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Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Sacred Vows, II

“If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s a tacky wedding. People always take the path of least resistance – well, I won’t settle. I want it to be personal and unforgettable, all about us, and I want it to really mean something. You know what I mean by that? Not some hokey vows we scrap together surfing poetry.com. It’s not style over substance, it’s substance that speaks to you,” she lectured.

“Honey, you know I wanna be on your team here. But I was also born to a team that believes wholeheartedly in tacky weddings, and last I checked, I’m not a free agent till I win the World Series.”

“Okay, I think you can switch off the strained sports metaphors. I could have dated a lax player for those.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he would have given you the new-age wedding of your dreams! ... Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I relented.

“If you asked me for something that meant as much to me, you know I’d go to bat for you,” she snuffled, “and yeah, I know I’m back on baseball.”

Using the small opening she gave me, I decided to soften the tone. “You know that I’d do anything for you. But this­ ­—this is lunacy! I mean, ask me to beat up that asshole kid in your painting class who’s always drawing sketches of you banging the cafeteria guy…ask me to buy you that vintage bike with the stripes…ask me to get rid of a second-tier friend, even —come on!”

“Thanks, I can take care of myself. A real man would find a way —he’d find a way no matter what. Stand up to your family for once in your life, will ya? Or what’s the point?” she threw up her hands. Then, walking over to the nightstand, my lovely Marisa grabbed the latest issue of Mademoiselle and disappeared behind the screen door on the balcony.

There it was, then, the stinging ultimatum of unconditional love.

***

Of course I could have broken her down or buttered her up and, in a few days, she’s drop it. I could have held my ground and asserted my muscular self-governance. But in the end, I knew I’d be giving her the first ammunition to stockpile for a later date, the inevitable surprise attack. So I set out to do the impossible.

“She wants what?!” Trying to focus on my dad, I could hear my brother choking from laughter in the background, no doubt exaggerating his mirth with milk-snorting sound effects.

“Dad, you have to understand, this movie means a great deal to her. Her mother adored…it was the only thing that cured her depression when she was getting chemo. Marisa thinks the second one helped her mom recover…I mean, she had a death sentence!”

“Which one’s the second one? Remind me. Jabba Hut?”

The Empire Strikes Back. Luc Solo gets petrified. It’s generally acknowledged as the greatest.”

“So we play the stupid movie on a TV at the youth table. We set up a room, we have a special viewing party and we play the movie on the big screen —she’s happy, you marry, she has boy, then girl, The End.”

“Uh, I’m afraid not. She already said no to everything I could think of. Marisa doesn’t do compromise. She had a sociology professor lower her C to an F. Trust me, we have to do this.”

“Have to? Did I have to send you to that stupid school in Maine? Did you have to take ‘Physics for Poets’? Did your grandma have to spend her pension on your Native American drumming classes? Did you have to date an Episcopalian from Portland? Now you want me to spend our hard-earned savings on this silly American child fantasy? When are any of you growing up!”

“You’re right Dad, maybe I’m not ready for marriage. Maybe marriage is not for me. I’ve been thinking, Marisa and I should just pack it up and move to Thailand. She can help start a group counseling child prostitutes and I can teach English to destitute villagers.”

There was silence on the other end. The silent intermission before success.

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