Amanda's Wedding

Day One, The Bachelorette Party:

At 11 am last Thursday afternoon, I stood wide-eyed at the United Airlines ticket counter at Washington Reagan National Airport. I could feel my cotton t-shirt clinging to my sweaty back like Saran wrap. The flight attendant smiled sweetly. "You can take a breath now, huh?" I had just missed my flight to Chicago for Amanda's wedding. The next flight would leave in two hours. I hauled my two carry-on bags over to the Smithsonian shop and called Eliina, who was picking me up in Chicago, to tell her my new arrival time. (I tried to explain why I'd missed the flight, but there was no explanation. I had simply been dawdling sleepily, until I realized how late I was, at which point I'd begun running.)

Then I wandered the Smithsonian-themed gift shop like a lost child, picking up random objects like African woodcarvings and silk potholders. I pictured myself giving them to Amanda for her wedding. Or, at least, I tried to picture it. In truth, I couldn't picture her wedding at all. My wedding experience was mostly limited to season finales of shows like Friends.

Four hours later I arrived in Chicago, and Eliina and I zipped down the highway towards Evanston in her car, wondering and panicking and calming ourselves again. We were now a unit -- Team Wedding, with t-minus three days until the first of our close friends was married. And we were replicating a part of the drive we'd taken almost a year before, when Amanda had first gotten married and we'd cut our roadtrip to Buffalo short so we could return to Chicago and celebrate. Time suddenly liquified, and I had to remind myself what the present moment was: 2003. I graduated last year. I'm living in D.C. now. Amanda is getting married.

Our first mission: Shopping for food for the bachelorette party dinner, to be held at Amanda's friend Kirsten's. The one thing that took our minds off our insecurity was activity -- pure, focused energy devoted to mindless tasks. Grocery shopping was perfect. We had a list. For one peaceful hour, life would be nothing but a scavenger hunt for the ingrediants of eggplant parmesean.

Eliina's boyfriend Quentin showed up halfway through our hunt, appearing mysteriously around the corner of the pasta aisle with a shopping basket over one arm. We giggled like little kids and teased him about the bachelor party -- soon to occurr in a universe parallel to the bachelorette party. But the two parallel universes should never meet, right? Well. Quentin explained that the boys would probably be bored and want to hang out with us. Eliina and I said we would think about it. In the meantime, we gathered our dinner ingrediants, said goodbye to Quentin after much joking around, and picked out some jugs of wine. Then we delivered everything to Kirsten's, where Eliina began methodically slicing eggplant. Focused.

Nice to meet you; have a penis

The entire weekend can be characterized by a series of bizarre mental pictures. For example: After dinner began baking, Eliina and I started cutting out ready-made brightly colored penises for a good old fashioned game of Pin the Macho on the Man. Each penis had its own little theme going, and each one appeared to be made out of very non-penis materials: bananas, dynamite, zebra skin. At one point I glanced down at the rainbow-striped penis I was daintily cutting out and wondered where the hell I was and how the hell I'd gotten there.

(Eliina had also bought little plastic toothpicks topped with couples in various sex positions. We used them to skewer veggies for an appetizer. )

Once our handful of guests arrived -- including the groom's 18-year-old sister -- we sat down to dinner. Weddings bring together people who don't really know each other all that well. And so I found myself sitting around a table discussing bras and underwear with half a dozen people I barely knew, between moments of plate-scraping silence.

The Pin the Macho on the Man contest livened things up. Each girl held up her paper penis and read the corny inscription on it. Then Kirsten tied a black scarf over each person's eyes and led them haltingly to the poster. Seven spins and then *smack*... where did your penis land? Mine went off the poster and onto the wall.

Afterwards we spent a good amount of time talking in the kitchen over lukewarm espresso and milk... trying to wake ourselves up enough to go out to a bar. Finally we psyched ourselves up to head out the door and straight to... the bar where the boys were. Oh well. The boys were at least entertaining, buying us drinks and leading us to the dance floor. That's when my headache began -- my brain began feeling like it was developing fissures along its hemispheres. Luckily everyone else was losing energy quickly too, so we pushed our way back out through the loud, crowded bar and into the cold quiet night.

