Late Summer, Part Two (A Retrospective)

• Saturday, 9/9/6 - Asheville North - After Farmer and Cannone and I waved off their girls, we traveled north. The hour was 12:30 AM, the road was dark and calling. I remember shouted conversation, tackling every issue from the metaphysical to the sensual to the spiritual. There was no doubt in my mind that they knew the same God that I did, but often their hypotheses wandered a bit far from truth into mysticism or spiritism. Farmer did more of the talking, usually describing Cannone's exploits for me, then telling Cannone to recount for me his latest theory on how lies fit into the truth. Then Cannone would cringe and explain that he didn't want me to "hammer" him, because he likes to play games with Truth for the sake of feeling like a hippie-philosopher-king. Coupled with the knowledge that I don't like doing that, Cannone becomes a bit of a barefoot hesitant. The two of them had also brought a stash of salvia with them, and we had a good deal of tobacco and cigarettes left. We opted out of the hallucinogen, as I had the distinct impression that it was a bad idea for an overnight road trip, even though it was legal.


• Route 81 - From Asheville we took highway 19/23 North (which is also called hwy 26, but it's the same road) proceeding to 81 North into Virginia. After a while Cannone slept, and Farmer and I discussed the meanings of many things. By my estimate, it was about four in the morning when I stopped at a Flying J, where 81 meets route 77 in Virginia, for sustenance in the form of a coffee and a Big Hunk candy bar. I gassed up Farmer's old sport utility vehicle, and Farmer spent some time waking Cannone up. After we were sure Cannone was awake, which was longer than one might think reasonable, our vehicle set out again into the night, the dawn well nigh. Farmer slept in the back seat while Cannone tried to pretend to be awake enough to talk to me. After a while, he blinked off some of the stupor, and talked for some time autobiographically, relating some things because he had overdone them for the purpose of retelling them at just such a time, and relating some things because at just such a time it was easy to retell them in an exaggerated manner. His life seemed a roller coaster of more or less welcome failures, a string of events tragic and made for the telling. The passing Virginia countryside dimly increased with the sunrise, and I began to feel tired, but never got sleepy. I live for roadtrips, and I do not prefer to sleep through them. It was a waking bucolic dream set to a campfire storyteller who didn't have any one particular story to tell. The only thing that changed was the waxing daylight, and the storyteller's name. Sometimes he went by Farmer, sometimes by Cannone.


• Northern VA - I took highway 66 east from 81, cutting across familiar territory, and by nine-hundred hours we had reached the beltway. We took 495 north to 7 west, arriving at James and Jeremy's sub floor apartment in Falls Church, VA, by about 9:30 AM.
  
  Between saying hello to one crowd of old friends, and saying goodbye to another, and getting lunch, I didn't take any opportunity to nap. I admired James' new truck for the first time, as it was a huge improvement over the old, time-tested Grand Am with the notoriously marshy backseat. (Although, there's something fond in the memories, watching countless passengers realizing that their butt was mysteriously wet.) He and I talked over spiritual things and other less memorable fluff over a lunch burrito, somewhere off the main drag (Route 7) in Falls Church. Post-burrito, we proceeded back after lunch, and I got a triple S (eliminate, shower, shave) for the first time in a while. Donning our suits and ties, we rechecked the directions to the wedding, and made our way to the Universalist National Memorial Church, deep in the maze of Washington, D.C., for a sign of the end times.


• Washington, D.C. - Upon arrival, we were greeted by a lot of dressed up people in the belly of a staunchly gothic stone building, which was candle-lit and gaudily beflowered. The apocalyptic harbinger we were about to witness was really only a wedding between a couple of old friends, but the solemnity and pomp with which the event was executed really did reinforce the old joke we used to lay on Mike's conscience, that the day he got a girl would be a sign of the end times. In an only slightly exaggeratory light, Mike and his bride made each other exactly 347,490 vows, all of which they will never be able to keep due to the unmanageable tome that would result in the event of their codification. One good-natured guest observed under his breath an opinion which I endorse, that bride and groom are doomed to marital infidelity on several minor points by dint of sheer promissory tedium. Note to Self: It would be appropriate to establish a committee for the purpose of framing a bill of amendments to these vows. It should allow parties to break many of the lesser vows, provided apologies are promulgated immediately following any said breach. A resolution should also be accepted, directing executive emphasis to the more orthodox and central points of the bureaucratic code that certainly must follow the necessarily involved architectural capping of such a cleverly intricate marital foundation.
  
  Considering that I had had no sleep after my nocturnal road vigil, I blinked slowly several times during the wedding. I did my duty as witness to their actual vows, because I cleverly saved my nodding for the proclamatory readings of one lover's sentiments to the other. These readings were preserved for just such an occasion from the more-or-less gushy love letters of months past. Naturally, these were read by someone not in love, to all us, who were also not in love. I found these moments quite lulling, but did my duty to bravely wake after each was safely over, in order to faithfully witness more vows. In any other nuptial event, the abundance of promise and the lavishness of sentiment might have become quite grating by the third hour of the ceremony. But considering that we had all teased Mike for years for being grinningly, purposely annoying, the melodramatic nature of the proceedings was instead touching and likeable. At the end of the ceremony, the couple receded as a brassy fanfare shook the halls and summoned the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Luckily, the disagreeable equestrians were preoccupied elsewhere and did not attend. Once outside, I was happily greeted by several old friends, including Faith, Abigail, and Jeremy and his girl.


• Arington, VA - A reception was held at the Army Navy Country Club, which was pleasant enough, despite its severe case of military branch ambiguity. Solemn faces mixed with jolly ones, and round after round of toasts were followed by round after round of traditional family frivolities. The night ended at a reasonable hour for us, and if I remember correctly, we returned to the apartment to mix with Paul McNiel, which was even more agreeable than usual. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have.