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Notes from the Apocalypse

My Daughter’s Wedding – Chapter Two

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By Charles Morgan III

 

I danced at my daughter’s wedding. During a lull in the rehearsal dinner, I saw my opportunity and I took it. Gladstone “Stone” McEwan, the famous calypso entertainer, was playing a hard driving, bouncy song. There were four girls dancing together on the deck, which always looks a bit silly. I disappeared into the restaurant, and out of sight of the guests, I did my pre-dance stretching routine.

 

During the second refrain of the song—with lyrics that I think were up down down up everybody move up down down up hey hey shake shake woo woo up down up down, or something like that—I leapt out onto the dance floor.

 

Like a big, strong, jungle cat high in the air, and with a light, graceful landing, I came pouncing out onto the deck. With remarkable balance, I broke down into a pulsating, powerful set of choreographed (by me) moves, stunning an audience of hundreds.

 

The scratchy, syncopated beat became a life source for my writhing, leaping, dangerously gymnastic style of self-expression.

 

Informal reviews of my routine included “shocking,” “miraculous,” “captivating,” and “otherworldly…almost like something from outer space.”

 

I was only able to dance to one song before I was hustled, by my family, off the floor. But by then the entire crowd was dancing, albeit in a more controlled (boring) sort-of white people’s dance style.

 

That was pretty much my contribution to three days of revelry surrounding Leah and Matt’s wedding. I also walked Leah down to the beach where the ceremony took place.

 

It was a lovely wedding. Leah was gorgeous. Matt was handsome.

 

Other than the wedding festivities, it was a slow week on Guana Cay. The second week of lobster season is always quiet—all the tourists had gone home. The wedding certainly gave the locals something to look at. Just about everybody on Guana has known Leah since she was a baby, and they all had some role to play with the wedding.

 

The events went off without a hitch. Leah has a strong background in event planning, honed as a teenager in Destin whenever her parents went out of town. Matt has a great personality—he’s charming and polite. We’ve conducted deep background checks and have found nothing incriminating.

 

Leah has been in New York for 10 years working in the restaurant world. Matt is a bond trader from New Jersey. Of course, these days he could be a Russian spy for all we know.

 

Like most weddings, it was a reunion of sorts. Matt and Leah’s childhood and college friends were there. People they work with made the trip. Matt’s family came from up north. There were four generations of the Morgan family there. The matriarch, Camille, didn’t miss anything.

 

There were lobster and conch, swimming pigs, stories and toasts, ferries, snorkeling and fishing, cigars and rum drinks. There were seemingly endless photographs taken to document everything.

 

But some things you can’t really document. Because mostly, it was a week of celebration for two people obviously very much in love. It was a week for two people who have a lot of life ahead of them to confirm their decision to spend that time together. They did that with abundant love and hope and optimism and tremendous confidence.

 

It was a beautiful week.

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