Episode 23: Beauty and the Bleak

I threw the tux jacket on the counter top and sat down to undo the cufflinks on my shirt. I glanced over at my rather large bag of camera equipment wondering when I would find the time to recap the memories of the evening; or if I even wanted to for that matter. I untied my shoes trying not to think about the blunt realization that it was in fact over. I can’t really explain the feeling. It’s the feeling of being so out of control that there is absolutely nothing you can do to change any of the circumstances, but at the same time you get the gift of front row tickets to watch the romantic tragedy unravel before your very eyes.

It was a picture perfect wedding; I should know I was the photographer. There was something strange about walking around all night being the obnoxious paparazzi trying to capture the essence of this melancholy event, but she wanted everything; even down to the confetti on the tables. I wasn’t going to argue, after all she was my friend, what am I to do? I can remember it perfectly; which doesn’t say much considering it took place a couple hours ago.

I can remember very vividly the hour and a half I stood in front of the mirror half motivated to get dressed, while the other half of me wanted to curl up in a ball and sit in a small dark corner away from the world. I might as well get it over with. It was bound to happen one of these days. I just wasn’t fast enough to prevent anything from happening. That has always been my problem. I was always one to think too much before taking any action. That could explain the numerous times I contemplated asking the perfect person to prom, but spent too much time planning, that I was far too late. My life story I guess.

I gathered all of my equipment and threw it in the trunk of my trusty Honda as I drove off into the sunset to endure a long night; one to which I feel I could never really enjoy. I arrived at the cathedral an hour before the wedding was scheduled to begin. I was trained to take practice shots before I actually started taking good pictures. Supposedly it helps you get a feel for the environment. The only feel I got was the devastation and regret stirring around in my stomach. I stood in back as the guests began to enter through the large mahogany doors to the cathedral. I tried to capture as much of them as I possibly could. I wanted this to be a night she would never forget, so I figured the best way to do so was to make sure everyone who came was in her wedding album.

As the procession started I made my way to my front row seat and glanced back to get pictures of the corpse bride entering during the wedding ballad. She had a nervous look on her face, one that almost looked unsure at most. I was hoping and praying as I recollected images from the “runaway bride” inside my head while snapping a few good pictures. I could only hope her cold feet needed a jog to warm them up. The groom stood motionless in the front of the stage next to the pastor. He had a look of fear and excitement as his bride-to-be walked down the aisle. I thought about all the embarrassing things I could do to the poor sap while he was standing there. You know, pull out a good headstone catalogue and flip through its dusty pages, or fashion a noose out of my pink poka-dot tie. Anything to grab his attention, and raise any last minute red flags in his head. But he stood tranquil with that chessy smirk on his face that was the rubbing alcohol to my wounded heart.

The Pastor began the ceremony by opening with a word of prayer. I felt terrible snapping pictures while the man was praying. I was only hoping no one was watching. She just mentioned she wanted the opening prayer to be included in her album; like I said, she wanted everything. The ceremony continued and they begun the vows. This of course is the most popular part of weddings; the part where some display the oo’s and ah’s at the romantic nature of the vows, and others just sit and bawl relentlessly at such a “happy” occasion. I was the latter. At first I really got into the vows. I guess the vows are my favorite part of weddings. I always enjoy listening to the vows, especially the ones of people who write their own. It’s my way of keeping them accountable. Who knows one day when he’s in a nursing home and she’s too stubborn to go see him, I’ll wave her wedding vows in her face saying “in sickness and in health.” But the truth is, by that time, I’ll probably be in a nursing home too. After I realized what was really going on, I started bawling like the 99 other people in the room, but not for the same reasons.

There is something not all that settling about sitting behind the tripod of a camera snapping pictures of the infamous “you may now kiss the bride” moment. Even worse is watching the person you love be that bride behind the veil. Yes I finally did admit it, I do love her. Not that it matters now. I had that sharp familiar pain prance along the inside of my coronary arteries as I watched this Hollywood moment take place. My camera was really acting up on me tonight. For some reason during this moment, half the pictures I took were in black in white while the others were in color. I didn’t know my camera had such a setting. Oh the things I learn while shooting photography at a wedding; even the things that have nothing to do with photography.

They walked down the aisle arm and arm to the exit ballad and as they got to the doors they were showered with black and white rose pedals. I guess that was somewhat odd to me considering the run-in with my camera earlier, but I guess they wanted to the theme of the wedding to be black and white. I stood at the end of the line of people outside the cathedral capturing the images, all the while avoiding taking part in encouraging this lovely event.

Everyone piled into cars and drove to the clubhouse over looking the city. It was all decked out in black and white balloons, crystal chandeliers, and elegant lighting. The dance floor was vacant as many were still on their way. I tried to get there before everyone else. I guess I just needed a few moments to remember the last dance we had on the polished wooden floor. It was the night of my best friends wedding. I can remember it perfectly. We were placed directly at the center of the floor. I was shocked she asked me to dance considering the clever prank I pulled on her convincing everyone she didn’t speak English. I can vividly remember the thought I had flash in my mind that said: “not yet, just wait it out.” I guess now I see why.

The guests arrived, and the building filled rather quickly. I walked around the room snapping more photographs, and talking to random out-of-towners I didn’t even know. I could run a muck if I really wanted to. I’m pretty sure I spoke to 80% of the guests, the other 20% were his relatives; enough said.

