The ushers at my wedding will have no problem determining with guests to seat on the bride's side of the aisle and which to send to the groom's side. It will be that straggler - the one who rushes into the church, sweaty and breathing heavily right as the minister begins with "Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here ..." - who sits in the only remaining seat, obvious to all that he's on the wrong side. Nervous glances will be exchanged between the misplaced guest and his neighbors. He will look longingly across the way at his family and friends -- his supposedly "assigned" side of the tracks. Imagine the sigh of relief he'll let escape at the ceremony's end when he can finally rejoin those that best resemble him, those to which he truly belongs.
"Where WERE you, man?
(Guilty look.) "I was on the OTHER side." (Pulls at his collar and gulps.)
"I know! I saw. Why don't you stay close to Edna and me and we'll go to the reception together?"
Aah, the reception. I'm in the white dress, "Tony" is the one in the tux. We're dancing alone on the hardwood floor in the first dance as husband and wife. Sharks on one side, Jets on the other. Everyone screams out "MAMBO" at the appropriate time.
At least no one will pull out a knife at this event. (There will be metal detectors, after all.) The diplomats, our parents, will brave across the dance floor and shake hands with each other. Tony's father bows and blurts out an awkward, "Ko-ni-chi-wa, Mr. and Mrs. Lin, you two like A-mer-i-ca?" to which my 30-year American citizen parents of Chinese descent will smile sardonically and reply, "Sure we're rather fond of the old homestead. And how do you do?"
Auntie Grace will create a scandal when she strolls confidently over to the "other" side and picks a conversation with a handsome, single man from Tony's clan. She might eventually dance with him to "Lady in Red" later on in the evening. My grandmothers might huddle together in gossip mode and start berating my dear auntie. "How could she do that? There are plenty of eligible Chinese men in here."
Yes grannies, I think to myself. However they're all related to us.
Perhaps the feast will put everyone in a less-restricted mood. After all, food always had a way of easing tensions at my home. Everyone smiles and inhales the wonderful aromas emanating from the kitchen. Dish after dish is placed ceremoniously in the center of each table. Forks/Chopsticks in hand, the guests pick out pieces of chicken, fish, leafy vegetables and noodles. Half the guests toss back the chicken heads, yelp and try to dig out fish bones embedded in the insides of their cheeks, grimace at the translucent pieces of jellyfish and attack the only seemingly-palatable noodles. Tony and I had anticipated this - waiters rush out with prime rib soon after.
Bellies full and stiff after-dinner drinks swallowed, the banquet hall begins to spin. Grannies laughing and belching without covering their mouths, parents bowing incessantly to each other, Auntie Grace now leading a limbo train (grannies included) around the perimeter of the dance floor, Tony and I both wobble around with cake icing coating our faces -- everyone is having a ball.
Oh the wonders of a little drop of the fermented fruit drink. Our little West Side Story will have a Disney ending after all.
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