Bekah's Wedding

**On Wednesdays, Amber writes about what she wore on some particular day of the week.  It's a girl thing, I think. I'm not sure I get it. But, anyway, I was with her this week and thought I'd share my perspective.  For her perspective, go here. I promised the boys frog legs in Russellville, so we loaded up the van and found a spot.  It was a sort of pre-reward for the outdoor wedding we were to attend.  “Boys,” I said, “Bekah’s getting married.”  They took it in over the lightly battered Arkansas delicacy, which in fact, is not Arkansan at all any more.  The restaurant owner informed me that the legs come from Vietnam or Malaysia.  “Somewhere in Asia, or something,” he said.  “People don’t gig much around here any more.”

Over hush puppies, Ian asked about Bekah and Curtis.  Would they live together now?  Would they have their own children?  Would they get a dog?  I told him I figured they’d do all of that, except maybe the dog part.   Bekah doesn’t strike me as a dog person, I said.

“Oh,” he said.

“Eat your frog legs, boy,” I said.

After lunch, we made our way to Chuck’s house.  Chuck and Phyllis, this could-be Mennonite couple, raise goats and free range chickens.  They understand hospitality and home-brewing.  They raised Bekah right, taught her how to love simplicity.

I took the boys to Chuck’s wash-room and began the process of degreasing.  On the far wall, Chuck keeps his books.  Hundreds of them.  Wendell Berry, Henry David Thoreau, Jack London, and some magazines, too—“Mother Earth News,” I think it was.  Chuck’s library was both prolific, and within arms reach of the toilet.  Chuck strikes me as a practical man.  I think I might want to be him when I grow up.

We drove two driveways down to the old school-house.  The chairs were set up and the cloud of witnesses began to mingle on the lawn.  A stringed duet played some Bach pieces.  It wasn’t as hoity-toity as it sounds.  It was just regular and beautiful.

Amber was in the wedding, so she proceeded down the aisle with a tall and handsome young man.  He has washboard abs, and once had the best dreadlocks I’ve ever seen.  I’d be jealous if I didn’t know that Amber has a crush on me, and if he still had that Rasta hair. I’ve never really been the jealous type, though.

We watched Bekah and Curtis exchange vows in the middle of an October field.  They laughed and cried a bit.  They broke bread, drank wine, and shared a kiss.  They are so young, so full of potential.  They’re going to be just fine.

I sat with Amber at the reception, her hair pinned up 100 ways to Sunday.  She wore a hand-made skirt and a cardigan that was cinched in the back.  She told me that Phyllis had made apple pie and it was over at the home-brew table, and why didn’t I go get a bit of both.  She implied a wink and my insides ran over like an uncorked bottle of Chuck’s beer.  She’s been doing this sort of thing for nearly twelve years now.

Bekah and Curtis, it keeps getting better by the day.  Truly.