August 13, 2002

My favorite wedding, so far, was Rich's. Not only was I a groomsman, so, at least, I could be doing something at the wedding, but it was a chance to show that I really did want to maintain ties with my childhood best friend.

I made a conscious effort in college to separate from my life in Southern California. It was mostly because I didn't like the person I had become, and I didn't want anyone to know why and how. The result was a complete ignorance of my friends' lives.

I had known Rich dated Amanda for a while, but the marriage announcement caught me slightly aback. What was more stunning was that he had picked another person to be his best man.

To be fair, I was fully aware that I brought it upon myself. And looking back, I probably wouldn't have been able to take the responsibility. It was enough to be his groomsman. Even then I felt it was more than I deserved, but I was grateful to be a part of this celebration.

There were two ceremonies. The first one was in a small Catholic chapel, to make the wedding official in the eyes of the Church. And contrary to expectations, I didn't not burst into flames.

The second one was in a Frank Lloyd Wright glass and metal chapel that overlooked the ocean. Inside was cobbled stone and, I think, a fountain. What impressed me the most were the small iron triangles in the floor, to mark where the groomsmen and bridesmaids were to stand.

That ceremony lasted forever. My back began to stumble and I thought I was about to pass out. Hopefully no one saw me swaying.

My only regret was that I didn't make a toast at the reception. I felt I didn't know Rich well enough to make any form of statement. I know now that it shouldn't have mattered.

I suppose all that is truly important is that I still make attempts to know that they are doing well.