George Saunders and Felipe Fuentes stood tall and proud and resolute before the robed officiate, The Reverend Darcy McDermott. The church sanctuary was hushed and reverent, with expectation and emotion rippling through the cool, rainy, late fall air seeping through half-cracked windows.
The need to move the commitment ceremony indoors was, at first, a disappointment to everyone, but now it seemed just right, at least to Madeline Prescott Moore. The church sanctuary seemed to her just that, a sanctuary from not only the elements outside, but the stormy legal and political vicissitudes surrounding gay marriage in California. But here, in this sacred space, existed a pure moment of love and celebration that no legalities or appeals or hateful anti-gay signs could touch.
The Rev. McDermott—Madeline thought of him at this moment as The Rev. McDermott, rather than Darcy—began a moving reading of a love poem by Rumi.
. . . “Lo, I am with you always" means
when you look for God
God is in the look of your eyes,
In the thought of looking,
Nearer to you than your self,
Or things that have happened to you . . .
Madeline sat in the front church pew basking in the beauty of Rumi, but also hoping George would remember to relax and not lock his knees, which could lead to fainting. It would be just like George to faint, she thought with both a sigh and a tug of affection.
. . . The Moon
The full moon is inside of you.
There's no need to go outside . . .
She glanced about her to see the guests who had gathered in the church. Felipe’s family, a large and grinning bunch ranging in age from a curly headed five-year-old to an octogenarian aunt with a cane, took up the first two pews on the right side of the sanctuary. His father was no longer living, but his smiling mother looked quite at home in the church, surrounded by family. Friends from the art scene filled the pews behind his family.
The left side of the sanctuary was supposed to be for George’s parents. But, in their sad and maddening and utterly irresponsible absence (in her view), Madeline sat proudly with a white rose pinned to her black and white silk dress. These were not her best colors—black and white—but she conceded for George’s sake. In their own arty postmodern style, Felipe and George had chosen colors of black and white for their commitment ceremony, and encouraged their close friends to wear these colors. Felipe looked handsome in an inky-black turtle-neck and deep charcoal gabardine pants. That was Felipe, looking like an artist, which was appropriate given his connection to the Laguna art world.
George, in striking contrast, wore a white Mexican-style wedding shirt with matching white pants, a departure from his usual olive colored kakis. A casual, but interesting choice. Tuxedoes would have fit their color scheme beautifully, she thought, but that would have been too traditional for these two originals. On each side of the wedding party rose graceful pedestals bearing elegant black sculpted vases, out of which sprung sparsely arranged white lilies—the new “give each flower its space” concept.
. . . A fig grows in the silence -
Let your speech become that fruit . . .
To George’s left, stood the most handsome man Madeline had ever laid eyes on: her husband. Alex Moore, with his naturally elegant looks, fit the wedding tableaux to a tee, his gorgeous head of white-gray hair standing out against a dark gray suit.
Madeline never quite got over how someone who looked like Alex could have, back in 1968, fallen for such a basic looking person as herself. Not exactly plain—not with that head of extraordinary red hair, but still not some Miss America type that usually attracted men gifted with Alex’s good looks. But they were soul mates from the beginning of their romance. And, thanks to the quick emergency action of a flight attendant on Southwest Airlines, she and Alex should have many years ahead of them.
. . . I need a mouth as wide as the sky
To say the nature of a True Person -
Language as large as longing . . .
To say the nature of a True Person -
Language as large as longing . . .
Standing with Felipe, to his right, was his brother, Pablo, a thinner and less muscular version of Felipe. Pablo wore glasses and Madeline thought she’d heard that he was a science professor at UCI in nearby Irvine.
She imagined George’s eyes about now—most likely full of tears, given the power of Rumi’s poetry and George’s general tendency to tear up. But she couldn’t see his face from where she was sitting, only the back of him. The irregular waves of his blonde hair caught the overhead lights, giving a halo effect. She smiled to herself, as if her own son were being married. George was like that—like a son. Her hand went to the soft white petals of the rose pinned to her black and white silk dress. George had pinned it on himself, with nervous fingers.
“Oh, man, I’ll never remember my lines,” he had said, fumbling with the pin.
