A Modern Wedding
Henry and Edith talked on a hill, in the dark. Somewhere.
They talked about fingerprints and Pollocks and snowflakes and cumulus clouds and human faces and how we all have two eyes, a nose, a mouth, a couple ears, but we all look so incredibly different. They talked about what two people can have for another, the shapeless shape that only they can feel and grasp and know.
They talked about how what they shared had never been shared by two people. This realization crushed them both and what they wanted more than anything at that moment was to celebrate this thing they had.
They talked about an event, a ceremony to be an embodiment of what existed between them.
"Something so vivid . . . yet hard to describe," said Henry.
"Even if you were there," said Edith.
"Something . . . where you wake up the next day," said Henry.
"And think it was all a tender, invigorating dream," said Edith.
It was as grand as they could imagine, taking place in the field behind Edith's parent's house. Everyone who was ever important to them was invited.
As guests meandered in and about, arrangements of all the songs Henry and Edith had ever loved were performed by a jazz trio on a loop. There was a lion tamer and a giant Plinko board and an inflated castle full of balls and candy. There was a hillbilly riding on a unicycle, whistling and playing fiddle.
"His song was so soulful and beautiful. I couldn't keep from crying," Henry's barber remarked.
There was a virtuosic tap dancer and an improvisational painter doing works of abstract expressionism. There was a photographer doing conceptual self-portraiture.
"He reminds me of Cindy Sherman," said Henry's cousin Jess.
"I haven't heard of her," Edith's best from grade school said.
"I've got a book in the car. She'll blow your mind," Jess said. "You'll never look at self-portraits the same way again."
Two renaissance men staged sword fights and poetry readings every hour and a marionette artist re-enacted the movie "Raging Bull." Served were five different flavors of milk.
"I think a little kangaroo just stole that guy's drink," said Henry's Introduction to Philosophy professor from college.
"Actually, it's a wallaby," Henry said. "I'll get him another one."
They brought in a couple of chimpanzees to smoke pipes and deal cards. There were three break dancers and four magicians and a scientist performing physics experiments for the kids.
"These ham sandwiches are just phenomenal," said Edith's former church youth director. "And the sauerkraut. I never realized you could do that with sauerkraut."
"I'll tell my uncle Clyde. He fixed all the food . . . and arranged for all the trained animals," Edith's mother said. "And don't forget to try the deviled eggs. He made enough for each guest to have nine."
As the party neared its end, after Henry and Edith had danced and laughed and spoken to everyone, they uncovered a temporary ice rink and performed a pairs ice skating routine they had been working on for years. The show was described by some as blissful and elegant, by others as courageous and inspiring, and by others as pushing the limits of what's acceptable these days.
But Henry and Edith saved the best for the end. As they left, each guest was given a stack of pictures, some from the past, some from the future, some from that day. The pictures embodied the magic of two people who wanted nothing more or less than one another. Many captured their love in its brilliance, unlike the love they'd had for anyone else and unlike the love anyone else had ever had. The photos foresaw the places they'd find, friends they'd meet, their homes, their children.
The final in the stack was a portrait of them, old, thin, worn. But shining through the years and lines in their faces were eyes as bright as that day they were married. They were together, still, wanting nothing more than to be in that moment. The air in the picture was warm and tangible and transcendent. It was real. You could touch the space between them.
David Holub's writing has appeared most recently at McSweeney's Internet Tendency and The Big Jewel. One of his arms is made of cheese, but he refuses to say which.