We awoke early the next morning. After the fractured mood of the night before, William compensated by acting wide awake. We showered, drank coffee and dressed in our summery wedding outfits.
We slipped into his aqua-colored Altima, cranked up the A/C and smiled at each other on our way to the green-glass high-rise near the Los Angeles airport. The flowers, tied together with an ivory ribbon, lay across my lap.
We cleared security on the main floor. My bouquet rode alone in a gray plastic carrier through the courthouse's X-ray machine. We floated up in an elevator to the civil ceremonies department. After securing our marriage license, we had a forty-five minute wait.
We went downstairs to the courthouse's cafeteria. A few lawyerly types lined up for coffee and bagels. The entire building had a clinical newness without a strand of romance. Certainly not in the weary eyes of the professionals around us, or even in the licensing area where others lined up to marry.
When our names were called back upstairs, we could as easily have been at the dentist's office or the DMV — until we stepped into a paneled room and met a plump, short gentleman who introduced himself as our judge. At one end of the room stood a wooden white arch with fabric and plastic flowers entwined in its lattice. The judge wore a generous smile and steered us under this makeshift wedding bower.
The three of us faced each other and pretended we were in a lush garden landscape and not several stories high in a large glass building near the airport.
We are gathered here together, the judge intoned, then chuckled at this most minimal of gatherings.
Do you, William...?
Do you, Mel...?
The history of these ancient vows, these words that had traversed eons to become ours on this Friday in August of 2003, had us holding hands as we blinked back tears.
The judge had the demeanor of a sentimental Spencer Tracy as he gently guided us through the ceremony. Okay, Mel, look at your husband. Good. Okay, William, kiss your bride. Good.
William and I stayed locked in each other's eyes through the entire ceremony.
Afterward our kindly judge insisted on taking pictures of us with our camera. He took extra shots. You can never have too many of this day.
Officially married and abuzz with excitement, we entered the elevator on our way out. Two floors down the doors opened and an old man shuffled on with us. He gave us a once-over and zeroed in on me.
You a bride?
Well, yes...we just got married. I held up my flowers as proof.
He turned to William.
You're a lucky man.
I know, William said.
The elevator stopped at his floor. I wish you all the best in the world, he said as he shuffled off.
William turned to me as the doors closed.
Well, that was our reception.
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