When we got back to Kirsten's, Amanda called Charlie and found out that the boys were going to a diner -- Jack's, the place we used to go for late-night omelettes and french fries and milkshakes after one of Charlie's shows. Amanda and Eliina and Lesley went, and I started to follow but ended up turning back and falling sound asleep on Kirsten's couch.

Friday: Almost There

I had been worried about Friday. I wondered what I could possibly spend the day doing, since the wedding wasn't until Saturday. I pictured a day of boredom. No. It was quite the opposite. I woke up in Kirsten's roommate's bed. Apparently she'd plucked me off the couch and led me there in the middle of the night because she was leaving town and thought I'd prefer a soft bed. I didn't remember any of this when I woke up, however, completely confused.

Kirsten and I drove over to Amanda's for brunch. I'm not exactly sure how it was possible for Amanda to both complete last-minute wedding prep *and* cook brunch for all us bridesmaids, but she did. We walked in and her entire apartment smelled delicious -- frittata and smoothies and pancakes with maple syrup. The seven of us sat cross-legged around her living room coffee table, passing food to each other and talking. Amanda gave us all our gifts, which were tucked inside pretty navy blue satchels: makeup brushes, nail files, breath drops, tissues and, most importantly, the blue saffire necklace we would wear with our navy blue bridesmaids dresses.

Then the bridesmaids presented Amanda with a present from us: A hope chest. Traditional bridal hope chests are big trunks full of useful things, like linens. We decided to take the concept a little more literally. We each jotted down our hopes for her future on little squares of paper and put them in a jewelry box-sized brown rattan chest. As she opened it I just sat there hoping that her eyes would glow soft like they do when she sees something beautiful. I think they did.

After brunch we split into teams ready for action. I went with Lesley to set up the reception hall. The hall was attached to the church itself, and was outfitted with bulletin boards showcasing youth groups, an American flag and a Swedish flag, and -- our favorite little design challenge -- a stage with garish gold curtain.

We had miles of fuschia and white tulle, stacks of cream and black table cloths wrapped in brown paper, fourteen folding tables and 80-some folding chairs, crates and crates of wine glasses, boxes of favors and potted plants for centerpieces and... It was as though all of the pieces of the wedding reception had joined forces here in this dingey reception hall, challenging us to actually put them together and make it look decent.

We did the best we could with the tulle. Lesley hung it in bunches from the ceiling, and I tied it over the garish gold stage curtain. Eliina showed up after running some errands and ironed tablecloths with me... we spread them out on a table and simultaneously skated our steaming irons over the deep wrinkles. Our energy and creativity sparked off each other. Lesley fastened tulle to tablecloths with wire salvaged from a gift bow. I attached tulle to the DJ's podium with thumbtacks.

Sometime during this mad rush, Amanda's family showed up. I can't even tell you what a relief that was Back-up has arrived, I thought, hugging Amanda's mother. Her brother Alex set to work unscrewing the bulletin boards from the walls. Her father arranged the tables. We were going to be okay. It was all going to get done. It was. It was. Deep breath.

Around 6pm, as the sunset outside poured in honey-colored light, we stood back from our work like artists. The place had been transformed, charged with our love and arranged perfectly down to the last potted plant and place card. For a few hours I'd completely lost myself in the moment and had actually half-forgotten that we'd only be together for a weekend. I'm sure part of the time I even forgot about the wedding. I was pinning tulle and ironing table cloths and giggling with Eliina and brainstorming with Lesley. Suddenly people showed up for the rehearsal, and I jolted back to reality. It reminded me of senior week last year, when we'd been so caught up in the last few days of college that we were genuinely surprised when our parents arrived to pick us up. I was genuinely surprised that we had to move on and rehearse the ceremony.

It was one of the most surreal things I've ever seen. There I was, sweaty and tired from setting up the hall, standing in a line with six other girls -- Chelsea and Cecelia (Charlie's two younger sisters), Eliina, Kirsten, Lesley, Amanda's cousin Kristy and me. I looked across the aisle to the boys' line, where the seven groomsmen stood stiffly. I caught Quentin's eye for a second and he smiled. The church was beautiful -- creamy and open, with colored window panes that threw glazed light onto the oak pews and the carpet. I didn't know where to put my hands so I clutched them in front of me holding an imaginary bouquet. The pastor directed us all what to do. We turned in unison to watch Charlie and his parents walk down the aisle. And then Amanda and her parents appeared framed in the doorway. I wanted the doorway to be a camera shutter so I could freeze her there forever, with a big giddy smile. The theme from Star Wars began to play on the organ.

