Ring of Redwoods
An unmitigated disaster. The weekend wouldn't end that way, but it was off to an inauspicious start.
We had traveled to a retreat nestled in the California Redwoods for Kevin's wedding. At least most of us had. Kris, our cabinmate, missed his flight "by 6 minutes," or as one of Kevin's consulting buddies put it: "You mean he missed his flight." Pete had been grounded by severe storms in Dallas. The guy had flown halfway across the world for the weekend and now couldn't find a flight to San Francisco, San Jose, Sacramento, LA, etc etc. It was Labor Day weekend. Burning Man weekend.
While those travel mishaps constituted a weekend annoyance, it would take something more sinister to elevate the weekend into a disaster-level event. That sinistation came in the form of an infected kidney. Most tragically, the proprietor of said kidney was the bride.
We gathered that Friday evening under the stringed lights and impossibly tall Redwoods. With his soon-to-be wife being taken to an area hospital via helicopter, Kevin greeted the guests. He was strong. Social. He later excused himself and joined Aylin at the area hospital. He returned later that evening as we were shutting down the evening. There was a sense of concern, but perhaps a more overwhelming sense of exhaustion.
The talks of postponing the wedding by a day were without merit. We convened for the ceremony in a hushed pocket enclosed by Redwoods. There may have been 70 of us. Aylin looked stunning, even if she had just undergone another IV infusion. Julian presided over the ceremony. Personal. Touching. Simplified. Intimate. All this was exemplified by the exchange of rings, which were made out of Redwood.
Following the vows, we were treated to dinner, chocolate tasting, wine tasting, and majestic mountain views. "Why have a dance party if we don't like dancing?" Amen brother! Wine flowed. Too much. Then there was the beer. And the laughter. "Surround yourself with good people and you'll be alright." There are no doubts that Kevin and Aylin will be alright!
My cabinmates were Tim and Brian. Tim and I had gone to high school together, but didn't actually meet each other until Sophomore or Junior year at the University of Texas. Brian was one of Kevin's work colleagues. A big guy with a big laugh. I'll keep the embarrassing stories off the internet.
There were friends from the Peace Corps. There were Kingwoodians. There were people like me who were lucky enough to have ended up on Kevin's random call list; a list that meant you could expect random calls to discuss the Rolling Stones, politics, bowel movements, careers, and everything in between. And there was Kristin.
My college sweetheart. My first love. We hadn't seen each other since April 2014. Since then, she had gotten married and now stood three months from becoming a mother. There was a hidden sense of trepidation before meeting again. It wasn't borne or passion or jealousy, but rather of not wanting to look like a shlub.
Conversations flowed as easily as they ever had. When we ran out of things to say, her husband and I hit up the Taco Bell. It wasn't too perfect. It wasn't too awkward. It was just right.
That afternoon, before the goodbyes, a small group of us lounged at the Santa Cruz beach. None other than Kevin, groom and VIP of the weekend, joined our consortium. Even with the waves crashing into our attempts at swimming, it was the most relaxing, content-filled, California afternoon that a song could try to describe.
Goodbyes came. Kristin and I stepped aside. We told each other how proud we were of each other. How happy we were that each of us had found happiness. It recalled this article we had shared with each other earlier. "I’m proud of those young kids who longed to make something beautiful of their lives, and who, now, are doing it."
Then, there was Kevin. Kevin. I've known him since we were in 6th grade. He was a little asshole back then. He evolved. I evolved. Through it all, we've always been there for each other. I'm proud to have him as a friend. We hugged. "Love you bro," I said. "Fuckin' a," he replied.
Tim and I got in the car and headed up to SFO. Four beers were slipped into the car trunk. After making good time back to the city, we found ourselves with an extra hour and no way to carry-on the beverages. Coincidentally, we found ourselves on a bayshore bench, overlooking flights landing and taking off from SFO. We also managed to solve our carry-on crisis.
"Yeah, this was probably the best wedding I've ever been to," Tim said. I would absolutely agree.