Warehouse Wedding

The news is on the airport television behind me, going on about something that’s not their business but that smells of scandal and good ratings, as usual. The gate isn’t too crowded yet, but as my coffee cools and boarding time approaches, I’m sure it will fill up; the flights from Minneapolis to Denver are usually full. I have a window seat this time, 18A, and am hoping A is on my right side so I’ll be able to sleep against the thick glass as we fly over the Midwest.

This weekend I went back home to Minnesota for the wedding of one of my close friends from high school. The wedding, in essentially an abandoned warehouse, was absolutely beautiful with candles hanging from branches over the long white tablecloths and lining the balconies of the old theater.

Two of my girlfriends came over to my parents’ house beforehand to do our hair and makeup together and get advice on which dress and which shoes to wear. It reminded me of our high school and middle school dances so long ago, giddy and full of the excitement that comes with the novelty and raging hormones of adolescence. This time the wardrobe decisions were less desperate since none of the three of us were trolling for single men, but the slight edge of melodrama while deciding between the pale pink or the black heels is fun.

In the end, it was a mom who dropped us off at the wedding, all coiffed and ready for pictures. Again heralding back beautifully to the middle school days before drivers licenses.

The ceremony was perfect, the vows and the best man’s prayer making me tear up a bit. The dinner was delicious, and the lack of a DJ surprisingly refreshing as the chicken dance was replaced by a well-thought out playlist. The dance floor was full of childhood friends whom I still love so much. Inappropriate jokes and their slightly homoerotic tendencies left me laughing all night and remembering how much I miss these ridiculous boys who have turned into wonderful men.

First, second and third winds magically entered me each time I was almost ready to call a cab and go home. I danced without caffeine for hours, finally closing the party down around two am. Chatting with the cabbie who drove me home kept me from falling asleep in his back seat, and after using my very last bit of energy to brush my teeth and wash the mascara from my eyes, I fell into bed, passing out as soon as my head touched the pillow.