The Wedding Song at the Legion Hall

What Dave did in the middle of the song

We had danced to that song in the fellowship hall at Our Savior’s twenty-five years earlier, in front of two hundred people and a cake my mother made. Dave stepped on my foot twice that night. He did not step on it once this time.

About halfway through, right after the second chorus, he stopped.

He opened his eyes. He took his hand off my waist, gave my fingers a squeeze, and let go.

Then he walked over to Tyler’s table. Tyler had a second microphone sitting next to his laptop, the one he uses to call people up for the bouquet toss. Dave held out his hand. Tyler turned the music down low and gave it to him without a word.

Dave Engel has never made a speech in his life. At our wedding his best man did all the talking. At his own father’s retirement party he said “Thanks for coming” and sat down.

He tapped the microphone twice with his finger. It thumped through the speakers.

“I’m not much for this,” he said. His voice was rough. “So I’m just going to say it plain.”

The hall was so quiet I could hear the ice machine behind Earl’s bar.

“That’s me up there,” he said, and he pointed at the screen with the microphone. “I was twenty-one. Kristy was twenty. We were a couple of kids who thought getting married was the same as being grown up. It wasn’t. We were done in two years. Most of you knew that. It’s no secret in this town.”

He took a breath.

“I’m not ashamed of that boy. But I’ll tell you what I’m proud of.”

He looked at me then, across the dance floor, and I had to put my hand over my mouth.

“Twenty-five years ago this woman married a man who had already made a mess of it once. Her own aunt told her not to. She did it anyway.”

A couple of people laughed softly, the good kind now. My Aunt Marlys was sitting at table six and she raised her glass.

“She has never once in twenty-five years thrown that at me. Not once. Not when I was laid off in ’09 and we lived on her paycheck for seven months. Not when I was short with her. Not when I forgot our anniversary in 2012, which she’ll tell you about if you ask her.”

More laughing. Dave did not smile, but his shoulders came down a little.

“She sat with my mother every Tuesday after Mom’s hip surgery. She typed up the speech for my dad’s retirement party, the one I didn’t give.” He shook his head. “I told you I’m no good at this.”

People laughed again. It was warm in the room now.

“Every Sunday for twenty-five years she has put supper on our table. Roast, or hot dish, or pancakes when we were broke. Every Sunday. Our kids grew up at that table. That’s what I’ve been doing for twenty-five years. Sitting at Lori’s table.”

His voice went then. He stopped and looked at the floor for a second.

“That’s the wedding I want to remember,” he said. “That’s the one I got right.”

He turned and looked at Pam. She was still standing there with the toast microphone hanging down at her side now.

“Pam,” he said. “You’re my sister and I love you. That’s all I’m going to say about the rest of it tonight.”

He handed the microphone back to Tyler. “Start it over, would you, son?”

Tyler started the song over from the beginning. Dave walked back across the floor, put his hand on my waist, and we danced the whole thing, start to finish, and this time when the second chorus came, about forty people were out on the floor with us.

I did not see Pam leave. When the song ended and I looked over, the toast microphone was lying on the edge of Tyler’s table and the side door was swinging shut.