Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – Jennifer Oliver

December 11, 2007

Pig Farmer

Jennifer Oliver
 

"Happy marriages begin when we marry the ones we love, and they blossom when we love the ones we marry."--Tom Mullen

I turned in a request for leave from work. My boss signed off on it. No one asked any questions. It was just for one day only. Tuesday. A nondescript day.

But not for us.

We carefully laid out our finest on the bed. Stephen's blue suit that he'd worn only once to a funeral. My two-piece dress with a flowery, ankle-length skirt. Since our appointment was that afternoon, we decided to kill some time doing our favorite thing: antique-ing.

We meandered up to a small town almost an hour away, the rare kind that still boasted a beautiful courthouse with shops on the square encircling it, as though bowing to its grandeur.

Fairly new to the heart of Texas, the thought of scouring unknown territory for that one bargain held special appeal. A light mist began to fall. Look at this, Stephen whispered with triumph.

It was an adorable owl clock hanging on the wall. A Lux clock from the 1930s. And it was only five dollars.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was a bargain. We bagged our first prize of the day and continued the hunt.

Stepping outside one antique shop, Stephen glanced at the courthouse with some curiosity. A smile spread across his face, his eyes shining with mischief.

Let's get married here, he said.

What?! I stared at him in shock and disbelief. He pulled my arm in that direction. He was serious.

B-but, I sputtered, what about our appointment this afternoon? The Justice of the Peace would be waiting for us back home! We're not even dressed for the occasion!

Oh, c'mon! We're here, we might as well do it now! Let's have some fun!

We entered the building as though it were the Vatican. With reverence, we opened the door to the clerk's office.

The J.P. will be with you in a moment, the clerk said nonchalantly and returned to her paperwork, oblivious to the hammering of our hearts. We felt weightless.

Nervously we stood there waiting in jeans and sweaters, while I clung to Stephen's arm. After four and a half years together we were actually going to take the plunge.

February 4, 1992, would mark our ascent into the next chapter of our lives.

Two days earlier we were exchanging thoughts about the stretch of galaxies and how humble and miniscule our lives were in the grand mix of things.

Suddenly Stephen was quiet with a sly grin slowly spreading across his face.

Uh-oh, I said, laughing. What's on your devious little mind, boyfriend?

Shockingly, tears formed in his eyes as he burst out, "Let's get married!"

I stared at him, my eyes wider than a cat stumbling across a mountain of catnip.

Let's get married.

The words I had waited patiently for all these years tumbled out of his mouth as if they'd been there all along.

Let's do it! he said. We've invested nearly five years in this

relationship, and I just can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else in this galaxy but you.

Yes. Yes. Yes!

Even as we stood be before an amiable J.P. with a clerk nearby as a witness, I was challenging the reality of it all. I watched sweat break out on Stephen's brow. His lower lip trembled. I thought he was going to cry. Or panic and break away.

When it came time to exchange rings, we were struck dumb. No rings. So the clerk excused herself and returned with two soda tabs. Our wedding rings.

After pronouncing us a team, the J.P. let us know that anytime we wanted a pig to just give him a holler and he just might give us a good deal.

A pig farmer. That was his other profession.

We thanked him, paid $50 for a beautiful antique-style marriage certificate, and as soon as we exited the courthouse, we shouted our joy to the world.

Then, through the mist, we trekked to the nearest antique store. A bargain was waiting for us there. As if it had anticipated this day. An old tea tray with delicate handles in a stack of picture frames. We dragged it out and appraised it. Painted on the reverse side of the glass was a classic scene of a clipper ship in full sail. Each corner of the silver frame was graced with a delicate flowerette.

On a whim, Stephen ran out to the truck to retrieve our marriage license.

Yes. It fit perfectly. He could scrape off the reverse painting and have the marriage certificate matted and framed behind the old glass of the tea tray.

The lady, who rang up our ten-dollar purchase, asked how our day was going.

Oh, we just got married.

We giggled all the way back to the truck and all the way to dinner at a German restaurant and all the way to the video store and all the way home, where we watched movies and nuzzled each other like twin newborns.

The next morning, upon arriving to work, someone asked me how my day off was.

Oh, I got married.