Memories frozen in time - part II

Jackie invited me to a girl's night that evening. She painted my nails, and I did my best to help her with her own (I'm not particularly talented at "girly" things). The bridesmaids were wonderful to me, and I think we all enjoyed ourselves.

The next morning, Jackie styled my hair for me. She arranged her own, and then dressed in her gorgeous white wedding gown. She remained calm and light-hearted, not at all stressed about the day ahead. Time flew by quickly in a flurry of last minute preparations. The time came and we loaded into different vehicles to travel the short distance to the church.

The photographer wanted pictures of the bridal party before the wedding. Jackie included me in a special picture of just the two of us (she mailed it to me later).

The wedding itself passed as planned. Following the nuptials was the formal reception. Jackie placed me at a table with her siblings (including David). We collected our food at the buffet and sat down to converse and dine. Toasts were made, cake cut, and laughter shared among friends. Jackie and Matt played some sort of spoon game, although I can't recall the details. I never felt excluded or uncomfortable, even though I had come alone and barely knew anyone aside from the bride prior to that trip. No alcohol was served for the dinner, as per the beliefs of the bride's family. That would come at the "after" party.

I had been to "socials" before while in Canada as a student. The "after" party seemed to be another kind of social. Anyone could attend, including strangers who didn't even know the bride or groom. A hall was rented, alcohol purchased, and tickets for alcohol were sold to anyone interested in drinking. Etiquette hell would condemn such a gathering as a pure money grab, but it was common practice, at least in the prairie provinces of Canada from what I understand.

Here I must comment that I made a grave error when purchasing my airline tickets for the trip to the Great White North. I had looked into two different scenarios when planning. My options were to (a) fly into Minneapolis, stay a few days, fly to Winnipeg, then fly directly from Winnipeg to Atlanta on the day after the wedding; or (b) buy a roundtrip ticket to Minneapolis and borrow Grace's truck to drive to Canada. Obviously I chose the latter. Unfortunately, I wasn't careful enough when selecting my flight dates, and I entered a return date as if I had picked the former option. That meant I would be flying out of Minneapolis the morning after the wedding, instead of giving myself a day to return to Grace's place in a leisurely fashion. I had to leave directly from the "after" party.

Much of the night remains forgotten in a blur of fatigue and darkness. I didn't drink at all, for obvious reasons. I don't believe I danced, although I might have once with Matt or Jackie or maybe I had a dance with each of them. I never approached David, nor he me. Perhaps it was best that way. Some romances are best left at the "mystery" stage, where each person involved is perfect as he or she is, to the other. There was none of the inevitable disillusionment or disappointment that comes with time and familiarity.

I announced to Jackie I had to depart around one in the morning. She hugged me, and I wished her well in her new life with Matt. I trudged out into the bitter cold night, climbed in Grace's truck, and drove away. As of today, that's the last time I actually talked to Jackie in person.

I can't recall much of the return drive to Minneapolis. At the Canadian border, the security guard glanced skeptically at my Alabama license that did not match the Minnesota plates on the truck. I gave him Grace's registration and insurance information, which of course had her name. Fortunately we both still have the same last name and probably will for the rest of our respective lives. It's not a common surname, at least not in the United States. As I tiredly pulled away from the border station, a truck pealed out ahead of me and sent gravel flying into my windshield. One rock chipped the glass (sorry again, Grace!).

I stopped for gas once in North Dakota. The frigid weather nearly stole my breath away, literally. I could not remember such mind-numbing cold before in my life. Prolonged exposure was capable of killing a person, leaching away body heat until nothing remained but an empty, frozen shell.

Miles of road stretched out in front of me endlessly, blanketed in chill winter night. My exhaustion was such that at one point I had to exit the interstate at a rest stop to catch a quick nap. I left the truck coughing and sputtering in idle with the emergency brake engaged so that the heater continued to weakly puff out lukewarm, stale air. When I awoke, maybe thirty or forty minutes later, dawn was breaking grey and forlorn against the broad eastern horizon. The last leg of my journey took forever. Each minute on the road seemed like ten. Foggy elation, I finally reached Minneapolis! Grace helped me pack up my belongings and dropped me off at the airport with a quick hug. I managed to catch my eleven o'clock flight, still fuzzy and barely able to keep my eyes propped open.

True to the Spaniard's word, my friend Nancy waited at the Atlanta airport to bring me home. The mild southern climate was a haven from the oppressive iciness of the north. We chatted amiably on the drive back, but my worn out brain couldn't follow the conversation beyond casual pleasantries. My cats welcomed me into my apartment, and I passed out, once again cozy in the familiarity of my own quarters.