An Odd Wedding

I walk through church grounds on my way to a wedding. It’s a concrete paradise except for one carefully fenced tree, like they’re afraid it will attack . . . or escape. 1

They clean up every leaf.2

Somber dressed people glare at me in my modern leaf green Victorian garb, I don’t belong here, I don’t fit in, my clothes aren’t respectful, I’m not taking their faith seriously.3

In the park people gather, earth tones per request or not, whatever. Here trees shed their leaves with immodest abandon, mixed with glitter this is the couple confetti. Even autumn celebrates their union as laughter tickles a sky to blue happiness. Cheers and smiles, clapping, teasing and cat calls spill out the edge of our clearing. People give us disapproving looks; we’re not taking this union seriously.4

We sat on tarpaulins, bright blue pools. The officiator, environmentalist modern day hippy without dreads, pot or radical opinion, wore an old school blazer and red tie (bad pattern); he sweeps his long blonde hair out of his eyes repetitively as he reads the words the groom had written for him. The bride directs him as to the lighting of candle of union, and nudges him to ask for vows, he hasn’t rehearsed this; he was probably invited by frilly text message this morning, as were we all.5

The groom wore an op-shop grey suit, very sedate and swish, jandals and big white model sunglasses, the bride wore a similar pair in red with a leopard print dress, teased blood red hair balanced by hairspray wobbled on her head. Their temperaments matched each others appearance, Jeremy ran round in circles and laughed to loud (he had tried to climb out the court room window earlier when they had signed) and Simone stood calmly, she sipped coke through a straw.6

As they exchanged flesh hole earrings I wondered to myself what the people in pink lipstick and polished black clicking shoes would say about a union between a girl and boy, not yet twenty, who both slept with other boys. Would they purse their lips and say it wouldn’t last? Would they stare disapprovingly at us, holding our fairy cupcakes and stream cooled booze in plastic cups (adorned with sparkly stickers), taking seriously our party in the sun? Collectively the well wishers decided not to care, and so did I, I never thought much of pink lipstick.7

Afterwards, as the black haired stripy sweater clad camp bridesmaid chased the chocolate peanut butter cookies round the gathering, I talked to the other guests.8

One girl had been invited on her way to the vege-market that morning, she gave the bride a zucchini tied with a pink bow while we waited for Simone’s feral boyfriend to arrive on his scooter (soon to be tied with cans and traditional annoyances), she said9

“When Simone asked me to this wedding I thought it could be one three things.10

One. She could have just been going through the motions11

Two. It would be real but a marriage of convenience12

Three. It would be real full stop.”13

I could have said the same thing of the groom; they suited each other, with their matching glasses.14

At a dinner party later that year (with roast beef that was half red wine, pink rice and caramelized brussel sprouts) I met Jeremy again, he had shaved his hair, wore his purple jeans (that got him accused of soliciting) and still had his marriage earring in his lobe. He complained about his wife and how she had gone feral. He feared if he continued to be married to her it would ruin his reputation, he laughed as our host, a strawberry blonde drag queen, served him and whispered in his ear.15

He still threatens divorce nearly every time I see him, but he still keeps his earring in his ear and smiles as he does it, prancing with fake French accent and insulting filthy anglos in the same breath. 16

I think if those who frowned were to see him now they would gloat at how they were right all along, but I don’t think anyone would mind. So what if the marriage didn’t last? It was an afternoon of happiness, glitter and celebration, years later the groom still looks back and smiles, as do his guests. I can’t imagine a world without this happiness, I’m glad our smiles were allowed to run rampant, not carefully caged and locked away like a tree I once saw in a concrete paradise, shoes clicking (my memory provides as soundtrack).17