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jazz's wedding.}
Sunday, July 19, 2015 | 11:22 PM | 0Comment

Internet. The day I had been so nervously waiting upon with mixed feelings has finally happened.

The closer this day has gotten, the faster the days seemed to go.

As (some of) you might know, I've been participating in the summer edition of NaNoWriMo (national novel writing month). Which means that every day of July, I've been writing my ass off. At the end of July, I will hopefully have a completed full first draft of a story on my hands, which will make the second full, novel-length story I have completed just this year. (WOW.)

So far this month, I've been typing away at my laptop. And between all that typing and plotting and such, I've been thinking about this wedding.

Earlier this month, Jazz has visited twice. Once as a just-dropping-in kinda thing, and another the next week to give my mom a haircut (she's an officially liscensed hair stylist now. So proud of her.) The two visits put some things to rest that I'd been worried about the past couple of months.

The first one: she's definitely not moving. Her and her fiancee (now husband, but I'll get to that in a second, whew!) have bought their first house and have moved in already, and are getting things together in their new house. She even mentioned that after the wedding, we could hang out more. Which meant a LOT.

And the second one: She told me that I was the only person from our old school that she invited to the wedding. The ONLY ONE. She didn't even invite Colbie, who she's drifted away from the past couple of years and then permanently cut herself off from early this year when the aforementioned girl got MARRIED two months after calling off another wedding with a completely different guy, which she had originally asked Jazz to be a part of and made her buy an expensive bridesmaid's dress and everything, yikes. (I hadn't even known Colbie had gotten married! Me and Jazz were pretty tight with her in middle school, and she and Jazz were even closer in high school, so it's totally crazy that she would treat Jazz that way. The girl is nutso.)

Anyway, that told me that she really did value me as a friend, and that I wasn't just some obligation, or something. My worries about being left behind were put to rest.

The day she cut my mom's hair was her birthday. She came in the morning, and I wasn't feeling too hot (monthly gift), but I had written her a handwritten birthday letter.

Basically, the summarized gist of it (because I didn't keep record of exactly what I said, and dammit I should have) said, "Your 21st year will probably be the most important year of your life so far. There will be a lot of changes in your life this year, but I'm certain that if anyone can handle them, you can. Some changes I may not be able to relate to, but that doesn't matter. You're still my friend. I know that I don't act like it sometimes, but our friendship is important to me. I'm trying my best to work on that, though. I hope that no matter what changes we both go through, we'll still be here for each other and remember how important our friendship is. Happy Birthday. See you at your wedding!"

It was basically the simplified version of how I've been feeling, but she seemed to really love it. I hope she did.

So, back to the big day!!

In the days leading up to it, I took extra good care of my skin and hair, wanting to look good for pictures that might come back to haunt me in 10 years (HAH). That morning, I got up extra early to shave my legs, check the results of the sleeping mask I wore as I slept to get plump, flawless glowing skin (a great success!), do my makeup and hair, and I wore the pink dress that I got at that boutique downtown for my birthday.

Me and my parents headed over to the venue, which was a gorgeous, outdoor garden, with gazebos, fountains, statues, flowers, string lights, butterflies and lush green trees. The whole place was straight out of a fairytale book. They offered guests water and coffee upon entering, along with cute pamphlets for the wedding that had a crossword puzzle on the back with facts about the bride and groom.

After talking to Jazz's father (and giving him a hug of course), who was jittery but happy, we went to go find seats.

Determining which angle I would get the best pictures from (after Jazz told me her wedding would have an official hashtag for Instagram, I told her "I'm gonna Instagram this wedding like it's my job."), we sat. After a while of waiting, (and swatting flies with my pamphlet) it was time.

Her sister (her only bridesmaid) walked down the aisle, the groomsman came down the aisle, and then the music for the Jazz started as she came out in her beautiful white dress.

It's kind of strange, I didn't cry that much. Before, I was positive that I would be a wreck during the entire thing, but I wasn't. I only teared up once during the entire ceremony. My mom cried more than me, actually. Thinking back, aside from snapping pictures of all the important moments--her dad walking her down the aisle, her and her husband standing at the podium together holding hands, their first kiss together as man and wife--the whole thing feels like a dream.

