of the eye doctors I worked for. The dinner was nice. Not healthy in the slightest, and there was pie instead of cake. Because there would be many small children and people who did not care to dance, the bride and groom had decided that having board games and large Legos would be a nice touch, so there was some of that on a table in the back. The Legos were dumped out rather quickly, and for at least forty five minutes, a toddler had the time of his life pushing the box around the whole room, including across the dance floor. Incredibly, he only had one close encounter!
The DJ was one of the better ones I've seen. The only prescribed dances were the First Dance, a Daddy-Daughter, a Mother-Son (which I didn't catch much of since my friend got torn up about losing her dad during our friend's dance), and an anniversary dance to Garth Brook's "The Dance." The winning couple had been married for 51 years, and the DJ made a comment about how she had woken up every morning glad to be seeing her husband's face. (Note for NaNo) Then he did what he called a "Snowball Dance," which started with the wedding party who would dance for a bit and then everyone on the floor would grab someone else. It worked well for whatever song he played, but then everyone returned to their seats.
The next song was a polka, and no one stirred. About thirty seconds in, the DJ joked that he had been promised (by the bride, no doubt) that if he played a polka, people would dance. Out of respect for the DJ, and knowing how important it is to get the ball rolling, I grabbed the friend next to me and went out there. She said she didn't know how to polka, and I said I'd show her. Not that I really know, but could get enough to fake it. Hop twice on one foot, then hop twice on the other in tune to the music. Probably not real polka, but it did give others enough confidence to get out there on the floor and show us how it's done.
I was seated at our table in such a way that I could see the other table of people I knew. One in particular caught my attention. The last I had known of him, he was happily married. But here he was without wife or wedding ring. Couldn't say I was friends with him in college, but it was a small campus and our circles ate dinner at the same time and place in the caf; he probably would have been able to put a face to my name. I knew him mostly because he was a year ahead of me and did Tai Chi lessons in the campus mall between the dorms, library, and classrooms. (Also, because my first roommate had sex with his roommate and asked me not to say anything because she was trying to get with the Tai Chi guy.) He had his back to me and you could tell he had dressed up for the occasion.
Me? I was wearing a dress I bought when Younker's was closing. It was such a deal, fit me well, and helped me look my age that I forgot to check and see that it was dry clean only. Or hand wash. Inconvenient, whichever option. I had also put effort into eyeliner and the good mascara. In short, I looked regular and fabulous.
I was the only one at our table who danced much at all. The one is due with a baby in February and the other had to cross two states. The other table had a much better dancing rate. The DJ did a 90's tribute that I danced to: BSB's I Want it That Way, Spice Girls, and N Sync's Bye Bye Bye. Then he played some NKOTB, which always strikes me as odd that they get included in the 90's pop boy band revival. He also played Cotton Eyed Joe, which Tai Chi Guy danced to. I would have, but I'm out of shape and don't know that dance well enough to fake or follow along. When he played Footloose, I almost didn't go out there. Mormons always Electric Slide to that song, and I always forget that no one else does. But then, in one corner, I saw a young teen teaching an older woman (her mom or an aunt) how to do it, so I went over and wordlessly helped as best I could. Later, the DJ played the actual Electric Slide, so off I went. The Cha-Cha Slide was also played. We created a sing along circle when he played Bohemian Rhapsody. I even did a little "shiver" at the singing of that word and was pleased to see Tai Chi Boy smile across the circle at the silliness.
But the defining song of the night for me was when they played "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)"
It started off like I expected to. I jumped out of my chair and onto the dance floor as soon as I heard the first few chords. Some married English Major friends of mine were on one edge of the floor with their toddler daughter (who would later almost literally fall asleep standing on the dance floor). I made my way in that direction, unconscious of who was in the group at the center. It may have even included the bride and groom. The song gets to the first line about "havering" and I hear Tai Chi Guy and English Major friend questioning what it means to "haver." I have always assumed it was a euphemism for vomiting, so I made a solitary retching motion (sans finger in mouth) and ended up turning my dancing direction about 45 degrees. (For what it's worth, I just looked it up and learns it essentially means "to babble.")
During the chorus, I managed to come back full circle and face the edge of the dance floor holding English Major Family. I remember because my eyes were looking at their daughter when I heard "And when the money comes in for the work I do, I'll pass almost every penny on to you." By the time the next chorus was over, Tai Chi guy had made his way around whoever was in the Center Group. I know this because as the scatting came on, he came around them, crouching down a little bit with his right arm out. Catching my eye and my right arm, we hooked arms and did a couple of 180s or 360s. Then he grabbed hold of my right hand, twirled me a couple of times, pulled me in, and I did that thing where I instinctively put my left hand on the guy's waist before realizing it belongs on his shoulder. We spent the rest of the song dancing in that manner. I kept my eyes open while spinning, and I remember seeing the lights and smiling with pure enjoyment.
I wanted to document this in some way because I am looking forward to fictionalizing it for NaNo and I don't want to forget. I also don't want to spend the next six weeks making sure I recall the memory on a daily basis so that I can actually write out the scene as early as Nov. 1st.
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