The bosses had planned the “bachelor party” for Tuesday. It
wasn’t to be as much a party as a gagfest designed to send me off in proper
fashion. I can’t even remember the proposed location. It was somewhere in what
we would now call “midtown” although it was considered “out west” at the time.
I remained a bit dubious, not knowing exactly what was expected of me. But
cavorting with one’s bosses was never a bad idea if one minded one’s manners. I
decided to make the best of it, succumbing to tradition and all.
My wedding attire lay in readiness. I had bought a new suit
for the affair. I might have considered tying the knot in my full Naval regalia,
complete with my service ribbons and my beloved bosun’s pipe on a bright white
lanyard. Alas, I had given most of my attire away upon separation, assuming
that, in the case of a “call back,” it would be Canada for me and no use for uniforms.
Anyway, I had also purchased, in a fit of apparent insanity, the ugliest pair
of shoes ever placed on the open market. Men wore neckties that matched their clothing
in those days, so I checked and determined that I was ready. Bring it on.
We covered the final details. Brenda notified her old
boyfriend(s) about what was going to transpire. I had no old girlfriends to
notify. I did let some college buddies know and a couple planned to attend. Brenda
had her hair styled. I didn’t. I’d had enough of haircuts over the past few
years. The girls ran me through the details again. I should have a gift ready
for the minister and they specified the exact amount. They designated me to
drive, in her car, Brenda to the airport to pick up her Aunt “Pill” and daughter,
expected from Chicago the day before the wedding. That about covered it.
Taking the week off I busied myself with chores to keep my
mind away from the coming change to my life. I even cleaned the apartment. That’s
where we would spend the wedding night before departing for Aspen the next day.
Then I made sure I had packed for the trip. The destination rested at 8,000
feet elevation, so attire suitable for August in Arkansas might not suffice. My
beloved Pentax Spotmatic camera lay waiting, loaded with film. That still left
me with me long days to brood. What had I gotten myself into? I found myself
running out of things to keep me busy, so I struggled to maintain equilibrium.
Seeking to redirect my thinking, I began to read a copy Flaubert’s
Madam Bovary that I found in a closet. Before long, I decided that wasn’t a good idea so I just stared at the ceiling and thought.
I was about to get married and my life was going to change. Oh my.
Then there was this thing coming up on Tuesday evening.
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| Oh well. We'll always have Aspen. |
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