on the eve's eve of my older sister's wedding day
Coasting through emerald fields and foothills, the views of Eastern Germany aren’t half as bleak as they’re depicted in the book in my hands. Then again, Slaughterhouse Five's bleak WWII setting doesn’t allow for flowery descriptions of the European countryside. Chin perched on my hand, I gaze out at clusters of geometric brightly painted houses are nestled at the lowest points of the slopes of winding roads, all marked with foreign words that doesn’t ease the tension in the shoulders of my dad - the designated driver.
The route from Bayreuth to Prague is around three hours, a distance which in our home state of Minnesota would confine travel within state rather than between countries. This is hardly a task for a family that has survived 24 hour road trips in cramped cars together. However, this drive seems particularly drawn out, our minds restless as the anticipation of wedding bells clangs around in our heads -stretching time to make a minute feel like miles.
Finally we arrive at Chateau Liblice, the yellowish many-windowed mansion with a red tile roof looking like something out of a fairy tale complete with spired towers. Upon entering the chateau we're greeted by a not unpleasant historic smell that quickens my heart the same way the smell of old books does. The thrill of being immersed in history makes me outright giddy. All doors were old, wooden, carved, and fortunately tall enough for my 6’10” brother-in-law-to-be to walk through without straining his neck. We meander through the first floor where the wedding is to be held. Probably religious possibly historical scenes are depicted on the ceilings divided by Rococo style muted pink paint and gold gilding. The cherubs seem to wink with delightful mischief, aware of what's to come and all that has happened before.
A light wind blows through the open french doors lining the banquet hall, drawing me out to an expansive courtyard. The stone patio is speckled with appropriately spaced umbrella laden tables, and I weave through throaty conversations I don’t understand to look out on a white gazebo facing perfectly manicured patterns of grass. That's where it will happen. I envision my big sister in white and the mist of my feelings clouds my vision. I blink the tears away, and survey the rest of the property. I concentrate my focus at the edges of the courtyard where weeping willows sway with ease, draping protectively over the grounds to providing shelter from the sweltering sun.
There are two staircases to choose from to ascend to our rooms. One, a metal spiral staircase that triggers the memory of falling down the back of stage set and bruising my tail bone when I was twelve. The other set is comprised of slabs of wide marble carpeted in plush red carpet. I envision the latter as the staircase to dramatically walk down once I’m in my sequined bridesmaid gown like in the movies where a girl who was once overlooked arrives at the school dance, made unrecognizable with her newfound beauty and confidence.
The room I’m sharing with my younger sister and a long-time friend of the bride is
quaint. The beds are brick-like but I don’t mind a bit. Immediately upon entering I discard my bag with disregard and open the windows in hope of a fresh breeze. It's unsurprising that in a historic chateau such as this one air conditioning is not in the listed amenities. I'm gratefully met with mild gusts scented with heat and fresh grass. The wind dances dreamily with the white organza curtains, the ghosts of Prague’s lovers celebrating the impending marriage between two soulmates.
The sun sits low and simmering in the sky, pink clouds floating above me like antigravity cotton candy. I watch, hypnotized as the sky slowly fades to a rich midnight blue velvet and stars start to wink and sparkle. I turn to the silver beacon of a moon, asking her as if she would have the answers: how could this all possibly be real? How is this the same sky I've always sat under? How is this the same world I was born unto? How has every moment lead to this moment and how is this moment itself the reality of my life on Earth?
Her whisper says there is no beauty without love - her message is carried on the wind, whirling around me kissing me goodnight.