“Lines? Be careful. Here, let me help,” she said, fearing pain and blood spots on her new dress. “You sound like you’re auditioning for a part on T.V., George, these are your vows. You will remember them. Or, if you don’t, then improvise. Ouch!”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just so nervous.”
“I know,” she said, patting her rose corsage in place. “It’s normal. Just go with it, George. Don’t worry about anything. Forget about the guests behind you. Just think of speaking to Felipe all alone.”
“Thanks, Madeline. Thanks for . . . for being here. For me, I mean.”
Yes, she thought, half-hearing the beautiful Rumi poem, George had no one else. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Besides herself and Alex and Darcy, his other Fat Soul Friday friends were all in attendance, right next to her. They fanned out to her left in the same pew, all expectant and proud and dressed in the requested black and white. The row of them looked a like a string of black and white pearls held together by their love and support for George.
Geraldine Nash’s lacy white skirt and black silk blouse was accessorized by a heavy white shell necklace. Madeline wondered briefly what was going through Geraldine’s odd, psychic mind. Was the reception at Van Gelder’s going to be a success? Would it include any particular disasters, since envisioning disasters seemed to be Geraldine’s speciality.
Next to Geraldine sat Lucy Wu. Lucy wore a knee length black dress with an Asian fringed white scarf—and dramatically dark red lipstick. It was unusual for Lucy to wear makeup, but this new edgy noir look might be due to something other than dressing up for the wedding. Madeline had inside information that her new boyfriend, someone she met through Match.com, would be joining them at the reception.
Elena Velasco looked gorgeous as usual, even without her signature yellow. Her black and white polka dot dress, reminiscent of the 1950s, was something that only a very slim and striking young woman could pull off. Elena looked particularly radiant, and Madeline knew why. Darcy couldn’t keep that kind of joy to himself. Finally, she thought with a swell of the heart and a memory of Rilke, ah, yes, these two solitudes have met and touched and greeted each other . . . And even though, unlike Geraldine, Madeline possessed zero psychic powers, she predicted that someday, in the not so distance future, Darcy would need to find a minister to marry the minister.
On the other side of Elena sat Andrea Ballentine in a skin-tight, thigh-high black dress with a plunging v-neckline. She had no white that Madeline could see. And was she chewing gum? At a wedding? This thought was answered by a loud SMACK! in the delicate silence between perfect lines of poetry. Oh, for God’s sake. Madeline threw a reflexive glance in Andrea’s direction. Andrea looked back and smiled innocently with her neon white smile. There was the white after all, Madeline thought, her overly bleached teeth.
Each woman—well, except for Andrea—wore something else, too, just to add a little whimsy to the occasion. They had conspired to wear their own pair of TOMs shoes, the ones George had picked out for them. Of course they didn’t go with the style or color of their clothing, which made it even more fun. And noticeable. Hopefully, people would comment on the odd shoes and they could tell the story of George’s generosity, and about the needy children helped by the purchase TOMs shoes.
Andrea, who had finally received her own pair of TOMs shoes from George (an oversight, he had said), did not take to their style. She said she wanted them to help support the kids, but would never be “like, caught dead” in them. Typical, thought Madeline. Andrea, in her black stilettos, never ceased to be irritating. But then, every family had someone who had to be endured.
And this was family, she thought with a sudden stab of emotion, yes, a family. Her family. Family was not a matter of DNA, but of the heart and soul. The larger one’s soul, the larger the family . . .
She brought her attention to the comforting tones of Darcy’s voice as he finished reading the poem:
. . . The body is only a device
To calculate the astronomy of the spirit.
The truth is - God is speaking through this body.
Say yes -
Say, YES.
Madeline wanted to yell “Yes!” simply to affirm that today, of all days, was a great big YES.
* * *
But Andrea sat innocently enough. Instead, Madeline watched a tall, middle-aged, blondish woman with wrinkles around her thin mouth and a stooping look of embarrassment sidle into the pew directly behind Andrea.
Darcy was now explaining the symbol of the ring.
A circle is the ancient symbol of eternity, and of the sun and the
earth and the universe. It is a symbol of perfection and of peace . . .
earth and the universe. It is a symbol of perfection and of peace . . .
