by Anthony Rowe
It was Pete and Kathy’s wedding. We were in a meadow in the mountains outside of Flagstaff, Arizona. The sky was a deep blue, the tall trees swayed, white clouds floated by, and the air was crisp and cool, but the sun warmed us. The day was perfect…well, the weather was.
We were milling about the meadow in our formal attire. The scheduled time of the wedding was drawing near, yet preparations were not complete. Mike was off with Monty (but that’s another story). The arch under which Pete and Kathy would recite their vows was lying on the ground, unconstructed. There was no bride. There was no minister.
Pete responded to the situation. He and his best man Jason began assembling the arch, in their tuxes, smiling and joking in a relaxed and comfortable manner. I remember thinking to myself that this wasn’t the way a groom was supposed to act in the moments before his wedding when chairs hadn’t arrived, arches hadn’t been constructed, and the bride and the minister weren’t present. I also began to understand, at that moment, that the words “supposed to act” don’t apply to my brother Pete.
He and Jason continued to work and laugh together; and once I had gotten over projecting my anxiety on to Pete, I joined them, and we had a very good time. The arch was built, the chairs came, the minister arrived, Kathy was a vision, and the trees continued to sway as the clouds floated by. The day was perfect…except for when Charlie fainted (but that’s another story).
Comments