When my fiancé nonchalantly mentioned the wedding would take place in a barn, I tried not to seem confused, but I was. I imagined hay, cows, mud, stink, slop and whatever else you think of when someone says the word, “barn.”
“Perhaps, it is a good thing I didn’t have time to get new shoes,” I thought. The shoes I had packed for the wedding were black 80s throwback stilettos, old enough to handle a little hay, but too spiky for grass. When I picked up my feet, I brought chunks of grass with me like a terrible golfer.
Last Friday, I was freaking about not having new shoes or a new dress, but as it turned out, ’twas a blessing in disguise. Beyond, the stress of what to wear, I was also worried about any “mean girls” I might encounter as the result of my quickly compiled costume.
While there a few ladies roaming around I didn’t get a chance to meet, there were my fiancé’s best friends’ wives, women that complimented my clothing and encouraged me to take off my shoes as soon as they saw how embarrassed I was by the dirt I kept kicking up like a pony. There was moonshine and ring pops. An epic buffet of cupcakes mesmerized guests with their bite sized delight. It was snowing cupcakes.
By the end of the night, I was gleefully stomping around with this fun and fabulous group of people that my fiancé had grown up with. Put it this way, we were “combining the powers of our ring pops” and sticking sticky mustaches from the piñata onto our faces and other places…
The wedding itself, regardless of its genre, “the Barn Wedding,” sparkled both inside and out from the decorative lighting, the glistening mason jars full of Makers Mark, the champagne bubbles, the bride’s smile, the groom’s sweat and the starry sky, the stars twinkling with no competition from the city lights I’m used to.
Next to the twinkling time we had, the romantic sky and all the love in the air, I discovered a new element of my own love– an extension to friendships, an affinity toward a certain kind of spirit/personality/human, whatever you want to call it we both must have. Of all the guests, of all the couples and women our age, I innately found my way toward my fiancé’s friends, freely finding moments of laughter, venting with other teachers, hearing tips from their weddings. Already, they’re eager to help out and ready for the tropics.
I’m so pleased to announce that three of my poems, “Slots,” “Scraping” and “Make a Decision” have been published in Barking Sycamores Literary Magazine Issue 13. Barking Sycamores is dedicated to neurodivergent literature and its craft. I’m so honored to be a part of this project. Barking Sycamores Issue 13
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