JC

I’m not nervous. That’s the first thing.

The sand is pleasantly cool between my toes. I’m barefoot, because what’s the point of a beach wedding if you can’t be barefoot? It’s a perfect 82 degrees, sunny with a slight breeze. Just enough to barely ruffle my hair--which is a little longer than it’s been in awhile because it’s how Mara likes it. And if she likes it, I love it.

I’m smiling now. Because whenever I think about her, I’m smiling. I know how sickening that sounds, but it’s true. Which brings me back to the fact that I’m not nervous. That’s big.

Everyone’s been saying that I would be. Eventually. But I wasn’t, not when I was shopping for the perfect ring. And I wasn’t, not when I asked her. And I’m not now, standing here on St. Croix, waiting for her to walk down the makeshift aisle and...well, since I’m already being sickening, make me the happiest man on earth.

I had all but given up on the idea of happily ever after. Not out of some painful place of broken hearted loss. But because I am probably the pickiest person ever. At least that's what Mara tells me. I don't think I'm picky, necessarily; I just always want...more. Better. In my life, in my career, and definitely in my relationships. More connection. More intensity. And it's not something I ever found enough of in one person. Well, it wasn't. Not 'til Mara.

I walked into the gallery eighteen months ago. The friend of a friend of a friend had opened the place with another friend and I said I’d come. Four degrees of separation or something. I saw her artwork first. Framed abstract gouache. Well, I didn’t know it was gouache, then. She explained all of that later. But I knew I liked the darks and the lights. And the patterns that weren’t. And the way looking at them made me feel. And really, the best art is the kind that makes you feel.

The friend of our mutual friend walked me over to her, later. She was talking to someone and I saw the way her eyes flitted in our direction. It’s funny to me, now, because sometimes people recognize me and I can tell they’re trying to play it cool. Mara recognized me and completely did not try to play it cool.

Her eyes got all wide and her mouth curved into an ‘o’ of surprise. When we approached her, before either I or our mutual friend could make an introduction, she shook my hand enthusiastically. Told me, with the slightest bit of tremolo in her voice, that she’d been a fan for--and I quote--a million years and what the hell was I doing at her show. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes even wider. All I could do was laugh. And she grinned at me, and it was every cliche that I’ve ever heard, but it was infectious and just the kind of smile you can’t help but see and smile back and then she was laughing with me and it was the brightest and most beautiful sound and hearing her made me feel the way I’d felt looking at her prints. And in that moment, I was thinking that I wouldn’t mind hearing her laugh that way for the rest of my life.

It was really that simple.

I talked to her for the rest of the night. Got her number so I could talk to her the next night, too. And when I left town a couple of nights after that, I talked to her every day and night I was gone. And when I got back into town I took her out on a proper date.

I love talking to her. About everything. Having a conversation with her is like going on the wildest, most entertaining adventure.  She takes twists and turns and connects dots that don’t seem to be related. She’s never linear, but she almost always comes back around to her point. If there’s a point to begin with.

She excites me. And exhilarates me. And knowing that she loves me, that she’s choosing me...well, like I said. I’m about to be the happiest man on earth. All because of Mara.

The processional music starts and I take a deep breath.

I’m still not nervous.

Mara

Everything is beautiful. Perfect. I’m off to the side of our makeshift aisle, where he can’t see me. But I can see him.

He’s standing there, looking like a magazine ad in his white linen suit. His beautiful dark hair, slightly gray at the temples, is longer than it’s been in awhile. Strands are blowing slightly in the breeze and he takes my breath away.

He’s beautiful. Perfect.

The music plays and our wedding party makes their way, couple by couple, down the silvery runner that covers the sand.

I’m waiting, standing on the threshold of yesterday and tomorrow. On the other side, mere yards down the aisle runner, is something else. Something I’m not sure I’m ready for.

I am free-spirit personified. That’s what he says anyway, with that smile where his eyes crinkle and I’m melting. I am late nights and later mornings. I take my cream and sugar with a little coffee. I never eat a sensible breakfast and I don’t care about crumbs in the bed. I’m messy hair and an even messier workspace. Seventy-five percent of my time is spent covered in paint.  

And JC...JC is everything I’m not. He’s structure and routine. He’s discipline and schedules. He’s a place for everything and everything in it’s place. He never eats chocolate chips for breakfast, doesn’t like cookies in bed, and he drinks his coffee black with no sugar. His clothes, his office...everything is always exactly where it’s supposed to be.

For the past eighteen months, six of them spent under the same roof, we’ve made it work. Well...he makes it work because he’s virtually unflappable. Or maybe it’s just because he loves me.

But marriage...marriage is so...permanent.

I inhale deeply, counting slowly in my head with the breath. Just as slowly, I exhale. My teeth are almost chattering as my gaze travels down.

My dress is perfection in white French lace. It’s a custom designed dream, an almost unspeakably beautiful work of art made for me by a dear friend and designer. It’s not vanity when I say that I know I am beautiful in it.

And I’m really getting married. And I’m suddenly terrified by that thought.

I recognize the opening bars of Etta James’ At Last--I’m not a ‘Here Comes the Bride’ kind of girl--and inhale deeply. I take a step and my stomach is a twisted mass of nerves and anxiety. I smile tightly, clenching my ice cold fingers at my side. A casual observer might miss the fact that I’m trembling violently.

I’m making my way down the aisle, stepping in time to the music. My feet seem not to be actually touching the petal-covered carpeting. I’m floating. And the closer I move to the altar, the closer I move to him, the harder my heart is beating in my chest. It’s a wonder no one can hear it.

