Allow Me To Be Sentimental

Something happened at Spicy’s wedding.

I think it started the night before, at the rehearsal dinner. It just felt good. The food was delicious. I didn’t even really drink, just a few sips of wine. We talked about this and that.

There were some good laughs from old stories. I was happy.

Elvis picked me up the next morning and we drove to Westfield to meet the other groomsmen. I hadn’t driven with him in a while. I wanted to stop at a Wawa or 7-11 for a card, but there was no time.

We got there, said hello, polished our shoes. There were little sandwiches and a bottle of Blue Label, beers all around.

The party bus finally arrived, we piled in. Someone fiddled with the radio to find something other than Bruno Mars. We arrived and the ceremony was lovely.

Nerves over our “entrance” to the reception attacked me fiercely, but my bridesmaid was a good sport and we had fun. I don’t remember the very first slow dance, but Elvis Presley got me out on the dancefloor and feeling cool. Huey Lewis during the slide show that made me so happy, I was almost sad.

The thing I will remember most about the night was how Spicy’s parents danced with one another. The way they just fit perfectly into each other’s arms and how their feet moved from muscle memory. Every little nuance was right in step.