Madeline had trouble concentrating, as something about the latecomer snagged her attention. Something about her cheek bones, the facial structure, the eyes, the wave of the hair. Something.
. . . In these rings is the symbol of
unity, in which your lives are now joined . . .
unity, in which your lives are now joined . . .
Good Lord, Madeline thought, her imagination spinning out of control. Surely not!
. . . so that wherever you go, you will always return to one another and to your togetherness . . .
Darcy now turned to George and said, “George, as you have written some personal vows, you may now share them with Felipe. Tell him what is in your heart.”
The pause between the minister’s prompt and George’s vows stretched out into an awkward silence. Madeline closed her eyes while critical thoughts raced and collided chaotically in her mind, like bumper cars. Had George frozen up and forgotten his “lines”? Was the woman behind them George’s estranged mother or was it her imagination tricking her? If it was George’s mother from Tulsa, how could she have known about the commitment ceremony? And what about his father? No, it was probably just a woman who loves to cry at weddings. Some poor, unstable wedding crasher. Sure, that was it. George’s anti-gay parents would certainly not be attending this ceremony.
Then Madeline focused her attention on George who had, much to the general relief of the guests, began speaking:
“The moment I saw you,” said George, looking at a beaming Felipe, “I realized you were the one, the true love of my life . . .”
As George went on, only half-audible as the microphone was not working properly, Madeline’s attention was drawn back to the tall woman behind Andrea. She stole a sidelong glance and could see the woman with a Kleenex in hand, dabbing at her eyes.
Darcy gave a motion to someone in the back of the sanctuary to turn up George’s lapel microphone.
“And so,” said George with the microphone volume suddenly surging, “my life is now complicated with you—I mean complete with you. Sorry.” Felipe gave a chuckle, along with the guests. Darcy smiled at George and nodded for him to continue.
The woman gave a little laugh and then went back to dabbing her eyes.
Felipe then offered his own beautiful, flawlessly delivered vows, declaring his love for George. This was followed by the “repeat-after-me” ring vows. Madeline knew that George would be great at this, as he only had to repeat short lines. But first, the ring must be handed over from the best man, Alex.
Darcy looked ceremoniously at Alex, who then handed George a gold band. George took the ring and promptly dropped it. But he made a quick recovery. Spinning on his heels, he lunged to stop the rolling ring with his shoe. He bent to grab it, held it up victoriously to a giggling crowd, and returned to position.
“George, will you now place the ring on Felipe’s finger and repeat after me? . . . I George, take you Felipe, to be my partner in life and love . . .”
Madeline, trying to focus on the ring vows, was now distracted by the sound of soft sobs. She glanced back to the mysterious woman who now seemed overtaken with emotion and searching her handbag for another tissue. The only person Madeline knew who cried that easily was . . .
She forced her attention back to the ceremony, just in time to watch Pablo, Felipe’s brother, give a ring to Felipe. After Felipe's vows were said, he slipped the ring on George’s finger.
The ring ceremony was over and the lighting of a unity candle began.
. . . .The joining of two candles into one symbolizes the strength and the unity of two joining together to become one, expressing George and Felipe’s belief that together they can become greater than each could be alone . . .
Darcy’s voice floated over the cool air like fine silk on skin, and she realized how perfectly suited Darcy was to the ministry. His voice alone held a gentle but deeply spiritual quality:
At the end of the ceremony, Darcy said with his most endearing smile:
George and Felipe, today is the public affirmation of all that you are to each other. Seemingly your relationship will be as it has always been, yet there is a power in the spoken word. May that power bring you, George and Felipe, all the warmth and closeness, security and comfort, joy and happiness that this world has to offer.
There was brief kiss and the two men turned to face a clapping, hooting audience of friends, family, and well-wishers.
With hands clasped in renewed solidarity, the two young men scanned the audience with looks of wordless appreciation, love, and joy. But just then, George’s radiant face fell. It fell hard, with a jolt, like the suddenness of a California earthquake. His eyes were riveted—frozen—on one particular spot, one particular person.
Felipe, puzzled, followed George’s gaze. The clapping stopped and everyone’s eyes moved to the object of George’s shocked expression.
“MOM!” George cried into the silence. “Crikey! Is that you?”
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