The first time I saw downtown Tucson was on my wedding day, less than a month after I moved there. My pink high heels click-clacking against the concrete, up stairs, around the building, filling out these forms, those forms, FORMS OUT THE WAZZOO. It started a little something like the amazing race, running around an unfamiliar place trying to follow directions that were given in broken english. Then it led to me freaking out, ”WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS ISN’T WHERE WE GET MARRIED?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE MIGHT BE TOO LATE?! WHY DO THEY ONLY DO “MILITARY MARRIAGES” IN THE MORNING?! OUR FRIENDS AREN’T HERE YET! THERE IS NO ONE TO WITNESS FOR US!”
Which was calmly answered by a sympathetic, yet monotone voice, “Ma’am, if you hurry the judge may be able to fit you in, maybe you can get the couple she is with now to witness for you.”
So we sat on a bench, catching our breath, hoping we would have witnesses, that we’d leave the court house as Mr and Mrs, laughing out loud and worrying quietly to ourselves. I wonder if we worried the same things, did we even have time to doubt, to second guess our rash decision, to wonder if the universe was trying to tell us something? I don’t remember if I did, though I doubt it, I knew before he ever did that I belonged to him and that I needed him to belong to me. I told him and anyone who would listen, “I’m going to marry you someday.” I know I scared him, I know I was crazy, and every one thought we were doomed. Even me. But he came back, and we made up, and here we are.
And that’s how we ended up married by a judge with a deformed arm that I couldn’t stop staring at, well that is until I was looking into his eyes and repeating and listening and trying not to scream and jump up and down and float off into the sky, with four strangers watching, listening, clapping, laughing… I would do it again in a heart beat, because now he is mine, my husband, my best friend, my entire world, my life…and I am his. Forever and always? Always.