Do I?

           It was the apex moment in my life. Everything, all at once. Every feeling, every thought, every sense engaged beyond their capabilities. People talk about time standing still. Now I know that it can happen.

           I was hyper-aware of my body. Sweat beads on my forehead and one drop of sweat making its way past my left ear. I could hear each breath as the air coming in exceeded the air going out. That wasn’t good. Hyper ventilation. I would faint soon. My rental wedding shoes that almost fit my feet were doing damage to my right big toe. It throbbed at the same pace as my beating heart, but with a slight delay. I wondered if the minister could see my heart pounding away in my chest. Was my white, ruffled, rented wedding shirt moving?

           It is odd when you can hear a room full of people breathing, and then stop breathing. They were waiting. So was the minister and the beautiful girl in white across from me. We had direct eye contact, and yet I couldn’t quite focus on her. Something was wrong with my eyes. In my mind I could see her clearly. I could see her on the day we met, on the night we undressed in front of each other, and on the day I proposed. All those images were clear. The image right at the moment was not. Nothing was clear.

           The church smelled like candles. All churches do. I could also smell the sizing in my rental tuxedo and the cologne she bought me for the occasion. I think I put on too much. A trickle of sweat escaped from under my left arm and ran down my side. Maybe I didn’t put on enough cologne.

           We held both of each other’s hands as we faced each other. Her skin felt wonderful. My hands felt clammy. I liked her skin better than mine. Stroking her face, her arms, her legs, and her breasts were the best tactile sensations I had ever experienced. She felt like magic. The kind of magic where you lose yourself and travel to a wonderful place of peace. That is what she felt like.

           There I stood.

           The minister’s head tilted just a little. He had expected to hear some sort of response from me by now. It was clear. She, as best as I could tell, had lost a little bit of her smile. Her brows fell slightly, causing her eyes to narrow. They were waiting. Everyone was waiting.

           The question was not unexpected. “Do you take this woman…” I knew he was going to ask, and I was going to say, “I do.”

           But I did not. Suddenly it all seemed like a bad idea. The worst idea. After all, she is so beautiful and smart and talented and a great friend and lover. If we got married, why would she stay with me? I would surely disappoint her, as I was doing that very moment. She would stay with me because she is loyal and kind. But then a man more deserving of her would come along and she wouldn’t be able to resist. He speaks Cantonese and has a yurt in the mountains.

           Her only options will be to divorce me, kill me, or become so horrible that I divorce her. All that gets set into motion if I say, “I do.” So, I don’t say it. Not yet.

           I have no idea how much time has passed since the minister asked the question. I worry about the people in the pews who will need to take another breath soon. I think about how her dad shelled out twenty grand for the reception and such. I think about breaking the heart of the woman who will probably break mine sometime down the road. I think about how much these rented tuxedo pants are making my thighs itch.

           Things come into focus again. Her beautiful face, the flowers her maid of honor holds. I turn to see my man of honor, or best man, if you insist, nervously holding the ring. The minister raises his eyebrows in expectation. I expect him to say, “Well, do you?” in an irritated voice, but he is patient.

           I take a breath. “I do.”

           The relief in the room is palpable. I can hear it flowing from the congregation. The minister’s posture changes. My bride smiles more broadly, but then her expression changes. She bites her lower lip. Her eyes get glassy, like she might cry. Then she crosses her arms in front of her not-insignificant chest.

           “Well… I’m not sure I do. Not if it takes you so long to decide whether you do or do not. You are the one who proposed to me. Remember? Now you don’t seem so sure. Tell me, David: are you sure you do want to marry me?”

           Somebody dropped a pin. I know because I could hear it. Nobody was breathing again. The minister took a step back and raised his shoulders in defense. The lady who was our soloist let out a soprano “oop!” I realized that nobody in the room had ever been to a wedding ceremony where the bride went off script.

           “Well, David? I am waiting. Are you sure you ‘take this woman to be your wife?’”

           I sensed that this was not the time for a well-reasoned, well thought out response. The subtleties and intricacies of my internal debate before saying “I do” wouldn’t help this situation. All that was just for me. Right then she needed a clear response with no equivocation.

           “Yes. Yes, I am very sure.”

           “Why?”

           I was not expecting a trick question at that point. The minister, the soloist, and all the people in the pews suddenly transitioned from being anxious to being curious. What would the nice, young idiot say?

           “Why. Well, for starters, look at you! You are beautiful. You have such a pretty face, and your body is, well, we’re in church so, let’s just say you’re beautiful.”

           “Anything else?”

           “You are kind, except maybe now (I said that part quieter) and thoughtful and smart and loving…”

           “I agree. Those things about me are all true. But you are missing something, David. You’re missing the main reason we should be married. Tell me what that is.”

           Was it another trick question? Or was it so painfully obvious that anyone would know the answer, except me? The sweat was no longer coming in individual drops, except for the one that took up residence at the tip of my nose. This was final exam time, and it was a surprise essay test.

           “The reason I do want to take you for my wife is that I love you, and you make me feel like no other woman I’ve ever met or will ever meet.”

           She smiled broadly, threw her arms around me, and began to sob. The crowd had some sobbing too. The soloist sobbed in the soprano register. The minister pushed away one tear with his index finger.

           It’s amazing how much power two words can have.

“I do.”

           That was then. Now, we have been married for five years, and she is on her way to the courthouse to file for divorce so she can marry a guy with a ponytail who speaks Cantonese and lives in a yurt in the mountains.

           Not really, but I’m not going to be surprised if that happens someday. To delay it, whenever she asks me if I want to take the garbage out, go to Hobby Lobby with her, or clean the basement I give the same answer.

           I do.