Saturday just cannot end. This reflection gets us through the ceremony and the proposal. I will write either a third part and an epilogue or just an epilogue. It will be at least a week before I write more. Again I am truly grateful for your reading and reviewing. You have been a source of encouragement to me in ways you cannot know. The characters and story line belong to the best writer in television, Martha Williamson.
Saturday – Part two
Oliver returns. The elegant bow tie removed; the garish green tie displayed. He sees the puzzled look on Norman's face.
"I know," he says tucking the tie into his jacket. "Don't ask."
"Do whatever you have to do my friend," replies Norman with a smile. "I know I would. Well, I did."
The two men chuckle.
Oliver and Norman now wait anxiously for the ceremony to begin. One waits for his bride; the other waits for the one he hopes will be his bride. Oliver is honored to wait with Norman. More than any other time he realizes Norman's place in his journey to the altar and he is grateful. Oliver's role in this life-play has always been of section leader - the wiser, older, more confident brother; however, when it comes to this day Norman's willingness to communicate, to take action, to risk all for love set the example for him. It is most appropriate that this day he follows Norman down the aisle. This day Norman is leader.
As they wait at the back Oliver catches himself scanning the room for her. He knows that she is sequestered with the bride but his heart can feel that she is near. Funny, how knowing that she is there – somewhere – that he will see her soon makes him feel simultaneously excited and at peace. If she were not there, he thinks he would be a very lonely man.
The background music of Gabe strumming his guitar went previously unnoticed by the preoccupied best man. But once the music starts to play along with the voice of the poet his attention is caught. The time is now.
Oliver takes a deeper breath as he walks the aisle that he and she created together just last night – lining every random chair they can find – making certain the rows are straight - calling the florist to secure a white runner that is now beneath his feet. He sees his dad and cannot help himself from reaching out to him, touching his dad's shoulder - the shoulders on which his head rested as a little boy, the shoulders that carried him aloft in Washington Park, the shoulders on which much of whom he has become rests.
His heart is so full right now that if he let himself he could cry or even burst with laughter. However, he will not. This moment is not about him or her; it is to be about Norman and Rita. He will be as composed and inconspicuous as a man wearing a bad tie can be – as a man deeply in love with the maid of honor can be.
He takes his place and waits to get a glimpse of her. And then she appears. She turns to walk their created aisle. Ultimately it is a path they made together that alters them both and leads to each other. The woman he has waited for his entire life walks the aisle, every step growing closer. She wears a shade of red that reminds him of a dress she wore their first Christmas ball. He is glad she only dances with him now. She carries flowers. He smiles. He hears Gabe sing, "In my wildest imagination I could never imagine you loving me as much as I do you." Oh how correct is the poet. He swallows the lump in his throat. He slightly shoulders in not ready for her to see. Don't be obvious. Let her get in place he thinks. She may not notice. In a fleeting thought he braces himself for the possibility that her eyes could reveal displeasure. "Do not think such," he tells himself. He knows better.
As she walks closer to them she acknowledges the happy groom first as she should. He cannot help but smile as she makes eye contact with him expressing her joy in this moment - in this marrying of Rita and Norman. He watches her face transform as she sees the tie - her eyes widen as they focus on this unexpected article of clothing. She sees and she is stunned and bit dazed. Could it be THE tie?
Nevertheless a bride approaches and their attention must turn to her. As the ceremony continues her eyes are teary and even his become bit misty. They share laughter with bride and groom and congregation. Oh her beautiful and expressive face. As often with her, words are not needed. Her face says it all. He knows that she is hoping that this is a unique night for them as well. He realizes that he is a bit nervous.
The officiator shares words on love and marriage. Does she hear them? The voice belongs to their dance instructor, philosopher, caterer, and poker-playing good friend. But the words – the words belong to Oliver. It is Oliver's heart that speaks them to her in this moment. Does she have any idea?
After all Oliver is the author. He wrote them for Rita and Norman's ceremony just as he once wrote Rita's speeches. It is his wedding gift at their request to them. When he penned them he tried to tell himself it was an exercise both in academic prose and theological truths on marriage. But these words flow freely from his heart because of her. With the writing of every word he thought of her and their shared journey. They are truths he once believed but that had become dormant, buried. They are rekindled through their shared journey. She breathed life into the words he stored in his heart. She breathed life into him and thus inspired his composition.
