Mawwage. Mawwage is what bwings us together. Wove, twue wove... so tweasure your woves forever.

In the third grade, we learned in Family Life, that marriage happens when two people love
each other very much.

I met Mery in the first grade. I was an awkward and somewhat hairy little bugger, eager to impress my classmates and teachers. I wanted to be Claudia from the Baby-Sitters Club. So I told stories (lies) to anyone that wasn't nailed down about how rich my dad was, how I had a huge artistic family, I had a brother who looked like David Bowie, my mother was a gorgeous model, et cetera ad nauseum.

So I annoyed the royal piss out of everyone.

One day, this impossibly short girl with the longest hair you've ever seen, bounced up to me and asked me to sit with her. I was immediately grateful for a bit of attention. Out pours my verbal diarrhea. She told me to shut up. I blinked, totally offended.

She told me she had X amount of brothers and sisters (twenty-five years later, I'm STILL not clear on the exact number) and that she lived in the biggest house on Gautier Ave. She smiled at me, told me her name was Mery, stole the pencil I had been holding, and sat down in my seat.

My jaw hit the floor.

She got along well with EVERYONE. (In later years, we learned to describe her as a "tribe-walker". More on that later). She could bullshit the teacher with a finesse most of us were to young to understand. She marched right up to the cutest boy in our class and told him she thought he was cute. (Inconceivable.) She taught me the word "bitch" and used it to describe a scathingly perfect little girl that was fawned over by Mrs. Holcomb. (She also taught me the word "asshole" when the cutest boy denied her advances.)

One day, after bailing me out for not having my homework done (she surreptitiously swiped the paper off my desk and filled in the four blanks with the correct words IN MY HANDWRITING after seeing my panicked face) she asked me if I'd like to come over her house. I probably fell down trying to disguise my nonchalance at accepting.

Time couldn't pass fast enough. Obviously, this girl was everything I yearned to be, and I was excited to learn from her. In my head, I thought of her gigantic room, stuffed to the brim with all of the latest toys, and her young, sexy mother, who did all the things my own mother couldn't do because I had hidden the fact that she was really in a hospital bed somewhere where I could only see her once every two weeks, and then only after a two hour drive. "She must have bunk beds" I remember thinking. I desperately wanted a brother or sister to share a bunk bed with, and surely she would have her own.

The day ended finally, and we walked to her house. For sure, it was big, the biggest house on the block. An enormous, yellow three story with stone steps. She fished in her pocket for her key. When she didn't find it, she taught me another word.

"Shit. I left it in my desk. Oh well."

She inhaled, and let out the loudest noise I had ever heard come out of a little girl.

"DDDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYCCCCCCCEEEEEE!!!!!" she yelled.

My eyes watered at the sheer volume. A brown kid that had Mery's face poked out of a second story window.

"Go FUCK yourself!" said the brown kid that was maybe five years older than us.

(And so I learned another word)

Mery was nonplussed. "Get your ass down here and open the door Doyce! I forgot my key!"

Doyce sighed and closed his window. Minutes later, we heard a fumbling at the door and he opened it. I braced myself. Doyce looked me up and down as I walked in, and Mery hit him over his head. Doyce brushed her off and headed into the living room.

For sure, it was BIG. I trod carefully, not wanting to dirty their huge house. Mery kicked off her shoes into the corner and made her way into the kitchen. I followed her. Hilarious girl laughter was coming from upstairs. Mery rolled her eyes and piled rice for me out of this enormous pot onto a dish, as well as some chicken with sauce from a pan. She was allowed to use the stove??! I pretended this was normal as she sat me down with my plate and handed me some bread and butter with my meal. (To this day, she still calls me "Bread n' Butter") She eyed me carefully, eating her own food, when the upstairs exploded. A brown girl (also with Mery's face) came clamoring down the stairs, doubled over with laughter, followed by a blonde girl, also laughing. The girl with Mery's face saw that Mery was sitting in a particular seat and her face got serious. The girl with Mery's face started shreiking that Mery was in her chair. Doyce came in from the other room and joined in the taunting. Mery got up to punch Doyce in the mouth when another door banged open.

Silence.

The door that banged open was the basement door, and the woman that banged the door open was not in a good mood. She was inexplicably tiny, but she had the presence of a fucking bull.

Her eyes landed on the brown girl (Sherry), Doyce, Mery, and then me. I think I peed a little.

She inhaled, and let out the loudest noise I had ever heard come out of such a tiny woman.

"Agamemnon chorizo blanco rojo diablo fuegos chili!!!!!!!!!!" (You'd think I'd know Spanish at this point. I don't, and can't pretend to. Just pretend she said something really, really fierce.) Doyce scampered away. The little woman with the big mouth chased Sherry and her friend up the stairs. Mery sat calmly and ate some more chicken. She looked at me.

"I like you." she said. "You will be my best friend."

I sighed, relieved that she wasn't going to feed me to that awfully loud woman (who became my own true other-mother) and accepted. Half out of fear of the crazy little woman, sure, but half out of my admiration and immediate love for this spunky little girl who was everything I had ever wanted to be. I was on cloud nine. She then told me which bus would take me home, and that her family would be having rice and beans tomorrow.

After that, we were inseparable.

Which brings me to the point I was trying to make. Two years later, in the third grade, we learned that marriage was between two people who loved each other very much. After school, and on my way to my second home (the big yellow house with Mery and Sherry and Doyce and unlimited tasty chicken and a Mom who wouldn't put up with shit {I learned a lot of words that year}) I asked Mery if she would marry me. Mery stopped walking, slung her bookbag over her shoulder, and smiled. She told me that she would, but she had promised her heart to the cutest boy from the first grade class. She also told me that no matter what, the two of us would be best friends forever. I grinned, and told her I was okay with that. And two third graders walked home to their home on Gautier ave.


We have been the best of friends throughout elementary school, high school, and beyond. We have been through every heartache, every loss, we have rejoiced in new life, and laughed our heads off at every inconvenience. Her mother is my mother, and my father is her father. Her family is mine, and through her I have a family I am so proud of.

Twenty two years later, I called her and asked her to be my maid of honor, and she accepted with tears of joy and long-distance hugs, because she's five states away with her own husband and four unimaginably, unequivocally perfect baby boys. I know she's proud of me for finding my own brown boy to make my own family with, and I'm proud that I've lived up to her expectations of me: to live happily ever after.






Babygirl, you're irreplaceable. You have hopped on a train to save me from impending doom and I have  travelled cross-country to make sure you were safe. We have been rich, poor, extravagant, hungry, charitable and cold. We have been conniving bitches and generous friends. You tried to play a prank on me and I almost peed in your bed. You kissed Steven Aponte and I didn't kill you. I stole your solo in the Christmas play and you didn't kill me. We have mended each others broken hearts and have championed against each others rivals.  We have blown money on Christmas presents, and we have blown on our hands to keep warm. We have cried together, and we have laughed together. You taught me curse words, which bus will take me into Bayonne, to never lie about myself, and to treasure what I've got.

I love you, Mery Luren Waddell Reed. 



P.S. As for me wanting to get married in the third grade? Don't worry. That night, I got home and asked my dad to marry me. He laughingly accepted, and we were married by a poinsettia plant with a court of My Little Ponies, Glo-Friends, and my stuftie Max.

I even got to keep my last name.