Best man/flower girl, ribs that hurt
The youngest of the three older brothers got married this weekend. He got married at a pretty, old house in a Pennsylvania state park. This is what I wrote in an email about it:
"I sobbed when my brother said "I do." I didn't expect that. Mascara ran down my face. He asked me to be his best man and walk him out to his place on the steps, and also asked me to be the flower girl. It was a windy day for a wedding, like the air was gasping and excited. Rose petals and dry leaves rose up in spirals. Everyone's cheeks were ruddy and flushed like we were all making love together.
Which is only creepy when you remember that we were all related."
By far, the best wedding yet. No colossal freak outs about exhusbands and ex in-laws attending. No threatening not to go, or screaming fights the day before. These past three weddings have collectively been quite a lot for my trembling family to bear. My mother is rail thin and couldn't take another one with out completely wasting away. So, if you were thinking of asking me, you should wait a little while longer until she gets some meat on her bones.
On Friday I stopped in Bel Air to see a very paired down Small Sur play at a tiny coffee shop. It was sort of just what I needed. I spent all last week sort of drunk and dizzy trying to avoid a lingering something, but I wasn't sure what it was. Then, on Friday, there was this stinging singing that hurt your ribs right in the place that they are supposed to hurt. "this is what it's like to feel something." I thought. And then, I realized I was sort of numbing myself all week so I wouldn't feel a lot of old things that this wedding was letting surface, about my family, my brother all grown-up, exes, etc.
When I got home it was one in the morning. The house was in disarray. The refrigerator door was open and beeping to tell us to shut it. The light bulbs were out in the kitchen. My mother, who had not eaten all day, was frantic and shredding cabbage in the dimly lit kitchen. She had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, was talking a mile a minute -- so much so that it was hard to follow, and she had shredded enough cabbage to cover Baltimore in cole slaw. Usually this would make me anxious and maybe even angry. But as she went to go light another cigarette off of the toaster (her preferred method of lighting cigarettes.) I realized that I was really happy and that I loved how incredibly nutty she can get sometimes. We laughed together for a long time and fell asleep in the same bed giggling.
Later she bruised her rib, leaning all of her weight onto a plunger in the middle of the night. She insists she broke her rib. I cleaned her house and prepared for guests who might come after the reception. I made two roasts. But no one came, just the neighbor, her two sisters and my cousin Dave. (Who, I find more and more is such a nice young man - really a catch ladies. Maybe I like him because he seems a lot like me. And I am conceited. And an interesting side note and fact, David can't stand when people talk about syringes or, God forbid, the specifics of Russell's laser eye surgery.)
In my nostalgic moments at home, I looked through pictures of my brother and found little ones when he was 5 and I was two, with pink curlers in my hair. In the photo he was grabbing both of my cheeks with his tiny hands to kiss me square on the lips. I found multiple pictures of him with a terrible mullet and awesome converse sneakers. And then, I found this essay he wrote about wanting to become a research scientist, because he imagined the person whose research helped his "little sister" live and wanted to be just like them. Just before the ceremony, I helped him pin on his boutonniere and he patted my back powerfully* pounding out "You're okay. I'm okay. Look at us. Okay. Okay." At the wedding reception everyone looked at me with curiosity and another emotion I couldn't quite tell what it was. Because, see, to them I was Jessie, the little girl with cancer who they prayed for and not necessarily the knock-out in the red dress.
This was a long post. I brought home flowers, meat and wine.
*just like that poem if you read it, I guess we all do that "bat-cha" business
"I sobbed when my brother said "I do." I didn't expect that. Mascara ran down my face. He asked me to be his best man and walk him out to his place on the steps, and also asked me to be the flower girl. It was a windy day for a wedding, like the air was gasping and excited. Rose petals and dry leaves rose up in spirals. Everyone's cheeks were ruddy and flushed like we were all making love together.
Which is only creepy when you remember that we were all related."
By far, the best wedding yet. No colossal freak outs about exhusbands and ex in-laws attending. No threatening not to go, or screaming fights the day before. These past three weddings have collectively been quite a lot for my trembling family to bear. My mother is rail thin and couldn't take another one with out completely wasting away. So, if you were thinking of asking me, you should wait a little while longer until she gets some meat on her bones.
On Friday I stopped in Bel Air to see a very paired down Small Sur play at a tiny coffee shop. It was sort of just what I needed. I spent all last week sort of drunk and dizzy trying to avoid a lingering something, but I wasn't sure what it was. Then, on Friday, there was this stinging singing that hurt your ribs right in the place that they are supposed to hurt. "this is what it's like to feel something." I thought. And then, I realized I was sort of numbing myself all week so I wouldn't feel a lot of old things that this wedding was letting surface, about my family, my brother all grown-up, exes, etc.
When I got home it was one in the morning. The house was in disarray. The refrigerator door was open and beeping to tell us to shut it. The light bulbs were out in the kitchen. My mother, who had not eaten all day, was frantic and shredding cabbage in the dimly lit kitchen. She had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, was talking a mile a minute -- so much so that it was hard to follow, and she had shredded enough cabbage to cover Baltimore in cole slaw. Usually this would make me anxious and maybe even angry. But as she went to go light another cigarette off of the toaster (her preferred method of lighting cigarettes.) I realized that I was really happy and that I loved how incredibly nutty she can get sometimes. We laughed together for a long time and fell asleep in the same bed giggling.
Later she bruised her rib, leaning all of her weight onto a plunger in the middle of the night. She insists she broke her rib. I cleaned her house and prepared for guests who might come after the reception. I made two roasts. But no one came, just the neighbor, her two sisters and my cousin Dave. (Who, I find more and more is such a nice young man - really a catch ladies. Maybe I like him because he seems a lot like me. And I am conceited. And an interesting side note and fact, David can't stand when people talk about syringes or, God forbid, the specifics of Russell's laser eye surgery.)
In my nostalgic moments at home, I looked through pictures of my brother and found little ones when he was 5 and I was two, with pink curlers in my hair. In the photo he was grabbing both of my cheeks with his tiny hands to kiss me square on the lips. I found multiple pictures of him with a terrible mullet and awesome converse sneakers. And then, I found this essay he wrote about wanting to become a research scientist, because he imagined the person whose research helped his "little sister" live and wanted to be just like them. Just before the ceremony, I helped him pin on his boutonniere and he patted my back powerfully* pounding out "You're okay. I'm okay. Look at us. Okay. Okay." At the wedding reception everyone looked at me with curiosity and another emotion I couldn't quite tell what it was. Because, see, to them I was Jessie, the little girl with cancer who they prayed for and not necessarily the knock-out in the red dress.
This was a long post. I brought home flowers, meat and wine.
*just like that poem if you read it, I guess we all do that "bat-cha" business
posted by j-e-s-s-i-c-a at 9:28 AM
3 Comments:
you are so wonderful jessica.
This made me teary-eyed (and grateful that I don't wear mascara to work). How lovely!!!!!!!
Beautiful post Jessica. It reminded me of my sister's wedding (first time one of my siblings got hitched), how messy but happily tiring it can be to graft on a new branch to the family tree.
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