- Wedding Rehearsal
It was distinct, that first time. I had never met anyone like her. She was pretty, but she was also hardy. She had a smoky voice and loads of confidence. Normally, she played in bars, she said. She hadn't done a wedding in a while.
We were on the altar, rehearsing. Tomorrow, I'd be singing in front of a church full of my relatives while this woman accompanied me on her guitar. I felt I was in good hands, and indeed, the performance went off without a hitch.
She had been hired to play the reception as well, and though she was a great solo performer, at one point, I dared to pull up a chair and sing with her. She encouraged me. We even harmonized successfully for Simon and Garfunkel's "Cecelia."
Maybe it was because I was taking large breaths and exerting myself, but being next to her, singing with her, making her laugh--all of it made me euphoric.
Later, as she was leaving the reception, she put her arm around me, and we took a picture together with my digital camera. I was smiling a little too wide in the photo, but still, I marked it as a favorite. A small heart appeared in the corner of the screen.
The next day on the drive home, I hardly said a word. I stared out the passenger side window uninterrupted for several hours, only half-conscious of the bleak, romantic winterscapes passing by.
I'm gay. I must be. . .
How else could I explain my intense crush on this woman?
I'm going to have a gay wedding someday.
I sat there, incredulous, excited, repeating to myself these discoveries which didn't feel like they fit me yet.
I'm going to have a gay wedding.