Today, but in the year 2002, we posed for pictures on a wrought iron bench under a tree with pear-shaped leaves. My hand rested on his leg. I had white and green flowers in my lap. There was a shiny ring on my finger, and a darker, beveled ring was on his. He wore the glasses in the family back then. We had fresh faces.
Later that evening, we danced in the back yard of our red-bricked chapel. He had removed the jacket to his tuxedo, and I had removed my shoes. The raw silk of my dress, sewn by my mom, swayed and swished as we moved together. The guests wrapped ribbons around us as we danced, then they pulled us and the ribbons apart, and hoisted us up above the crowd and cheered.
I wish I could relive the day. Or at least I wish I could whisper to myself that we were in for some serious struggle. But we'd be ok.
We are happy.