Bride and groom share communion and commitments. He and Shane share knowledge and anticipation of things to come for which only his dad has any understanding. His heart beats harder. He proudly offers her his arm to escort her from the altar. It is only a matter of time. She questions. He does not answer. For a second he is proud of his tie. Now he is being playful, coy. Is it THE ugly green tie or does Norman have bad taste in ties for his best man? He doesn't have to tell her. She knows. She knows.
For Oliver, surely this is the longest reception on record. The ceremony is complete, the first dance is finished, the cake is cut, the guests are fed, good wishes are shared. They circulate the room separately. He tries to be fully present when speaking to others but he catches himself looking across the way at her. She is amazing. Hopefully after tonight she will be his. Finally the last guest leaves. He feels his heart beat a little faster again as the room empties.
He brings her coat over to her, clears his throat, and asks, "Shall we go outside and give Rita and Norman a moment?"
"Certainly," she replies.
He opens the heavy barn door for her and extends his arm to her as he has on many occasions. But this is unlike any other occasion. They walk out into the cool damp night. Everything is quiet. There is a light breeze. He could feel the lump coming into his throat. He swallows hard. He had never been more certain of anything or more wanting of anything. Everything he hoped for is now by his side, within reach.
The time is now. He knows his lines. He turns to face her. He takes her hands. Every act is very intentional. He asks her not to look at his tie but to look at his eyes and listen to his heart. And then he pauses. He sees her eyes well with tears and hears her voice break. A part of him wants to scoop her into his arms and whisper the rest into her ear but he wants to offer himself to her in a fashion that is unmistakable. He has her full attention. Not until she is looking into his eyes does he go down on his knee as if to say, "Watch me. With every fiber of my being, I mean what I am about to say." The moment is slow and deliberate.
There is something heartbreaking and profoundly earnest in this proposal. It is not heartbreaking in the sense of one's heart being destroyed but in the sense of a heart being born again – a breaking open to a new life. Breaking open of a scarred heart requires courage. It is the breaking open of a heart to trust that was once closed with fear. Oliver O'Toole dares to offer his heart. And in the offering and breaking open of a heart that was deeply and repeatedly wounded is to say that faith wins, hope wins, love wins.
If his voice were mute in that moment his eyes would say it all. I am offering my heart to you. I am promising to love you for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health to love and to cherish until death us do part.
It is not enough to ask her this particular question. This is not a simple request. This is a plea and a pledge. Marry me and I will love you forever.
And there he is on bended knee – not even noticing the gravel cutting into his knee or the hem of his coat lying in a puddle of water. Nothing matters in that moment but her response. "Yes, Oliver. Yes, I will marry you and love you forever."
That is all he needs to hear - all he needs to know.
He rises quickly. There is a seal for this contract. "This was my grandmother's. She was the finest woman I ever knew…until you." The usually calm O'Toole is a little nervous. This is not merely a symbol he offers her. It is a precious symbol. This is the gift that symbolizes everything he has waited all his life to give. Every woman who truly mattered broke his heart – but not the woman who wore this ring. He begins "I hope it's not too –" He wants this to be right. He wants her to be pleased. He would even sacrifice this token and purchase another for his pearl of great price.
But no, no, no, no, no, a 1000 times no – she is honored, thrilled, deeply moved. Her loving, complete acceptance of this token further affirms his decision and adds to his joy. She loves the ring. She loves him.
He sees the wheels turning inside her head. What is she contemplating? She lifts his tie. He is embarrassed and feels slightly foolish to wear such. This green tie is nothing compared to what he would do for her. She sees him as no fool. He feels her physically pull him to her by that ugly green tie. She has been pulling at his heart in one way or the other since the first day they met. Only now her pull is not met with any resistance. It is only joy and love and laughter and shared passion. He could kiss her until the cows come home. It is the taste of her lips, the touch of her face, the feel of her hand on his neck, the fragrance of her perfume all held in his arms. He holds onto her through that bundle of coat thinking that one night before too long he will not have to let her go - ever.
They stay outside longer than they realize. He cannot possibly hold her close enough. He brushes the joyful tear that drops on her cheek with his thumb. They are eye-to-eye and toe-to-toe – giggling, and smiling, and allowing for tears. There are some scenes so joyful and intimate that even Shakespeare lacks for words. This is such a moment and he kisses her once more.
In a moment they will return inside to light, and music, and friends. But for now the choose only each other.