the summer before i was married i realized that i was scared to move forward without making sure i wasn't missing something. i asked his permission; he fearfully submitted. somehow i won $2000 in an indian casino, my first time gambling, a slot-machine-lucky-pull. i bought a wetsuit, an apricot colored surfboard and left on the pretense of learning how to surf. i slept with an old, very old and very, safe friend in the sand. (gravity is working against me, and gravity wants to bring me down) he came; i crumbled. i visited him for months, with bags of carrots and oatmeal cookies - drove all the way down the california coast and cried my way back home after days and days of sex and muffins and books exchanged. he followed me home and stayed. he taught me how to surf, how to make love for the pure joy of it all.
this weekend, drunk on the 10,000 feet of mountain i confessed that i had been deeply in love with him, that he had asked me not to get married. i considered. and then, my own creeping embarrassment. our families' disappointment. the things we'd already endured and were bound to endure later. we kissed one last time. he stood next to my almost-husband as we took our vows. we kissed. and i didn't look back until now.
