Maneuvering

I don’t know why I put myself in these kinds of situations. I came out of the womb awkwardly and I’m positive I will go to my grave just as awkwardly as well. I even make myself feel awkward sometimes—it’s one thing to be odd and unaware, but a whole different ball game to be the “weird one” and to be fully aware that you are making everyone around you squirm, including yourself. And yet, here I am. I dropped my toddler off at his grandmother’s, boarded my beautiful chocolate black lab, and drove for 7 ½ hours yesterday to arrive in backwoods Montana. Am I here out of obligation? Boredom? Desire to watch other people squirm? Whatever the reason (still unknown to myself), I am arriving shortly at a wedding, and literally the only person that I will know there is the bride. This was a ridiculous decision. 

I enter the premises and it’s just as I pictured it: a weird version of high school has formed, with cliques and constantly shifting eyes at the ready to assess everyone who walks through the door. I still can’t believe I came. I enter the doors and the eyeballs descend on me instantly. I am baptized with eyesight, drowning and barely able to stand, let alone move. My awkward body glitches for a moment, then regains composure and continues moving forward in a feigned natural pose. Where do I go now? I literally don’t recognize anyone, so I make my way to the running tables splayed with food because this always seems to be a mutually acceptable way to pass the time.

Although this wedding and subsequent reception is being held in a barn with cows, chickens and goats nearby, the feel is surprisingly elegant. Soft, off-white linens, beautiful bouquets filled with lilies and hydrangeas, color-coordinated napkins and plates, and a (dreaded) place card with a specific name on it to specify one’s assigned seat as one eats their meal. I can’t wait for that. To be honest, the barn looks amazing and I am shocked that my quirky, off-beat friend from high school (who married a downright farmer) was able to pull such a sophisticated ensemble off. I only hope that the food will be as good as everything looks. 

I’ve found the steaming artichoke dip (always better when it’s hot) and the fancy crackers, and I feel like I’ve found my home base. Once comfortable, I finally decide to take a quick look around. Since I’ve already made note of and judged the lifeless items around me, it’s time to take a gander at the actual, living, breathing people that are sharing the same space as myself. Oh, right: humans. From my quick estimation, the mean age is roughly the age of myself (it’s my holy year; I am 33). There are some outliers, and they tend to lean more elderly. From my very quick assessment based on nothing more than superficiality, the group seems like a nice bunch of people that I am excited to strategically maneuver around all night without actually having to interact with. The only person I am here to interact with is the bride and her new found love interest, if necessary. 

The actual ceremony is lovely, simple, and succinct. I appreciate this, as I like to describe myself with these same respectable adjectives. The bride and groom are also dressed simply and are beaming with joy and admiration for each other and for those that have surrounded them on their day of days. It’s a beautiful concept: finding that one person on this seemingly infinitesimal landscape. Out of all the people that currently exist right now on this planet, you happened to live near each other, coincided with each other, decided to spend an unrestrained amount of time together, and finally (and mutually) decided to legally represent this love by getting married and making promises to one another to never stop loving one another until one of you kicks the bucket. Like I said, it’s a beautiful concept. And of course, I only wish for beautiful concepts to become beautiful realities for those that I care for. Here’s to hoping for the best.

I have felt my body getting progressively itchy because I know that I cannot avoid people forever. The eventuality of me having to sit down at a table with 7 other strangers and inevitably engage in small talk is coming, and quickly. I mean, I suppose I don’t have to sit down and endure this torture chamber of sorts, but in order to be participatory, supportive, and also to get a full-course meal into my belly, I fear I must concede. I still have not been able to catch the bride. Hopefully soon. I always feel so bad for the bride and groom at any reception. They are so spread thin—if they were not small-talk kings and queens before, they will be after their reception. Can you imagine having to have potentially hundreds of short conversations throughout the night with a gaping variety of people, and some you are meeting for the first time? The greeting line (or whatever you call it) has always frustrated me to no end. Another torture chamber of sorts presents itself without shame: having to stand still ALL NIGHT and present yourself as grateful, full of nothing but smiles, and make hurried small talk as person after person awaits their turn and has every expectation to feel special and seen and heard by the special couple? Torture chamber for all involved, I suppose. Thankfully, my friend has decided to opt out of this long-standing tradition of boredom and instead is just roaming around as she pleases. That’s my girl. 

