Posterous theme by Cory Watilo

What Happens in Vegas?

My entire trip to Las Vegas had been a disaster. My flight had gotten cancelled, leaving me stranded at the airport for four hours while Delta Headquarters struggled to rebook my flight; my ticket had lied to me, telling me that the flight would be an easy two hours when it was really an uncomfortable five; my family members had refused to answer their phones when I reached my destination, forcing me to aimlessly wander the airport for two and a half hours; and, worst of all, the jet lag was horrible.

When I finally collapsed into bed at four in the morning, I had to use every ounce of mental strength I had left to remind myself that the trip was not about me. It was about my brother, Murice, and his fiancé, Valencia. They were getting married and I was there to support them. I kept that thought in mind and hoped that the trip would get better.

But, of course, it didn’t. It just got a whole lot worse.

My sister and I spent a majority of the week trying to get our mother to listen to the GPS. Though she did not know the area, she was convinced that she had a better sense of direction than the satellites in space built for navigation, causing us to get lost every time we got into a car. At first it was funny, but it soon became unbearable. Ten-minute trips turned into hour-long odysseys, and we were late for pretty much everything.

As if driving around under the desert sun wasn’t bad enough, our mother, who had the car keys and therefore had the power, insisted on visiting Walmart, Target, and Payless instead of trying anything new and exciting. Believe it or not, we had flown across the country to explore stores that we could have explored at home. When my sister told me that she would answer whoever asked her about the trip with the popular slogan “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” I raised my eyebrow and asked, “What happens in Vegas? We haven’t done anything.”

Preparing for the wedding promised to brighten up the trip, but the promise was broken by the mass confusion. No one had any idea what they were supposed to be doing or if they we supposed to be doing anything at all. It wasn’t until the wedding rehearsal that we received some clarification. My role as the best man, which I had only been informed of the day before, finally began to make sense and I felt like we were making progress. Halfway through the rehearsal, however, the bride disappeared. When we discovered that she had been carted off to the bridal shower, we were forced to postpone the rehearsal until a few hours before the actual wedding. It seemed like a valid plan, and had the following day not been characterized by chaos, it might have actually worked.

No one was ready during the time scheduled for rehearsal. Valencia’s family ran back and forth desperately trying to cook, bake, and decorate while the youngest kids chased each other around, refusing to shower and get dressed. The chaos lasted for hours, and when it was time for the wedding to start only a few people were ready.

Finally relieving my mother of her driving duties, my father dropped the family off at the church where the guests had already arrived and were waiting for something to happen. We had little time to go over the game plan and soon started marching people in the way we had practiced the night before. When we reached the extent of our practice, the maid of honor and I stood in front of the church periodically shooting each other glances that said “what do we do now?” We stood in place, unsure, until my brother and the pastor walked onto the stage. The four of us now standing side by side, we continued the waiting game.

At last, it happened. The music started, the guests rose to their feet, and the bride walked in wearing a beautiful white dress.  I looked at my brother, who was also white-clad, and found that his entire face had lit up when she had entered the room. He looked at her and she looked at him and their smiles broadened. At that moment, everything else melted away. All the things that had gone wrong no longer mattered. The long flight didn’t matter, the continual boredom didn’t matter, the mass confusion didn’t matter – all that mattered was that he loved her and she loved him.

The rest of the wedding went by smoothly. The pastor gave a short message and started to recite the vows.

“Murice,” she said, looking at my brother. “Do you take Valencia to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” Murice responded.

“For better or for worse? For richer or for poorer?” the pastor continued.

“I…still do.” Soft laugher rippled through the church.

“In sickness and in health, ‘til death do you part?”

“I do. I do, and I always will.”

The pastor then repeated the vows for Valencia. Her face overcome with emotion, she said “I do” at the same intervals that Murice had.

Then I watched my brother have his first kiss. Since he and Valencia were visibly nervous and a tad bit shy, they approached each other timidly, both trying to suppress a laugh. The kiss was awkward and funny-like, prompting the wedding guests to chuckle loudly. A few silent words were exchanged between the giggling couple and they leaned in to try again, this time being applauded by a chorus of “awws.”

Newly married, my brother and his wife walked hand in hand out of the church with numerous cameras flashing, each one trying to document the beginning of a journey that would last a lifetime.