“Hey. Come ’ere”,my friend Kim mouthed, motioning from the elevated brick patio of her friend’s charming Brentwood home. All around her was a sea of dancing couples—mothers dancing with their children, husbands with wives, drunken co-workers, variations of coupledom. Nearly an hour had passed since she and her new bride, Anita, had recited their vows and become brides. So, when we finally came together on the patio/dancefloor, for the first time that day, I gave a congratulatory hug to my “officially” married friend.
Careful not to crush the organza flowers on her cocktail/wedding dress, or clumsily mash her pearl-adorned hairdo, I wrapped my arms with caution as we exchanged the infamous air-kiss. This practice is generally done between two women—for the purpose of keeping perfect makeup intact.The same applied for bald gay men in fussy taffeta shirts.
And while in the midst of our delicate, congratulatory embrace, what ensued was life changing. Stopped by what I saw, I held on longer than necessary. In that brief moment, everything regarding marriage officially changed. The music went silent. The dancing couples disappeared. A new world filled with possibilities came flying in my direction— I had my eye on the bridal bouquet.
“Are you gonna throw that tonight?” I nonchalantly asked, while eyeing the cluster of crimson and ivory roses innocently lying on the chair behind her.
“What?”
“That!” I exclaimed, pulling away and pointing through the bopping crowd in the direction of the abandoned bouquet
“Oh.That?”she casually answered, while adjusting several ringlets of hair. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. Why? You think I should?”
To be fair, until I’d spotted the bouquet of tea roses innocently resting on the chair, I hadn’t thought about it either. Perhaps it was my friends happiness surging into mine as we hugged. Perhaps it was because this was my first “official” gay marriage. Perhaps it was the quiet symbolism that evoked my flowery feelings. But from that small, elegant bouquet, big thoughts began to hurtle through my head.
Like the ivory ribbon wrapped around the stems, my mind began to wrap itself around the idea that all things wedding could be equal. I know it must sound silly, but after all the commentary, all the writing, all the debates—the pros and cons— not to mention personal aspirations, I finally, truly caught it.
For the first time, I realized that if the bouquet came soaring in my direction and I actually caught it— as a gay man—it could (now) mean the same thing for me: equality. Albeit elegant and flowery, in that moment, the fragrant scent of equal opportunity had (finally) become intoxicating. In its small way, it made the whole debate, issue, opportunity—whatever you want to call it— familiar. Mine. Personal. Intimate.
It wasn’t until several days later that I learned of my missed opportunity. I’d gotten lost in other festive aspects of the wedding, and then sadly, gone home. She’d tossed the bouquet. Sans moi.
Admittedly, I was a little disappointed … until I heard the other half: Not just one, but two bouquets were thrown. Both Kim and her new bride, Anita, had partaken in the tradition.
When I heard this, my aforementioned feelings came soaring back. And I got to thinking about the application of nontraditional beliefs to established venues. That got me thinking about the fact that most things, at one point, were novel— groundbreaking even. Things like divorce or Boy George or rap music. Things like segregation or blue jeans. Things like the fact that one day you can be a live-action movie star, and the next be the governor in a country other than the one you were born in. Or that one day you might be a carpool mom shuttling the kids to soccer practice, and the next be running for president. To have such an application—nontraditional beliefs to established venues—then I suppose, at some point, one’s thought process must evolve from novel to ordinary. Yet it seems that more times than not, once a certain level of comfort has been achieved, many forget about the pioneering required to achieve such a status. Thus, traditional, previously experienced things like wedding ceremonies and bridal bouquets become comforting in their familiarity. Standard practice. Until a new application comes along—like boy bridesmaids.
Thus, from my newly enlightened position, I imagine the bouquet being tossed, airborne in my direction. WAM! A bigger, taller, more competitive man hip-checks me aside for the flowers. From my spot—on the ground—I can see the arrogant expression smeared across his face. He is confidently cocky over his catch.
I feel defeated. Like an elephant has crushed me. Then, a smile washes across my face. I remember we’re on diverse turf this time.
I carefully reposition myself, preserving my energy, my resources. I have a second chance. It’s a gay wedding— there are two bouquets. This thought gives me hope. I consider a November wedding.
While I wait for the tossing of the second bouquet, I’m engulfed by a surge of possibilities—things might just go my way the second time around.
Because like every other bridesmaid before me, this is about grabbing for my own celebrated spot— hope within a traditional venue. I’m positioned and ready; the challenge isn’t not over yet. Things are still up in the air.
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