my best friend's wedding
Calm down y'all, Dr P is not getting hitched (anytime soon, that I know of). This post is in honour of another best friend, from a time long ago in a land far away; but may contain comparable levels of self-indulgent flaunting of non-sexual girl-on-girl love.
We met at age six, at the bottom of an external staircase leading from the older of two buildings in our primary school, into the smaller of its two courtyards. I have little or no (conscious) memory of a time in my life when I did not know her. In this respect, and in many others, she is true family.
When we were children together, I envied her her freedom (to attend/hold play-dates, cycle to school, manage her pocket money, ... all the important privileges of being 12-and-under), her parents, their means and lifestyle and not only in monetary terms. Then as we grew up apart without growing apart, and she said more and I listened more, I admired her her fortitude - and infectious positivity - in the face of troubles greater and more real than my own.
This January she married her boyfriend of some five(?) years. She wanted so much for me to be there on the big day, and I try hard not to over-analyse the reasons for my so letting her down...
Last week I finally watched the wedding DVD. For all its tacky captioning, predictable background music and amateur production, it made for a stirring view. The limo gliding through streets where we had left footprints side-by-side a lifetime ago; the parents who, whilst clearly recognisable, have been weighed down by the fruits and burdens of the intervening years; the bridal party, not a single familiar face; and of course, the bride, stunning, beaming and composed, next to her shy and overjoyed groom.
It should have been me - next to, not instead of, the bride - monitoring her presentation, carrying her trinkets, safekeeping gifts, drinking on her behalf. Not someone who never saw her in skirts with suspenders / wagged phys ed with her / passed notes to her under the desk. But that someone was there when I wasn't, and 'tis a regret that'll haunt me 'til the end of my days.
We met at age six, at the bottom of an external staircase leading from the older of two buildings in our primary school, into the smaller of its two courtyards. I have little or no (conscious) memory of a time in my life when I did not know her. In this respect, and in many others, she is true family.
When we were children together, I envied her her freedom (to attend/hold play-dates, cycle to school, manage her pocket money, ... all the important privileges of being 12-and-under), her parents, their means and lifestyle and not only in monetary terms. Then as we grew up apart without growing apart, and she said more and I listened more, I admired her her fortitude - and infectious positivity - in the face of troubles greater and more real than my own.
This January she married her boyfriend of some five(?) years. She wanted so much for me to be there on the big day, and I try hard not to over-analyse the reasons for my so letting her down...
Last week I finally watched the wedding DVD. For all its tacky captioning, predictable background music and amateur production, it made for a stirring view. The limo gliding through streets where we had left footprints side-by-side a lifetime ago; the parents who, whilst clearly recognisable, have been weighed down by the fruits and burdens of the intervening years; the bridal party, not a single familiar face; and of course, the bride, stunning, beaming and composed, next to her shy and overjoyed groom.
It should have been me - next to, not instead of, the bride - monitoring her presentation, carrying her trinkets, safekeeping gifts, drinking on her behalf. Not someone who never saw her in skirts with suspenders / wagged phys ed with her / passed notes to her under the desk. But that someone was there when I wasn't, and 'tis a regret that'll haunt me 'til the end of my days.
posted by In2MeC at 11:24 pm
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