I put on a black suit with a blue shirt and orange tie and got married to Mo, who wore a burgundy dress. September 15, 2007, a few minutes after 6:00PM. We did it standing in the middle of the Carroll St. Bridge over the Gowanus Canal. No one was arrested.
Our friends put up two lines of yellow CAUTION tape to block the traffic. Mo's cousin and my brother spoke briefly about what makes a good marriage. The police came but were understanding. We exchanged vows: I promise to meet you at the emergency room; I promise to let you make fun of me.
The judge, a relative, gave us more words to say. Then they've wrapped the words in gold around your ring finger. It's very sudden when it happens. A bagpiper marched us three blocks to the reception. I danced with my mother-in-law and aunt-in-law; fed tres leches cake to my bride; drank good red wine.
Late Fragment, by Raymond Carver
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
At each place setting stood a finger puppet, each one it's own, all made by my mother.