Biker Wedding

Greetings From Domelandia,

Thirty years ago, a friend did my horoscope. It said, 'You will have many unusual friends."
That's for sure - we've known some interesting people. Today I'm thinking of two of them and remembering a warm summer afternoon...

Linda was tall and thin, loose-limbed and graceful. She had long black hair and carried herself like a queen, as if she were used to being listened to and obeyed. She had a crescent-moon shaped scar on her chin where someone's fist had split it open.

(Lori told me once, "I don't know what it was about Linda - every time she opened her mouth, I just wanted to hit her.")

Linda was the minister at our wedding. Back then there were advertisements in the classified ads of the Mother Earth News for becoming an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church. You sent some money and got paperwork to prove that you could perform weddings, christenings, and funerals. Since the Viking and I haven't been big fans of the religious options in our area, we bought a marriage license and invited a few people to our little valley to watch us make it legal. We asked Linda to marry us and stay for the fried chicken lunch afterwards. Two of my sisters came, and my new friend, also named Linda, stood with us as we tied the knot.

Our wedding day was full of hope and joy and love and happy tears. I had hand-stitched my husband a wedding shirt, and I wore a dress I bought at the thrift store for $5. It was big enough to cover my growing belly. We had little money, but nothing scared us. Our whole lives were ahead of us, and we had True Love. Didn't everyone?

I met Linda's future husband in the laundromat in Trinidad. He came over to where my friend and I were folding clothes. His face was all scratched up, his clothes had dirt all over them, and he smelled like booze. He steadied himself on one of the folding tables and proclaimed, "I think I just got hit by a car."

Jerry was a veteran of the Vietnam War. He was one of many souls who went to fight and came home with demons. Back then, I didn't understand Jerry at all, and I didn't even try to. I lived in my little bubble of happiness, peace, and light. The Viking and I orbited around the sun of an entirely different solar system than the one where Jerry and Linda hung out.

They had a son together. Linda wanted to make their union legal so she could use Jerry's veteran's benefits to go to school and get certified to be a diesel mechanic. We'd see her sometimes, wearing overalls smeared with motor oil, barefoot, smoking a cigarette outside the truck bays where the classes were taught. I could never understand why she liked being barefooted around all that heavy machinery and dirt, but it was part of who she was.

They set the date for the wedding and invited The Viking and me to come. We wanted to be there and help them celebrate. We had a neighbor, Mary Margaret, who loved weddings. We invited her to come along, and the three of us piled into the truck and headed off to the nuptials. Mary Margaret wore a pink and white houndstooth checked polyester suit with ivory-colored panty hose and matching patent leather heels. She brought a Tupperware container with pink and white frosted cupcakes to contribute to the wedding feast.

We arrived at Jerry's house. I was shocked to see the wedding guests. I hadn't realized that Jerry and Linda and their friends were really bikers - I mean the hard-drinking, leather-clad men and their 'old ladies'. I was really shocked to see their kitchen table almost completely covered with bottles of Jim Beam, Mad Dog 20/20, and other hard stuff, as well as piles of marijuana, and an assortment of pills of various colors and sizes. Mary Margaret placed her cupcakes on the table with the other items and fretted about getting her Tupperware back.

It was apparent that many in the wedding party, Jerry included, were already well past drunkenness and had reached that state of intoxication that is otherworldly. I believe the combination of alcohol, various hallucinogens, and lack of sleep contributed to this state. When we approached Jerry to congratulate him, we weren't sure if he could see us. He attempted to speak, but only he understood what he said. I knew he was in there somewhere, but it was scary to see myself reflected in the glassy black pools of his eyes. My own eyes grew big, and bigger still when Waco, the best man, yelled, "When do we get to eat the bride?" answered by haw-haws from his fellows.

Linda came forth from the house, her long, raven hair loose on her shoulders. She wore a full-length black dress--no slave to tradition was she. There was no mistaking this event for a fairy-tale wedding, and no illusions about happy endings, either. The Viking and I kept exchanging looks. I was thinking, "Man, am I glad I have you and not this." I'm pretty sure he was thinking the same thing.

