I woke up the morning of my wedding terrified. It wasn't for all the reasons people had warned, but I woke up at sunrise and couldn't fall back asleep. In the previous weeks I was told on several occasions that I was far too calm and that the realization of impending doom would catch up with me soon enough. But I wasn't worried about losing my freedom or my identity or my sock drawer, my concerns were more precise and they had somehow crept up on me while I was sleeping. I clamored for the side of the enormous king sized bed, over the twenty pillows that are now a part of the Westin's “Heavenly Bed” pitch looking for my cellphone. Stephanie was staying across the river and she is pretty much the only person to which I can comfortably direct very foolish questions, so I instinctively dialed her number.
It occurred to me a split second before she answered the phone that it was well before I would usually be up and about and that she would no doubt be alarmed to see my number on the screen and assume the worst. I half way expected her to answer the phone with “you better not be in another state” or some other dubious greeting. After all, she had heard all the warnings of imminent butterflies and had, on each occasion, given me a suspicious glance. Deep down I think she knew I wasn't going to run, but consistent public opinion to the contrary must have begun to worry her at some point. Of course, she countered all my attempts to reassure her with something like “I know you'll be there, what you should be worried about is whether or not I will show up.” So in that split second before she answered the phone, I decided I had better use my calm casual voice and not launch right into my concerns. She answered with a very cheery, “Hellooo”, to which I responded with something silly like “Hey, whatcha doing?” “Sleeping … you are up early, what's wrong?” I doubt I would make it as a CIA operative.
I figured that my clever scheme had been uncovered so I just launched right into the heart of the matter.
“I couldn't sleep”
“Oh yeah, are you nervous?” (in a mocking tone)
“Yes, but not for the reasons you might suspect.”
“Kelly's got butterflies, kelly's got butterflies”
“No, no, seriously, I need to know: What hand does the ring go on?”
“The left … but why don't you just put it on whatever hand I give you?”
“Hmm, good answer”