The way we were
Life is so rich, if you can write down the real details of the way things were and are, you hardly need anything else.
This weekend I went to a wedding for friends I met when I lived overseas. We had to drive to Forster. The ceremony was in the Green cathedral- looking up you could see a canopy of gnarled branches -across to a sweeping expanse of light blue water.
There was around 120 people there, most of which I knew. We stood in the sunlight waiting for the bride, beaming and greeting each other. It has been almost three years since we were all living together.
In the warm, cosy atmosphere of the day in which we found ourselves I remembered who we had been.
Some people had partners and children we wouldn’t have even known about three years ago.
Cath, standing radiant and sun-kissed in a cream dress had spent her last twelve months in London battling Crohn’s disease.
Mel - introducing her partner of a year, had left with a broken heart. I remembered the way she cried over a glass of white wine the night before she left, he hadn’t even tried to contact her before she flew out.
Two people had become alcoholics. One had spent a couple of weeks in rehab - the other was celebrating 18 months of sobriety. Both swilled soda water around in their glasses and chained smoked.
Katie had flown in from LA where she was working for a big cosmetic company. She had an apartment ‘downtown’ which she described as chaotic, restless and bewildering. She giggled as she told us how the Latino men found her enchanting.
The groom, wearing a pair of white haviannas turned up with a beer in his hand. This time three years ago he had been deported from Greece. He had just met the bride.
Kyle’s video camera never left his left eye. He used to drink so much that we’d find him alseep on the couch with a piece of toast in his mouth. Three years later he’d just moved to Brisbane and found love with Nagoumi. She was beautiful.
3 years ago • Notes