Mr. Mony drove around and around. He could not find the bride's house. So he called Kosahl. He was waiting at the end of the "drive" when I first saw him. Mr. Mony, his son, Aarum, and I, crossed the street to become guests at his wedding. I zig-zagged around 2 unmatched puppies and then looked at him. "Thank you for coming", he said softly. His eyes were red with tears. We began to walk ahead, between barbed wire, old wood fencing and swept dirt. When I looked ahead, I saw bright yellow and hot pink acetate draped across the entrance to the yard that belonged to the bride's family and her neighbors. In the middle, was a large heart with the names of the bride and groom written with the date of the wedding. A blue plastic tarp had been spread for us to walk on. Chairs were covered with gold fabric and tied in bows. They were arranged in a T-shape. At the edge of the tables, musicians, and guests, I saw drying laundry, a chicken coop, and the ususal stuff that people keep behind their houses. There were hoofers and tweeters as big as an Escalade. Guests arrived on moto bikes and parked them around the edges. The music of the real musicians began to take over for the recordings. Khmer music that is hard to explain, but used for weddings and funerals. I cannot tell the difference yet, but everyone else can.
Mony had told me to be ready at 6:00 a.m. He arrivied at 5:30 a.m. Do you think he was excited? He was so excited that he told me to wear crop pants with baggy knees and a limp Kohl's top, The other women all wore traditional Khmer wrap skirts and incredible tailor made tops. Bright colors of silk organza, lace, sequins, flowers made of silk, each design was mor beautifiul than the next. Ther hair had been done in elaborate up-do's. Ther nails were done in radical, involved patterns. And they had impeccable make-up and false eyelashes. I trust Mr. Mony with my life, but not my fashion. The first ceremonooy was about to begin!
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