The moment came when they got to feed each other cake…how romantic. Nothing says “I love you” like smashing flour, sugar, and water into each others faces with the arms intertwining. Where in the world does that come from? Who thought it would be fun to make it a wedding tradition to feed each other cake? What’s next? Arm wrestling? I guess that might be kinda embarrassing if the guy loses that one. Then again it wouldn’t surprise me with him. I sat back and watched as they shoved cake in each others faces as the black and white frosting coated their smiles. As I continued to snap pictures, that old familiar pain continued to dance on the inside of my chest as the evening progressed. I sat down at a table and watched the multitudes of exuberant people enjoying the festivities of this funeral to be. I would rather sulk in my cynical attitude towards the whole thing.

I got a break for a while. Everyone was simply enjoying dinner, dancing, and sparkling conversation, as I sat at a table with a glass of sparkling cider, and half eaten piece of black and white cake. I am a big people watcher. I cannot help but notice the interaction between human specimens. It was so intriguing. Half the entertainment was watching people attempt to dance. She was really the only one worth watching, considering it was something she could do better than anyone else in the room. I guess that had something to do with being in dance a good portion of her life. As I started to zone out the DJ silenced the music, which was my cue to pull out the camera and start working again. He mentioned that it was now the time for bride and groom dance. I rolled my eyes and turned on the camera as they walked to the center of the dance floor. The DJ popped in a disk and “I’ll be” started playing as they started dancing. My hands were trembling. I had to fight through the shakes to get a few good shots as they waltzed the night away to my favorite love song. I almost wanted to walk out and hand my camera to a ten year old to finish the job, but something in my gut just wouldn’t let me leave. It was as though I was trapped in the twilight zone of nightmares. The dance concluded and I found myself sitting back at the table with my head buried in my hands as I was bombarded with masses of people asking me if I was “ok.” I kinda figured the best generic excuse to use was to tell everyone I had a headache, and I am sensitive to certain shades of lighting. They all offered shots of Tylenol PM, Asprin, Excedrin, the works, but they just didn’t quite understand the conditions I was undergoing. I politely refused their offers and continued to sit with my head in my hands staring down at the black and white design on the carpet below.

The evening continued and I glanced up every so often as they were signing the marriage contracts and tattooing each other’s social security numbers on their foreheads to symbolize there is no backing out now. Ok so they really didn’t do the social security numbers. I of course had to get pictures of this of this, even though I really had no desire to do so. They finished the signatures and the night continued. Filled with more dancing, eating, sparkling cider, shallow conversation, and black and white wedding cake.

She got up on a chair gripping her bouquet tightly in her hands. She looks back and our eyes meet for the first time in what seems like ages. I am holding my camera ready to capture the split second of her throwing the bouquet, and the look on her face told me something just wasn’t right. I gave the half-hearted smile as I fingered the trigger button on my camera ready to take the shot. She turned her back to the crowd and took a deep breath. She threw the bouquet of flowers into the crowd as the mosh pit of hopeless romantics elbowed and scratched at each other for the prized possession of flowers that would only last another week. She got back down from the chair and turned back around facing me again. Her husband walked over and grabbed her hand while subjectively glaring at me as if I had some mischievous motive for looking at my friend. I walked back to the table and sat back down. The night slowly came to an end. The DJ called for the final dance of the night. He walked over to his mother because he promised her the last dance on his wedding night. She looked rather lost and alone on the dance floor, but I didn’t want to get shot for asking her to dance, so I just sat back at the table and watched people find their dance partners for the final dance. She slowly walked up to me and motioned me onto the dance floor. I stood up still holding my glass of sparkling cider. I wanted to make it look as informal as possible, so holding a glass of cider as we danced might help. She didn’t seem to mind. The DJ started to play “I hope you dance” as I began to awkwardly move my feet in a dancing kind of manner. As the song continued, she shared her thanks for my hard work in putting together the album for her. As we continued to dance, her face started to drop in disappointment. I wondered if there was anything I said to offend her. I responded as simply as possible to everything she had to say, but something was distinctively wrong.

I asked her if everything was ok. “I guess,” she said with a distraught look on her face. We continued to dance and she grew rather quiet. She drew her head into my ear and as a tear rolled down her cheek she softly said: “Why did you have to wait?” I became weak at knees and collapsed onto the floor. The glass of sparkling cider shattered on the ground and the cold cider inched closer to my face. As the cider touched my skin……

I woke up in a cold sweat. I looked down at my kitchen counter and saw the pool of water dripping off my face and off the countertop from the overturned glass. It was only a dream? It just seemed too real to be simply a dream. I glanced over at the clock and it read 12:13am; just a few moments past midnight. I walked over to the kitchen table and read my list of things to do before Christmas. The first item on the list was to call her. I remember now how things ended after the party. She got off the phone with him as I walked into her apartment to pick her up. He wanted to make things right. I was rather confused when she told me this because I didn’t think there was much more to the story then her getting fed up with him being too obsessed with his job, and not showing her much care about the wedding. She told me there was so much more to tell. So I suppose calling her to get the story might be a good idea. I grabbed a towel and wiped the water off my face and headed off to bed. I pulled the black and white sheets over my head trying not to anticipate the story she has to tell.

To be continued….