Charlie's old friend from high school was the organist and apparently had a good sense of humor.

She walked down the aisle slowly, looking like a little girl walking heel-to-toe down a curb, mock-bashful and glowing.

The pastor then had them practice their vows.

The bridal party cried, winced, or both. The wedding could have been right then and there -- with all our emotions brimming, us in our real clothes, with Star Wars as the bridal march, us laughing at all our little mistakes, the sound echoing through the huge church. I think it was the first time we all realized that it was really happening.

The bridal party also practiced walking down the aisle. Cletus, Charlie's brother, is the best man. He's a muscle-y guy. I hooked my bony fingers around his huge arm and we glided down the aisle as if on cushions of air. Lesley -- who was walking with Amanda's brother Alex -- fared worse. Alex forgot her. She called him back and they began again.

Afterwards we split up into various cars to drive to the rehearsal dinner. Each car received a slip of paper printed with directions to the place, a huge house owned by friends of Charlie's parents. I navigated for Eliina. Everything was going fine until we realized the address we were looking for did not exist. Hmm. Interesting, we thought. So I called the contact phone number listed on the directions. It was a wrong number. Hmm. Even more interesting. By this time we were out in the sticks, surrounded by forest and farmland and half-built suburban developments. We noticed a car from our party turning around in a cul-de-sac so we followed, and another car followed us. Then Eliina got a phone call. The directions were wrong.

Fabulous.

When we finally made it, we parked the car in the circular driveway, walked past the fenced-in horse pasture and stepped into a Home and Garden magazine, circa 1996. Rich maroon flowery patterns, overstuffed couches and dark wood cabinets. I think there was a chandelier in the dining room. Everything looked untouched by humans, except for the desserts arranged temptingly on a table. The bridal party (whom I had begun to internally refer to as "The Kids") milled around crunching on celery sticks while Amanda and Charlie tried to greet everyone.

That night I thought about going to a party with old friends from school, but instead I went back to the Best Western, where I would be staying for the next two nights. I wrote a long letter to Amanda and wondered if I was being too sappy. Probably yes. Oh well.

The Deli

The next morning, Saturday, Eliina picked me up and drove me to Kirsten's -- wedding prep central. We put on makeup, fixed our hair, ironed our dresses. Then we got hungry. I remembered the deli.

I'd been back to Chicago in April and told the owners -- Bob & John -- that I would return for the wedding on May 17. They bumbled over to their wall calendar and jokingly penciled me in. They said they would make me some spice cookies, my favorite, which are usually only available in the winter. I laughed and said I would see them then.

Now, Saturday morning, I am nervous. Will they have made the cookies? Will they regret it if they didn't? Will I embarrass them by asking? I walk in, the bell dings, the screen door clacks shut. I stand in line, old fashioned place and time.

"Hi John," I say, and he smiles a small smile, a big smile for him. "We've got something for you," he says and turns to the freezer, pulling out a white dress shirt box. He quickly tries to take the top off. Bob waddles over with a grin, says hi and helps John. "Can't you get it open?" he asks. "Well if you hadn't taped it..." John replies. Inside are four spice cookies with red and green sprinkles and white frosting, huddled on one side of the box, staring up at us like surprised Christmas elves just removed from storage.

"I didn't know how many to make," Bob says, "so I just made four." I smile real big. "Perfect," I say, "the standard four."

They ask about the wedding, and we fill them in, and they seem happy/relaxed/jovial. We leave and as soon as the door shuts, Eliina and I explode into giggles. She says she just can't get over it. "Those men LOVE you," she says, out of breath. "It's like an alternate universe when you go in there. All of a sudden it's, 'LINDSAY!"" I am crazy with pride, embarrasment and pleased-as-punchness. I can't wait to show off our prize. I walk back to Kirsten's with them proudly, as though I'd had to hunt them in the wild.

More to come.

5/23/2003 06:23:28 PM

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