I want to wear pants and a top, but I have to wear a dress. I want to go in comfortable shoes, sneakers or something, but I need to wear heels or elegant flats. I have the white dress, but its too revealing and I need to feel comfortable when I’m dancing. There’s the black one, but I’ve already worn it too often. Maybe I’ll buy a new dress…but I don’t really have the money for it. I guess I could manage somehow…and I need to put on some makeup, after all, it’s a wedding.

It always starts the same way. A friend calls or an acquaintance comes up to me in a café, her eyes sparkling: “We’re getting married.” I try to stay calm – be happy for her, just let it go, be happy for her. “Wow! Mazel tov! Cool!” I try. We hug, and laugh, or cry. But inside I’m thinking: Why? Why is it good? Oh, just shut up. Not everyone is as messed up as you. I’m messed up? I’m the only one who’s sane. Everyone should do what’s right for her. Everyone does what’s right for her.

I have the map, printed on A3 paper. Somewhere near Jerusalem. I’ll give it to Dan. He’s my driver until I get my license. We need to remember to take the dogs out because we’ll probably be home late. And we should try to get some sleep because the next morning I have an 8:00 am class. God. When did I get so old? I need to leave in the middle of rehearsal with the kids, I’ll let them go home early, or else they can rehearse alone for another hour. Don’t forget to smile. No one needs to know what’s going on inside my head.

It’s all because of my mother. Don’t ever get married, it’s wrong, why do you need it, its all one big lie. But don’t I have a mind of my own? A couple in love who wants to declare their love to the world, celebrate with family and friends – what’s wrong with that? Maybe it’s me, always thinking that everything is temporary, that friendships aren’t real, that love doesn’t last – we’re all animals and we’ll just consume one another in the end. There’s no such thing as friendship and I don’t have any real friends. I’m not even a very good friend to myself.

Then there’s the check. Dan says he’ll write one for both of us, but I don’t think that’s fair. Maybe we should each give a separate check? But we’ll be coming together, one check makes more sense. We’ll figure it out later. But how much should we give? It doesn’t matter what I write, I don’t have any money anyway. Maybe we should just bring a gift. But I don’t have time to buy one now, and anyway, it’s ridiculous! She spent a lot of money on this wedding – what am I going to buy her, some fancy soap? Am I nuts? Ok, a check it is. But I should write something meaningful on the card, to make is more personal.

I can’t help thinking: If my parents had been married, would that have changed anything? Of course not. Would it have prevented him from getting married three more times and having eight more children? No. The fact that my father forgets my birthday reminds me that I have an ego. Because otherwise, why should I care? He made his choice. He loves me, in his own way. What a character.

He’s an outsider – and it must have rubbed off on me. What difference does it make how you define it – getting married, settling down, conforming. Who says something will last forever just because that’s the way it should be? You have a child. It makes sense to assume that you will love her and be with her forever – but who says that’s how it will be. Maybe you’ll leave her after a month and be a part-time father, if at all. Does that mean you are not my father? Was any one of my mother’s boyfriends more suitable? Who decides what makes a person a parent? What is a family? What is a relationship? It’s so amorphous. We’re always trying to pin things down, to define them, as if a definition would change anything.
I think I’ll wear the black dress.

[Image credit: Lotus Etrog]