So I was at my brother’s wedding. He cleans up pretty nice. Or it was my kid’s wedding. It seems like it switched. The part where my broke ass dad hired a Lamborghini prototype in a camouflage wrap and cladding was cool, as it drifted past the reception.
This was the highlight of Dad’s part. He had hired a regular production bull to strafe us earlier. But this isn’t even the important part, any more than me being Cracker’s best man and speaking glibly while schmoozing the room.
The almost important part was that my stupid dad did not tell me about the prototype so i could scoop the world and Brenda Priddy. Dammit Dad! You couldn’t at least say “whip out your
Norbecker camera in just a minute”?
The actual important part was that Superstar was in the house. That was unexpected. Before I thought to stand up and greet her, I had arms wrapped around her middle and pressed my head and closed my eyes. And sighed, and exhaled, and kinda even wept for a moment, almost imperceptibly.
Peace. Unconditional. Love. Kindness. Silence.
[Like] an end to almost 70 years of unremitting hostility which the Klingons can no longer afford. – Spock
Or like the opposite of all the flavors of ugliness that rise from the seemingly simple turning of pages.
And then the moment was over. Superstar looked different from then on, but it was still her, and she was waiting, enjoying the show (because million dollar drifting – duh!) until the chance to catch up, and to heal me with the osmosis of her goodness.
I’m grateful. At least in my mind there is a place of peace, free of the viscera of waking hours.