I watched in a daze, half wondering if I was imagining the whole thing. In fact, looking back now, I'm crying more.

Even during the brunch reception, seeing them sign the certificate didn't make me cry. I didn't even cry during their first dance, although I enjoyed it and got a perfect, 15 second instavideo of it. (They danced to We Found Love by Ed Sheeran.) I didn't cry during the toasts, either.

It just hadn't hit me, I think. I can be that way with big life events, I'm learning--when something big happens, it doesn't fully hit me until much later. I watched one of the best friends I've ever had get married. I went to her wedding. Jazz has a husband now.

Speaking of their first dance, during it, I got a special surprise.

After taking my short instavid, I was standing there watching them dance when someone tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Sarah?"

Turning, I was facing my middle school nurse, Mrs. R*.

Some background here: Mrs. R was not just the middle school nurse. To me and Jazz, and several other girls at the school, she was a counselor. She was a friend. Our middle school years were our most tumultuous, and when things got really bad, we went to the nurse's office. Not just when we were sick, or when we were injured or didn't feel good. We went there for emotional counseling. Friend drama? Mrs. R had advice. Boy troubles? Mrs. R always had boy advice. Trouble at home? Mrs. R had advice and a shoulder to cry on.

She's probably the single reason that I made it through middle school in one piece. She's the reason I made it through all my Ricky Bobby troubles in the eighth grade, plus all of my other troubles. (I talked to her about him all the time. I remember right around when I realized how much I liked him, I was in her office one day during lunch, and I told her, verbatim, "Mrs. R, I just...I like him so so much. What am I gonna do?")

So, as you can imagine, seeing her was an enormous welcome surprise. I hugged her and squealed (she's shorter than me. Me, who's shorter than everybody.) and we talked for a little bit. She asked how I'm doing, and even though that's always an awkward question for me to answer (because I never know how to answer it. How am I doing, anyway? Am I good? Am I not? And why would I say if I wasn't?) I told her I was doing all right, and that I've been taking things one day at a time. I asked how she was doing, and she told me she doesn't work at the school anymore, and just works part time now. We talked for a little more, and then I told her that me and my parents were just about to leave, but that it was so nice to see her again (Looking back, I think I kind of seemed like I was in a rush to leave, and I feel bad about that. Damn social deficiencies.)

Talking to her again for the first time since middle school really was the cherry on top of an already nice day.

Before leaving, I went over to Jazz to give her a hug and say congratulations again (the first time was earlier in the reception, where I also forced her to take a selfie with me HAH), telling her goodbye and that I love her and that I kept my promise to post to Instagram with her hashtag. (Can you believe I was the only one at that wedding that used the hashtag? THE ONLY ONE. I saw lots of phones out at that wedding, how was I the only one?? But from the looks of it, my pics were the best ones--my brand new phone's high res. camera, crystal clear zoom and cute filters? Pfffft. No question, mine were definitely the best.)

Walking out of that fairytale wedding was just as surreal as walking into it.

I'm still in a daze about it all, although it may be finally hitting me now, somewhat. Seeing Jazz update her relationship status on Facebook may be part of it (from 'in a relationship' to 'married'. Whoa.). When she changes her last name there, it may hit me even more. When I got to their house for the first time, my head just might explode.

One thing for sure, though, is that I feel so grateful that I was able to be even a small part of this major event in her life.

After seeing them together, and seeing how happy she was, I can't believe I ever even questioned her choice. I can see now that this was a good decision, and that they're made for each other. Sometimes I'm such a cynic that it's hard for me to believe that other people could actually be happy together, and genuinely want to spend their whole lives together.

Maybe it's hard for me to believe sometimes because I haven't experienced a relationship at all, let alone that kind of love. I have no idea what that feels like. But seeing Jazz get married, I think I finally have a teeny little hope somewhere inside of me that someday, I could be lucky enough to.

This Hopeless Romantic has gained back some of the romantic inside of her after this wedding.

Congratulations, Jazz. All the best to you and your new husband. As you step forward in this new phase of your life, I'll be here, cheering you on, for as long as I possibly can.

xo Hopeless Romantic

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