The Wedding

It was the sweetest, most sincere wedding I have ever been to - the marriage of Jorge (a young man that works for my husband) and Johanna.

The ceremony took place in Quincy, in a gazebo overlooking the bay. It would have been a lovely spot had it not been freezing cold outside. There was no heat in the tent...and no light either - Just a little bit of natural light, from the stormy day outside, struggling to break through the hazey mist gathering on the the plastic that didn't shield the guests from the elements. The wind blew furiously, slapping the plastic loudly to and fro as the rain came down sideways, finding its way easily into the tent.

Nonetheless the groom showed up on time, wearing his wedding best - a white tuxedo and white sneakers. He paced at the alter, among the obviously fake flowers, and nervously chomped on a piece of gum.

I stood shivering near the back of the tent, amuzed by the spectacular frenzy of guests arriving in a cacophony of brightly colored attire and authentic faux jewels. Everyone was running in from the rain...trying in vain to stay dry. A darling little hispanic girl dressed provacatively in a purple, off-the-shoulder dress and long white gloves came running into the gazebo. When she got under the tent, she put on her brakes and immediately wiped out, sliding under the last few rows of plastic chairs.

Now a procession of flower girls and bridesmaids came barreling in. All were draped in garbage bags and wore shower caps on their heads. They were still soaked. They spoke breathlessly and violently in spanish.

The bridal party has arrived so we are ready to begin the ceremony. But someone forgot to bring the music. The priest asks the guests to sing "Here Comes the Bride".

As the guests begin singing in a thick chorus of spanish accents, the bride is escorted into the gazebo. She is wearing a fluffy white dress that is now spotted with rain and her veil is clinging wetly against her bare back. Her tiara glitters as she steps tentatively into the gazebo. She shivers as a drop of water rolls from her chin onto her bosom. She is clutching a bouquet of white and pink fake flowers and looking searchingly toward the front. A broad, white smile sweeps across her face and lights her up. She has found her groom.

As the bride makes her way down the aisle, the bridal party gets situated at the front of the tent. The brides maids are adorned in slinky, bright pink dresses out of which their buxom bosoms spill heavily. The maid of honor is wearing the same provocative dress but she is also sporting a thick, rhinestone choker collar necklace and glittering dangly earrings. She has a large tatoo emblazoned across her chest. I can't see exactly what it is. I am thinking, "Thank goodness we are not in a church!". The groom is standing tall, gleaming, mesmerized by his bride...still chomping away on his gum.

When the bride reaches the front, the priest asks everyone to rise. I notice a particular female guest seated near the front. She is wearing tight white pants through which one can effortlessly view the prominent indentation caused by her underwear digging into her flesh as the material struggles and strains heroically against the her bulbous buttocks. She is also wearing a black bomber jacket with a large furry hood but she isn't wearing the hood...she is wearing a clear plastic shower cap. It is an interesting and practical fashion statement. She sucks lustily on a big blue lollipop as she participates in the ceremony. She is among the most enthusiastic of the guests in providing the responsorial "Amen!". She is not afraid to let the bride and groom know she is there for them, "You go girl!" "Mmmm, Child, thas loov fo yas...". There are others in the audience also enthusiatically whooping and hollaring periodically throughout the ceremony but the enthusiasm reaches its peak when the bride and groom kiss for the first time as husband and wife.

By the time the ceremony is finished, the rain has let up enough for us to make it to our cars without getting completely drenched. The groom is still chowing on his gum as he leads his bride out of the gazebo.

The wedding reception is in another location. It is in Jamaica Plane. In order to get from Quincy to Jamaica Plane we have to drive through Roxbury and Dorchester (the projects). Jorge was good enough to give us very thorough directions to the reception hall - directions that would take us 15 minutes longer, but would take us through "the nicer parts of the hood". Despite the 3/4 page of typed directions, complete with number of lights, landmarks and a "house that looks dead", we get lost but Dan refuses to pull over for directions.

Eventually we get to the reception hall.

Upon entering the hall there is a sign-in table and a "wedding mailbox" to put cards into. Dan signs us in and I look around for the seating assignments. There appears to be no seating assignment so we stand around awkwardly.

The room is decorated with more fake flowers of white and pink. The tables are covered with white table clothes and the chairs are draped with white tulle scarves. The DJ is playing music with a latino beat. It is loud...very loud.

I am starving so I look around to see what there is to eat. There are no hor d-oeuvres floating around...there is no buffet table with cheese and crackers...I don't smell any food and the kitchen appears dark and still. I am wondering if we should have stopped at McDs on the way because I don't think I can wait until dinner.

We are totally out of our element. It feels like all the latinos are looking at us and all the inner-city folks are snarling at us. So I look around to see if there is a cocktail waitress...no cocktail waitress...no sign of a bar. I could really use a drink right now.

Someone comes along and finds out we are "Northcoast amigos". It turns out that there is no assigned seating but there are a few special tables reserved for very special guests...immediate family, and interestingly, Northcoast amigos.

