e. e. cunnings

My Wedding Vows

My love, my world, my Marlene,

Today we proclaim our love in front of friends and family in the sacred rite of holy matrimony.  Most here know how this story began, but for those who haven’t, allow me to share with them the moment that started it all. 

It was November 10, 2009.  At 8:30AM, I was showering before doing laps, wondering “Do I even enjoy this, really?” A few steps down to the pool and I began the monotonous routine that is lane-swimming.  In the lane next to yours.  It was written.

After a few laps accompanied only by my thoughts, on one trip back our laps grew synchronized, and there we found ourselves in a rhythmic social display.  Face in water, face out of water.  Because you’re left-handed (or perhaps a bilateral swimmer because you’re perfect) with every breath we locked eyes for one second before staring back at the black line racing down the pool.  We came up for air, but really for eachother.  Exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale.  I wondered what our kids would look like.

I swam a little harder, goading you into a race.  But you were in no hurry and enjoyed the game already started.  Your face was beautiful; your eyes were a blue like the weird color of a pool, but not weird in this context.  Ten meters left and I wondered, am I imagining this?  As we reached the bored lifeguard’s feet, on your last breath I saw the slightest upturn of a smirk.  This is the smirk you make when I take photos of us on our vacations together.

That smirk is all I thought about on the trip back to our starting line.  On the return, my back was to you, unable to read the thoughts on your face.  But I saw the smirk, I know I saw it.  Now what, though.  Are we going to play the game again?  Yeah, let’s play again.  Let’s play again old together.

But when I turned to ask you for another dance, you weren’t there.  You were walking to the bench where your towel sat.  Out of the pool, I saw your swimsuit bottom had little flares kinda like short shorts — the type that burn their presence into your mind.  My thoughts raced.  But you were already up the stairs.  The length of the pool now between us.  A pool separated us, after it had brought us together.  And foiled!  This wasn’t the hour of day I normally get to swim and I knew I’d probably never see you in that pool again: a hydrotango cut short.

Luckily a few months later, I saved your life when you tripped in front of a bus and now we’re married, so it all worked out, no worries.