She announced that the ceremony would take place atop Frijole Hill, an interesting geological formation near Jerry's land. It was some distance from the house - we had to get into our vehicles and drive to it. Then there was a half-mile hike to the foot of the hill.

After we got out of our vehicles, Linda made a token attempt to get the milling crowd started in the right direction. Then she appeared to relinquish any thoughts of being in control of anything, and began to pick her way through the rough terrain, avoiding rocks and the occasional cactus--shoeless, of course, as was her way.

Feeling as though we should be supportive of the bride, the three of us joined her. Others began to move in the direction of the Hill, only to forget some critical item ("where's my cooler, man?") and have to turn around and go back to get something.

We reached the bottom of the hill and began to climb. There was a trail to the top which made the hike a little easier. The Viking had to reach back and help pregnant me and Mary Margaret in that short skirt and heels, but we finally got up there and found a rock to sit on. Upon reaching the summit, Linda pulled out a long white cigarette, lit it, and walked to the edge of the cliff. There was a good view from up there and you could see the wedding party coming along. They were spread out, laughing, drinking, taking their time. Occasionally, we heard Waco yelling his sentiments about having his way with the bride.

It seemed to take a long time for the remaining guests to get up the hill. Jerry's buddies stayed close to him, keeping him well-lubricated and shouting encouragement. He was doing OK until he got to the bottom of the hill. He could barely stand up, but for some reason he decided to climb straight up the cliff instead of taking the path. Perhaps he didn't remember that there was a path. This route required some hand-over-hand climbing skills and I wondered how that was going to work out. His final approach to the summit slowed as he struggled over boulders and around trees. From time to time, Linda, cigarette in hand, sashayed to the cliff edge and back, taking note of his upward progress and reporting it to the rest of us.

Finally, the lusty cheers from his friends told us that he was nearing the top. He flung an arm over the edge of the cliff and tried to pull himself up. We did see his arm and part of his head. Then he lost his grip and fell crashing and hollering down the hillside to a ledge about 15 feet below.

Everything went completely quiet. I thought, "How ironic to die on one's wedding day." Linda walked to the edge of the cliff and took a long drag off her cigarette. She tossed her hair back and exclaimed, "You're not getting out of it that easy, Montoya," then turned on her heel and strode away.

Jerry regained consciousness and began climbing again. This time, his friends helped him, pushing from below and pulling from above. He made it to the top, one wrist bleeding from a deep laceration, and bleeding from scratches on his face and arms. He and his crew moved a short distance away to rest and ready themselves for the ceremony.

Finally, Waco called Jerry and Linda forward. Waco asked Linda, "Well, do ya?" and Linda answered, "Yes." He turned to Jerry and asked, "Well, do ya?" Jerry said, "I - don't - know" and walked away. A dozen groomsmen followed him, and together they formed a circle with their arms over each other's shoulders. They stood there with their heads down, talking things over. The circle began to sway around and around but its members remained upright. Jerry decided to give it another go. This time he answered "I do."

This was followed by lots of yelling and hollering, but there was no hugging or kissing. The Viking and I, along with Mary Margaret--well, we were done. We hightailed it back down the hill and to the truck and didn't stay for the wedding supper.

Linda took some classes but didn't become a diesel mechanic. She and Jerry got a divorce and she moved to Arizona, I think. She died there - a violent death, we were told. Their son came to live with Jerry.

Along the way, Jerry cleaned up his act. We got to know him, and he and The Viking really made a connection, especially after The Viking offered to help him do some work on his house. We came to respect and understand him, and we were glad of that.

Jerry passed on a few years ago. According to his wishes, Jerry's friends helped dig his grave. One of them looked at Jerry's coffin while this was happening and said, "Well, this is just like Jerry. Lying down while everyone else is doing all the work."

He rests in peace on his land.