We sit down at our table - table number 7. It is the second table from the head table and right on the dance floor. There are white and pink fake flowers on the table and plastic champagne glasses at each seat. I find comfort in these plastic champagne glasses as they indicate that there will, at the very least, be a glass of champagne...or maybe not...maybe they will toast with grape juice. I really hope it's champagne. I notice there is no silverware on the table. Now I am beginning to wonder if there is going to be any food at all. Still no scent of food on the horizon. The kitchen is still black. I am so hungry. I look in my clutch to see if I might have a package of saltines or peanuts. No dice...but I find some breath mints.

Eventually someone comes around and places a stack of plastic cups, a bottle of cheap champagne and a 2-litre bottle of Coca-Cola on each table.

Another Northcoast amigo shows up. He is Puerto Rican. He pulls a bottle of Petrone from his pocket...apparently he has been to one of these weddings before. He is now my best friend. It is a rather small bottle so now I am thinking maybe we should send someone to the package store for more alcohol...someone who knows this area. I tell Dan he should send Chenille (a Northcoast amigo...he's black, long dreadlocks, big white smile, seems to know his way around). I suggest that Dan give Chenille enough money to purchase cases and cases of beer and wine as a wedding gift from Northcoast to the bride and groom - he can write it off. He looks at me and asks me if I'm crazy...I think he means going back out into the rain...he means sending someone out with his money.

The hall is quite full of guests now - immigrants, latinos, inner-city folks and table number seven (the "Northcoast amigos" table - also referred to as the gringo table). Most of the ladies are dressed to the nines....cheap slinky dresses, gawdacious faux jewels, bright lipstick, plunging necklines, six inch heels. There is one woman in particular that catches my eye. She is wearing a leapord print swing coat. Under that coat she is wearing a black dress with large white polka dots and a lime green ribbon around her waste. She is carrying a bright pink satin purse and is wearing black platform, open-toed, high-heeled shoes. Her fingernails are like daggers, painted bright pink - the index finger has a sparkley rhinestone glued to the tip. Her toenails are also painted bright pink. I am so distracted by the assault of color, pattern and texture that I don't even notice what her face and hair look like. She is being escorted by a young black man wearing Pippi Long-stocking-like braids. He is sporting a cream colored vest and cream colored pants with white sneakers. He is wearing a pink dress shirt and a black tie...and the piece de resistance is his cream colored gentleman's hat (which he does not take off in the building as a gentleman should).

Finally a window near the back of the room slides open. Yes! It is a cash bar!!! Dan goes to the bar to get me a gin and tonic (I usually like Bombay and tonic) and to get himself a beer (he usually like Sam seasonal). He returns to the table with a plastic cup of gin and tonic and a bottle of beer. I take a sip of my drink and wince. I notice Dan's beer. It is Sam Octoberfest (it should be Sam Summer at this time of year).

My stomach is so empty that the alcohol goes straight to my senses and I immediatly feel deliciously relaxed. The gin, even though it tastes like crap, is doing a good job. The timing is perfect because now I can see that there will be food served after all and I am absolutly delirious with delight.

In the darkest corner of the reception hall I see ladies carrying in foil trays for the buffet table. They will call us up to the buffet by table number. I wait eagerly for our table to be called. When our table is called we head over to the buffet line. We each grab a styrofoam plate, a bundle of plastic utensils tied up with pink curling ribbon and a white paper napkin. The food looks like something you would find at a bad BBQ. The chicken and pork are dried like leather. There is something that has turned a sort of brownish, greyish color. I think it is some kind of banana dish with chunks of some sort of darker brownish greyish bits it. There are mashed potatoes - which actually look like mashed potatos...and a chopped salad of yellowish green lettuce, tomatos and cucumbers. Even though the food looked questionable I devour it. It actually tastes good and the mashed potatoes are to die for! It turns out the banana dish is actually some sort of a potato salad with chunks of turkey giblets in it. Ewe!!

People are finishing up their meals and moving onto the dance floor. They are playing a mixture of hip-hop and what Dan and I refer to as "vacation music". My friend with the Petrone grabs my hand and leads me onto the dance floor. He merenges with me while his wife gets her toes stepped on by my white boy.

Dan and I danced like crazy and drank tons of cheap alcohol for the rest of the night. Dan is not much of a dancer so I danced with anyone that was willing, whether they were able or not. I danced with cute guys, ugly guys, young guys, old guys, buff guys, fat guys...They all had two things in common. They all smelled heavily of cheap cologne and they all knew how to lead a girl on the dance floor. It was so much fun!

By the end of the night I was shit faced and exhausted. I was giddy from being twirled all over the dance floor by dozens of men and enchanted by the pure, unpretentious festivity of this special occassion.

I am humbled by this experience.

It was a wedding unlike any I had ever been. It left an indelible impression on my mind and deeply touched my heart. I have to say, it is quite possibly the best wedding I have ever been to. I am honored to have been there - at Jorge and Johanna's wedding.

I wish the lovely couple a lifetime of companionship and just 2 or 3 adorable children.