colorado day four: wedding day

We started off with brunch with the Groom, but all the alcohol and lack of sleep was making it hard to eat much of anything, so my waffles went half-finished. It was the warmest day so far, not raining for once, so though we kept our coats on, we ate out on the porch, staring at the mountains. The Groom and best man left early, but the rest of us had time to kill, so we started walking up the trail. Finally, the mountain. The hike. The thing we'd been talking about all week.

The first leg was steeper than it looked, and we were out of breath by the time we got to the end of the meadow and the start of the woods, but we kept going. None of us had planned for this, and we shed layers one by one. Though Kiara wasn’t winded, she was in flip-flops, and turned back first. The rocks were too much on her feet and knees. Sam and Nick and I took the right turn where the trail flattened out, heading to the Bluebell and Canyon trails, but Meg wanted to get to the top, so we split off. Later we’d find out that she didn’t get as far as she’d planned; an abandoned trail and stories of mountain lions had her back at the cabin minutes before us.

Nick’s shoes weren’t much better than Kiara’s, black leather that shined in the sun, with no traction, but we were going straight and downhill now, keeping our eyes on the rocky trail and watching our footing. We paused at flowers and to inspect beetles and ladybugs but kept a good pace. We forked off at the Canyon Trail and went down a steep incline to a little brook, only to turn around and climb back up again when we hit a parking lot. If we were going to walk back to the cabin, it was going to be scenic. So we rejoined the Bluebell Trail and made our way through tall grass and poppies and past serious Colorado outdoor-types with water bottle harnesses and climbing equipment and muscles in places you’d never expect. Ah Boulder, where even the hippies are jocks in disguise.

When we got back to the cabin, Meg and Kiara were already there, and final alterations on dresses and plans were taking place. Two hours later we were all dressed and pretty and headed to the local church to watch their old friend get married. On the stereo David Lee Roth sang about how he was just a gigilo as we pulled up to the front steps, all five of us yelling at the top of our lungs "I ain’t got nobody..." It was funny, if inappropriate. Still, everyone was happy. "I was just trying to keep it together," they all said afterward, so clearly glad for their old friend. We blew bubbles outside the church and then piled into the rented convertible for the reception cocktail hour.

I was feeling sick from altitude and sugar and two days of liquor, and the gin and tonics and ballads on the dance floor didn’t help. I perservered. Vodka and cranberries and Jay-Z and James Brown helped matters immensely, and the awkwardness I’d been foisting on myself disappeared. We all went wild for at least a few songs on the dance floor; Meg and Kiara making up moves like "Playing Volleyball," Scott sliding across the floor like he was on wheels, Rob moving his hips like a party robot, despite his early assertion that he wouldn’t be on the dance floor at all. At 9:30 we saw the bride and groom off, and at 10:00 we brought the rest of the party back to the cabin and the hundred bucks' of liquor in our fridge from our shopping excursion on Sam and Nick’s first day in town. We’d been drinking out a lot. Kiara sweet-talked the busboys into providing three more bottles of wine, and we smoked and drank and teased and gossiped with the mountains as a background until people started leaving and people started getting tired and people started getting other things and doors started closing. We had an early flight tomorrow morning after all. Seven a.m. and ten more hours of traveling for me besides. Places to go, and forward this time, I hope.