The Earring

Book1 Part 3

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Our marital lifetime commenced in David's backyard. My only bridal fantasy was an outdoor ceremony. My parents lived in the frigid north, but my extended family mostly resided in the blistering south, the abode of David's clan. We chose to marry in Prairieville, Louisiana where most of our families and friends could attend, and my dream morphed into reality.

David's home had a splendid yard, even if it was somewhat haphazardly maintained. Majestic vine-draped oaks with a homemade fishpond between them served as nature's pergola. David rigged the picturesque pool to hold water long enough to fool celebrants into believing it was functional. He festooned a hastily fashioned lattice with rootless angel's trumpets. Their hanging blossoms withstood the heat long enough to add a festive aura. Folding chairs camouflaged the clover-infested grass, leaving a lush green ribbon as the connubial aisle. Misting clouds threatened, causing umbrellas to blossom, but as I emerged, a ray of sunshine broke through, sending a shaft of light to illuminate my walk into a lifetime of love.

The ceremony was a blur. I barely heard the melodic rendition of painstakingly chosen music. I have only a hazy recollection of my sister preceding me and the sound of the wedding march played on a borrowed vibraharp. Everything else faded when I glimpsed David at the improvised altar standing in the heavenly spotlight. Our eyes locked and spoke silent vows before the minister intoned the traditional promises.

Our honeymoon forecast the spontaneity and droll response to adversity that would secure us on the marital Ferris wheel, the modern version that turns you upside down or sideways while you whirl, creating a world that is a kaleidoscope of impressionistic color.

It was the honeymoon from Hades.

We couldn't afford a cruise or other traditional getaway. Since my parents owned a pop-up tent trailer and I was a veteran camper, albeit with northern experience, we planned a rustic honeymoon.

The idea was to spend one night in a motel then find a suitable camping site the next day. We would spend the better part of a week camping before returning to college to set up housekeeping.

After we left the reception that followed a 2p.m. wedding, we drove south.

"Let's save the cost of a motel room and go straight to the campground," David said.

"I don't know," I said. "It's getting late, and we haven't eaten."

"Trust me, Sweet, it'll be great."

And so we headed for the campground. We were about 20 miles down the road when I turned to get something out of the back seat. The camper was swerving like a drunken sailor.

"David, there's something wrong," I said.

"I know." His arms were taut as he wrestled with the steering wheel. "I think we have a flat on the trailer."

We got out. David opened the trunk. It was loaded to the brim. He had to take out our suitcases and camping paraphernalia to find the tire iron. I was wearing a hot-orange pantsuit my Mom had made as my going-away outfit. I didn't want to get it dirty, so I stood by the pile of gear, fanning myself with our road atlas while David went to the trailer.

He bent over and then stood up and threw the tire iron onto the pavement. As it landed with a clatter, he shouted, "That's just great. This thing doesn't even fit these tires."

"I guess we'll just have to flag someone down," I said.

"Like there's anyone out here in this God forsaken place."