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2006-10-21 - 1:01 p.m.
So, hello. I got married.
What�s different, that is always the question. I have a wedding ring on my finger, for one. I play with it sometimes, twist it around, pull it over the knuckle, see how easy it is to get off, but not-quite-pull it off. I wonder if my fingers will ever grow too big to pull it off, if I�ll ever have to get a welder to saw it off when it cuts off the circulation to my finger. I feared it would bother me�I hate to wear jewelry�but this one feels about right. A priest blessed this ring. A monsignor, in fact, if that is any different. Before the mass, I stood with Monsignor Velo in the back of the chapel, looking on as he pulled the chalice and paten from a cabinet shelf, preparing his holy offering. �One species, right?� he asked. Yes, I said. I was standing by, not quite sure what to do with myself. My legs were getting tired of pacing all day, but there was no place to sit. I walked over to the doorway into the chapel, where the music had just begun. I shouldn�t miss anything, I thought, not after preparing for this moment for over a year, carefully picking out this very song that ushered in the mothers, from a CD recording in my kitchen. My aunt and uncle spied me from their pew and waved; I was caught. I went back in, ventured into the hall, found my best man, Mark, and shot a few hammy photos in the school hallway with my camera phone. Back inside, Monignor Velo was looking for Paul. Paul was the caretaker of this chapel, it seemed; he opened the doors to us and wanted to chat a bit more than our schedule permitted. To those in attendance at the rehearsal the day before, Paul would forever be known as the man who slipped near the altar and came crashing down in rather humiliating fashion. And now Paul had gone missing. I could not be bothered with looking. I was the groom, and the groom cannot be bothered with looking for things. I was to busy myself with getting butterflies, and I did, a little. I paced anyway. I looked into a mirror at my face, trying to make the remnant of a shaving cut on my chin disappear. My head usher had told me it was insignificant, so I let it be. Soon the monsignor came by me and closed the door to the chapel; it was nearly time. I wondered what my bride was doing, whether she was standing at the ready. The monsignor looked at me a moment. �What does Isabel do for work?� he asked. �She�s a fundraiser. For an environmental nonprofit. Travels a lot.� Must be planning his sermon. �And you?� �I edit textbooks. Children�s textbooks, math and reading.�He looked in at the mirror himself, adjusting the microphone on his robe.�Does this look okay?� I told him yes. �Sorry I�ve been so nervous these last few minutes.� I hadn�t much noticed.Then we headed for the entryway. At his signal, I marched in behind him.