Two Punks In Love

Wedding Day

Kat

When I was younger, and I dreamed of my wedding day—it was this.

Me, in a simple romantic dress, my hair loose except for intricate braids drawing it from my face.

Out in the field, one long table set with china and crystal and burlap and greenery, waiting to receive my large, boisterous clan of family and friends, who will soon raise their glasses to my blessed union.

And the tree. The lone oak, swathed in gauzy white, a garland of green and white roses wrapping its trunk. Fairy lights streaming like bubbles from its lofty branches. Enduring, living, breathing, sheltering. Ever-growing. The perfect symbol of the love I cherish. Of the love I want to nurture forever.

And the man beneath it. Oh my lord, the man standing there has always been the man of my dreams.

My first crush. My first heartbreak. My first love. My teacher, my best friend, my lover, my strength, my redemption, my faith.

My rockstar, in a tight, light grey suit that matches his eyes.

He was born into this world beautiful, but now, waiting for me beneath that tree, he is transcendent. An angel come to flesh to guide me to the only home I'll ever need.

He smiles at me, and tears spill from his eyes. He does not dash them away.

I have seen my broken boy cry many times. In a tree. In our bedroom. In a limo. In the midst of anger and frustration and fear and secrecy and shame.

I have never seen Trace cry openly, fearless of his emotion.  I have never seen Trace cry tears of joy.

My eyes well in perfect empathy, and I begin to sob six feet down the altar.

Like, ugly cry sob.

Well, this was not a part of my picture perfect country wedding.

I'm crying so hard, I have to stop walking, because I can't see. At this moment, I'm really regretting my decision to walk myself down the aisle. I could use a helping hand.

"Damn these baby hormones," I mutter.

Apparently not low enough, because everyone hears me and bursts out laughing.

Trace starts from his place at the altar, but my father halts him by rising from his seat. "Let me."

"Of course," Trace nods, I can feel his love, reaching out to me.

My father arrives with tissue I'm sure my mother hastily stuffed in his hand. He surprises me by delicately dabbing beneath my eyes. "You're still picture perfect," he assures me. "Glowing, just like you should be." He talks to me all the way down the aisle, which I'm grateful for, because it gives me something to focus on and keeps my sobbing to a minimum.

"When you were little, I hated to see that boy loping across our yard, and you tagging along behind him, because I always knew you'd follow him into anything," he nods at Trace. "And I knew the one place where he was never content was home. Now he's taken you all over the world—to places I could never find the time to show you." We've arrived in front of Trace, who is crying much more beautifully than me. "He's given you the world, and you've given him a home." My father says. "And together, you two have taught me the true meaning of family." He glances around, blinks hard to avoid crying himself, and leans forward to kiss my cheek tenderly. "I love you so much, Sweetheart."

"I love you, Daddy. Thanks for not banning Trace from the house after the yard-forking incident."

More laughter.