I never expected to see Gracelyn again,
not like this, not at her wedding.
We’d lost contact five years back.
I stayed in Seattle, and she worked
for a firm in Georgia.
A friend of a friend offered me
the chance to spend time
with her at a wedding.
Who’s, she didn’t say.
In a rut, I didn’t think to ask.
Getting out of my comfort zone
sent chills the length of my spine.
We arrived for small talk
before the couple approached the altar,
and the pastor did his thing,
announcing them as man and wife.
I straightened my tie, scanned around me,
and noticed that the future bride
and I had much in common.
My eyes widened,
and I caught a case of lockjaw.
Gracelyn’s eyes drifted
through the crowd and gravitated
toward mine like she had x-ray vision,
searching my soul for a sign of another lover.
But I had no other,
and for her, that was all she needed to know.
Gracelyn excused herself from the altar
and approached me with a damp
sparkle in her gaze.
She threw her arms around me.
I asked about her man.
Gracelyn laughed.
The humor escaped me until
she told me there
never was another man.
She knew I’d never attend a wedding
unless I felt it was mine.
I shot to my feet
and begged her to marry me.
She said she thought I’d never ask.
And by the way, the answer is yes.