I’m no more than five or six steps away from JC when I feel panic start to set in.  

I’m about to take my place next to him and it hits me that I’m about to go through with what is, to date, the biggest moment in my entire thirty-two years of existence. I am moments from uttering the words that, once spoken, can’t ever be taken back--no matter what lawyers say. The words that mean something more than an obscure ‘til death do we part. It means through life and everything that comes with it.

I am mere moments from pledging my life, my love, my fidelity, my heart...forever. Before I can fathom what’s happening, my descent down the aisle ends. And JC, my husband-to-be, is taking my hand and he looks down at me, and he smiles at me, and everything he feels for me is so clearly in his eyes and suddenly, nothing else matters.

JC

She is...beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe how she looks to me right now. She’s coming down the aisle and I’m writing songs to her in my head. She’s breathtaking. And awe-inspiring. And any other cliche you can think of it. She’s all of those things and so much more. And most importantly? She’s mine.

In a matter of a few minutes, I’ll get to call this beautiful, intelligent, creatively, fiercely independent, amazingly wonderful woman...my wife.

It seems like hours later, but she’s finally right in front of me.

I’m taking Mara’s hand in mine and she’s shaking. Which is...well, it’s kind of funny, actually.

She’s fearless. It’s one of the things I love most about her.

That, and the fact that her enthusiasm for literally everything, never quits. It’s the way she’s passionate when she’s talking to someone about something that’s exciting to them. Like me, with music.

The second time I took her out she must’ve asked me a thousand questions about music and the recording process. And she begged me to take her into a studio because she’d never been in one. And when I did she watched me work, quietly at first. And then her questions came. And she wanted real answers. What’s this knob do? What’s the difference between echo and reverb? Why do I use this mic for vocals and this one for the acoustic guitar?

And when I asked if she wanted to get into the vocal booth just to try it out her ‘yes’ came with no hesitation. And she sang, loudly and off-key, but with so much unadulterated joy that it was pretty much the best thing ever. And she smiled at me, with that same reckless abandon that she’d entered that booth, and I was positive that I wanted to see her smiling at me, just like that, for the rest of my life.

People describe the feeling of falling in love with someone in terms more akin to a panic attack. With Mara, I’ve never felt off-balance or dizzy. My palms were never sweaty, and although seeing her can definitely get my blood pumping and my heart racing, I’ve never felt the slightest bit out of control with her.

She is energy personified. She is so...much. But somehow, with her, I’m calm. I’m balanced. And standing here, about to make the vows that will make us husband and wife, I’m absolutely positive that this is the best decision I will ever make.

I’m not nervous, but the fact that she is...well, honestly? It makes me love her even more.

I squeeze her hand in mine, and she looks up at me and I’ve never been more sure about anything else in my entire life. If I have to hold on to that for the both of us for right now, I’m completely OK with that.

I’ll be OK with reassuring her of that for the rest of my life.

Mara

JC looks at me, and squeezes my hand, and I swear he’s seeing everything I’m afraid of and he’s telling me it’s all going to be OK.

I see him, and he’s looking at me in this way that I’ve never seen him look at me before. Bright eyes, smiling, and I just...my heart feels like it’s literally swelling in my chest.

I love him so much it hurts sometimes.

I love his depth, and intensity, and his complexity. I love the fact that he shares it all with me in the most unadulterated way.

I love his heart and genuineness, and the way he treats each and every single person he meets with the same respect and kindness. I love his passion and his fire and the way the music flowing through his veins wakes him up some nights so he can’t come back to bed until he’s written down every note and rhythm. 

I love how, externally, he’s calm and quiet, and collected. But internally, he’s creativity and genius. I can tell, when his fingers are drumming, and his foot is tapping, and he’s moving around from place to place never focusing for long on one thing, that his mind is filled with vision and all of the things he’ll eventually create.  

I love how sometimes, in a room full of people, he just sits back and takes everything in, never one to make himself the center of attention. And he’ll only speak when someone asks him a direct question. But when it’s just him and me, he’s an effervescent wellspring of words and ideas and knowledge.

I love the way, at night, when I’m laying against him in the dark, and I can feel his heartbeat, he puts his mouth right by my ear, and he sings to me and it’s more than just the sound of his beautiful voice. It’s the emotion and the fact that I can hear and feel, in every perfect note, how he feels about me.

I love that when I’m scattered, and anxious, and all over the place, he kisses me, and every crazy thing falls into place.

I love him so much that I can feel the physical weight of it and I sometimes wonder if it’s emotionally healthy to love one person so fully, wholly, and completely.

And for some reason, he loves me, too.

Throwing caution, and perfectly applied lipstick, to the wind, I bite my bottom lip and I nod at him.

He loves me and I know it. I know it every time his crystalline blue eyes focus on me. And I know it in the way my name sounds in his mouth. And his fingers tell me with every touch. And his arms, and his lips, and the weight of him against me...

And the fact that he loves me, and I love him...well, that’s the only important thing. We are the only important thing, and as long as we hold onto that, everything will be fine.

I’m looking in his eyes and I see everything I need to be sure that I’m doing more than just the right thing. I’m doing the absolute best thing.

I’m not trembling anymore; all sense of nervousness is gone. I smile up at JC. I’m about to marry the man that I love, and I’m so thankful he loves me.  

I squeeze his hand back, and whisper a silent prayer.

I thank God for giving me this man----my best friend, my kindred spirit. And I pray that there will never come a time where we take each other for granted, or forget how I know we both feel right at this moment. And that we’ll cherish each other, always.