I left work on a Thursday. I drove all night and stopped somewhere between Fort Smith, Arkansas and Little Rock, Arkansas nestled uncomfortably in the front seat of my car. I thought I would deny myself sleep, but it did not work.
At some truck stop or some gas station, I fell like a fly in the winter.
I was tired.
I had to shoot the next evening.
Not just any shoot though. I was on my way to a small town outside of Tupelo, Mississippi called Thaxton. Thaxton is quite literally THE FIRST one horse town. I was to shoot my baby brother's rehearsal dinner then wedding (the following day). I knew if I did not sleep, I would not stand to see Friday's sunset and would miss the rehearsal dinner, which would be criminal.
I did not miss the rehearsal dinner; but I was late...as always.
I stopped in Oxford, MS (Go Rebs!) on the way to Pontotoc. I rode past Ole Miss, stopped by a bridal store to pick up the suspenders for the groomsmen, got caught in some afternoon small town gridlock mayhem, then went to 5 different stores to find a dress for the wedding (since I was also a bridesmaid too). I drove by the spot I once got ticketed for parking on a Sunday and not paying 25 more cents. I drove by an army of women clad in slight different variations of wedge heels and summer dresses. I interrupted their march accidentally when I daydreamed right on through the Pedestrian Crossing area.
I drove by about 10 dress shops in search of a dress for the wedding.
I did not find a dress that day. But I did find one to wear to the rehearsal.
I rushed home in time to find my mother, Mama P, already gone and my brother, Josh, and my Barney on the way out the door. I looked like I still had Thursdays disaster all over my body. But they didn't care. Josh cared only enough to make the observation. They were just happy to see me and I them.
After an infinite amount of primping (and damn good contouring "girl beat that face"), I left our house and made my way over to the venue, an abandoned building located on the outskirts of Tupelo, the birth place of Elvis. My brother would marry his soulmate in the birth place of Elvis. Not literally. I mean, Elvis wasn't born in this abandoned building, but it had to be moderately symbolic that they would tie the knot in the town still living in the ghost of this man.
There was an argument as to the color of the building. Was it white or was it yellow? My only concern was "could I find it?"
It was white just in case you wondered.
I didn't find the building, either. Siri did.
The venue was paradise. My brother, Josh, had spent days hanging lights, moving furniture, and making the place perfect for a princess. He made an empty warehouse look like something, quite frankly, out of a magazine. He made me proud.
Proud he made me even as he pranced around in a wedding dress. Proud he made me even as he called me names and told me to stay in a hotel instead of at home (inside joke). Proud he made me because he made my brother and new sister so very happy the day before their wedding.
This was love. This was family. This was celebration which is everything a wedding is supposed embody. .
