My Redacted Life: Chapter 37: (Cont._3)

It all ended soon, the wedding that is. We enjoyed a nice reception and met most of the folks in Lonoke County who knew my new bride. That was nearly all of them, as Hazel had worked in the local doctor’s office for years. Also, the two families had been around for a spell, well-known if not infamous. Most inquired as to what I did for a living or what church I attended. A few wanted to know, indirectly, if I had completed high school or college. I could tell I had landed amongst people who liked to stay informed.

Uncle Roy took pictures. Vernell and her sister looked gorgeous in the gowns Brenda had sewed for them. The parents got to know one another, and I had a chance to visit Leland Bassett, down from Fayetteville. A lady who worked with Hazel had made a splendid wedding cake. We cut it and did the full routine. I do believe I behaved satisfactorily. At least I never received censure from the three harpies who had been retained to supervise my pre-wedding training.

It was a good sendoff. We flew to Denver the next day, then to Aspen, where I fulfilled my brief assignment. We rented a car and drove farther into the mountains. We shopped and ate well. So far this marriage thing was going well. Before we knew it, we were on the last leg of the flight to Little Rock, ready to face the reality of life as a married couple.

I soon discovered that she didn’t roll a tube of toothpaste correctly: from the bottom up, choosing, simply to squeeze arbitrarily.

She discovered that I didn’t always pick discarded clothes from the floor immediately upon dressing.

I discovered we didn’t have enough vertical storage area for all her makeup.

She discovered that I snored.

And so on. Maybe marriage wasn’t as simple as some imagined. Maybe one only masters its intricacies in a bleak classroom labeled “experience.” Unlike some other of life’s trials that must be overcome, though, it was a hell of a lot of fun trying.

I went back to work the next week and discovered that the company’s subdivision was progressing. We weren’t allowed to sell lots until the improvements were completed, or some sort of payment assured for their completion. Despite this, early interest bloomed and there were already “dibs” on some of the lots. We talked enthusiastically of selling the thing, enjoying the profit, and beginning another. What could possibly to wrong?

Have you ever gone to a skating rink and watched the tall, thin fellow with oily black hair, sideburns, form-fitting jeans, and a tight black tee-shirt with a pack of Lucky Strikes folded into one sleeve? Yeah, the one who glides around the floor with unbelievable ease and grace, making turns and moves so breathtaking that the girls gasp. Recall how easy he made it look? Anybody could do it.

That’s the way we felt about land development.

As I was trained to do.