A Wedding Reception and a Traveling Circus

I was pretty miserable roughly twenty-four hours after I got married, probably to the hour.  The apartment was dark, my wedding dress was tossed over the bedroom recliner, and all the dear friends that had appeared briefly in our cozy apartment that day were gone.  I was mindlessly scrubbing at some salsa in the kitchen sink, wondering where everyone in my life had gone so suddenly and wondering what on earth I'd just gotten myself into.

"Hey, kid," I heard in my ear behind me.  Mike, my husband of one day, wrapped his arms around my waist and nestled his cheek against my shoulder.  I closed my eyes and relaxed against him.  Still, that night, even as I fell asleep in his arms, it felt like I barely knew him, like this apartment was a place I'd never been.

The next morning, we packed our bags for our honeymoon and got in the car for a long-neglected hobby of ours: road-tripping.  We were on our way to Boston, and my lap was full with several tour guide books as we planned out the week ahead.

"We could go to the Prudential Skywalk.  That's in our CityPass," I offered.  A random observation floor in the highest building in Boston sounded semi-exciting, even if it did mean paying a high price to stare out a window to spot our hotel.  

"Sounds good," Mike agreed, eyes glancing to me from the road and back again.  His head was bouncing slightly to a song that wasn't playing for anyone else to hear. 

"Why do they charge so much just to go to a floor in a building?  I feel like you shouldn't have to pay for an attraction that is already there," I said.

Mike didn't miss a beat.  "Well, every attraction is already there, if you think about it."  I looked at him, and his head bopped along in time with the road signs.  Then, almost to himself:  "Unless it's a traveling circus.  Then, maybe it's there, maybe it's not."

The car was silent for a moment, then I burst out into laughter.  I feel like I didn't stop laughing for hours.  He laughed, too, briefly, but stopped long before my own thoughts:  Oh yeah.  This.  This is why I got married.  I signed up to be Michael's best friend forever.  This.  This.  This.

That realization sank in a little bit more throughout our honeymoon, like when Mike slipped liqueur in my morning coffee to make a day of museums a little more exciting for me, leaving a fit of blonde giggles between us as we collapsed into the doors of the New England Aquarium.  Or when Mike sprinted into the Museum of Fine Arts because he had to pee so badly, me chasing after him, screaming out my wedding vows to distract him.  Or when Mike got me laughing out of my mind at the Samuel Adams Brewery tasting, just to make it look like I'd gotten wasted for the camera.  Or every time Mike treated a bellman or a waiter or a retail associate with no less respect and politeness than he does with me.  Or when I woke up in the morning with sunlight across the bed, seeing him grinning at me.  We laughed wildly and ridiculously, kissed sweetly and passionately, fought fairly and loudly, and spent a lot of time in silence like we both do when we're thinking or zoning out.

The night before our rehearsal, Mike and I spoke on the phone late into the night.  As we started to hang up, he said: "Here we go, kid."

Here we go, indeed.