I have found asylum in your eyes. They swirl like warm cigar smoke and when the world is too much I curl up in their curls. I wonder if you see me differently through each pattern. If I change as you change. I wonder. I know you have unanswered questions about me too, for it’s our mysteries as much if not more than our compatibilities that accounts for our electricity. And it is our electricity that has led us here, to trade I for we. Officially. Legally. Eternally.
I love you. That’s all I know. I love you. I want you by my side as my unknowns become known. And I want to stand by you as you experience the same thing. That’s it. It’s so simple. That is the entire scope of my dream: that we should discover this life together.
I found this recently, crumpled in the back of a filing cabinet. They are my wedding vows. Epic and intimate, public and private, universal and very, very specific. And naive. Those unknowns, tossed off so casually, even romantically, would test not just our couplehood, but our very personhood.
That whole day is a blur for me. I woke up tingling with apprehension and dizzy, paralyzed with fear at the thought of standing up in front of all those people. The performer with stage fright. It’s a cliché and an oxymoron. Whatever. Performing is a series of tasks. There’s choreography to dance. Marks to hit. Costumes to change. But there is no task in getting married. It’s just people watching you look at someone. It’s nauseating. I kept trying to curl up in his eyes.
I heard the officiant say, “Do you, Magnus…”
A blinding flash of light.
ZAP!!! Ow. ZAP. ZAP. ZAP. Ow. Ow. Ow!!!
Electric shocks burned the back of my neck. My hands. Ankles. The strange buzzing that had been stalking me all day grew more insistent.
ZAP. Ow! ZAP! Owwwwww!!!
Am I having a stroke?
I turned towards the pinpricks to find Valerie Perrine ~ a 2-inch tall pixie. Resplendent in a shimmering silver light and dressed in the white halter beaded number she wore in Milkshake in Can’t Stop the Music, she darted about above our guests’ heads in short, sharp zig and zags. Her wings ~ made of condoms stretched over a skeleton of riding crops and bedazzled with tiny disco mirrors ~ undulated slowly when she was hovering, but were nearly invisible with speed when she moved. I was her sole focus. I discovered the buzzing I’d been hearing all day was coming from her as well. When she flew past me it was all but unbearable. Her open-mouthed laugh burst with the warmth of a million RuPauls. As I stared back, she pelted me with a teensy-weensy lightning bolt right between the eyes.
She laughed again.
Pelted me in the crotch.
That’s when things started to get weird.
The fabulous adventure continues…