The dreaded announcement by the emcee has come: please take your assigned seats as the food will be served shortly. I have done such a great job meandering, returning to my home base, and ultimately avoiding any actual conversations with this room full of strangers. But I fear that my streak is over and the squirming will have to commence. I find myself sitting down at an empty table—I’m off to a great start. Maybe I got crazy lucky and everyone else that was assigned to my table got snowed in, or had to attend a funeral instead, or were smarter than myself and decided not to come because they saw this terrible moment in their future. Just maybe, just maybe I got luc—dammit. I sit in silence with my face staring at my empty plate as a couple sits down across from me. With 8 people at a table and a very large bouquet of flowers acting as a centerpiece, those sitting directly across from me are basically off limits as far as conversation goes. Dodged a bullet there. No, the real stressors will be those that sit within actual ear- and eyeshot from me. Those are the potential troublemakers. A few minutes go by and my plate somehow becomes more and more interesting and I cannot believe it, but suddenly and almost as if it were rehearsed, everyone swoops in at once. I am ravaged by disbelief as the table goes from practically empty to brimming with smiling, seemingly non-awkward faces. Here we go.

All I can think to do is keep breathing. If there is one thing my body knows how to do, it is to keep breathing. It doesn’t have to know how to be social or fluid in its movements or remove its eye gaze from the plate it's literally been stuck to for the past 4 minutes and 36 seconds. No, it’s free to forsake those inane ventures and focus solely on pumping blood through my body, to my brain and allowing my fragile lungs to routinely fill with and expel air. The air I am being forced to share with these 7 strangers. “Are you enjoying the reception?” I have been spotted, and not only spotted, but the attack has begun. It’s only a matter of time before I crumble, shriveling into compact atom matter, perfect for the wind to carry off into the vast abyss of nothingness. Before I know what’s going on, my knee jerk response goes something like this, “Fine, thanks.” Success. How many more of these gunshots do I have to fend off? My bulletproof vest can only take so much during one meal. “Do you know the bride or the groom?” A long pause sits on the plate in front of me before I am able to lift my eyes, strike the speaker’s eyes back in retaliation and utter, “The bride, I know the bride from high school.” I am filled with immediate regret. The first rule to keep conversations short is to answer with 1-word answers, preferably a simple “yes” or “no”. I am mortified that I opened the door for any sort of follow-up question. Of course the dam has been broken: “Oh, that’s so great. I know the bride and groom from college. They have always been such a sweet couple. I am so terribly happy for them. What was Jenny like in high school?” So much dammit is flooding me that I even begin choking on it. I swear to god that my throat is closing up and no air is coming in or going out and every alarm system my body contains is going off at the same time so that all I can possibly muster is, “Nice, sweet, yeah.” 

I promptly excuse myself from the table and say goodbye to the delicious meal I was excited to eat, because for some reason I don’t think I’ll be seeing it again any time soon. I am blinded by how much more terrible that was than I thought it was going to be. I knew I shouldn’t have come. I finally (and thankfully) find a bathroom, find a stall and plop myself down with a thud. My eyes are no longer blinded, but I keep them shut anyway. I’m scared to see or touch or feel reality again. I must retreat. My breathing is very harsh, like my air sacs haven’t experienced oxygen for years and don’t quite know what they are supposed to do with it. I know that this will all pass, but for now it is all very real—the crashing and the gnashing of teeth. Inescapable for a moment in my time. I can’t remember a time in my life when this type of social anxiety wasn’t a part of my daily routine. This life forcefully shoves you into group settings as if being on an island alone isn’t an acceptable way to live. From day 1 I have been expected to chit-chat, make nice, and share with strangers. In an existence that I never actually chose, all I wanted was to exist. Not necessarily to exist with others. But on a planet straining from the weight of its over-population, it’s no wonder I am bound to run into other humanoids and be expected to play nice. To make money, to learn, to engage in a family, I’ve had to overcome these innate tendencies of instant anxiety and find my rays of sanity in the mayhem.

My breathing is starting to flatten, back to a simple in-out rhythm. The way it is supposed to be. It’s in this moment, when my other sense seem to be returning to my body, that I am shocked to sense the presence of another living being. If my senses are serving me well, he or she is 2-3 stalls away, quiet as a mouse. “Hello?” I am still and even quieter than a mouse. I fill with sincere hope that I can instantly will myself into that desirable compact atom matter, find some wind and let myself be carried off into it. “I had to get out of that reception hall--I hate small-talk. I get really itchy on my insides and outsides when I feel like I have to engage with others that I’m not comfortable with. I have seriously been dreading this moment since I got the invitation in the mail. And honestly, I don’t even know why I am here. Before you came in here, I had my own panic attack and have been sitting here ever since, counting down the minutes until the dinner tables were empty and I could go back to hovering near the hors d’oeuvres. I’m glad you came.”