I shave electrically. I like the Braun Activator 8585, but the wedding is at five in the afternoon so I need to get real close this morning. Bic disposables do the trick but always make a mess of my face. I might as well use a carpenter’s plane for all the nicks and cuts. I’ll need another shower just to get the clotted tissue paper unstuck.

My office manager, Soon Chi Chou, is being married. I’m in export. I buy outdated computers and peripherals and send them overseas, mostly to
South Korea (where I’m fairly sure they get resold to the North). I was lucky to find Soon Chi when I started five years ago. She handles the accounting, paperwork for customs (endless) and some foreign clients better than I could. We make a great business team. I’ve viewed her in other lights as well. There were many times when I thought about ending my long-standing bachelorhood but felt the age difference (fifty-eight to her thirty) was too great a gap, to say nothing of the different cultures.

It’s tough to read Koreans. I don’t know if she ever felt anything for me. One Christmas I took her to Schroeder’s in South Portland. We had a few drinks and she teased me into dancing. That might have been the evening to say something, but I was afraid. If she did care for me, then the office camaraderie would go to hell or, worse, I’d be out a key employee.

I’ve treated her well though—great bonuses and paid for the tickets when she went back home for two weeks last year. It was my undoing because she came back engaged. Her parents arranged it, an older guy to boot. He has a chain of dry cleaning stores (there’s a surprise) in Connecticut. She’s given her notice. I suspect that she’ll use her organizational skills in his enterprises. I’m sure the thought crossed his mind that he’ll be getting a wife plus a great employee. Not that I’m one to talk.

The ceremony is in a Buddhist temple west of Boston. I tried to feel her out as to whether I’d be the only Westerner there. She said it wouldn’t matter if I was because she’s told her family all about me. I looked up the ceremony on the Internet. I don’t want to offend. A gift is a real problem. Jewelry is important in their culture so, after much thought, I bought a jade ring. I remember her telling me once how much she liked jade. It’s the most expensive gift I’ve ever gotten anyone. Maybe she’ll appreciate it.

Since I live in East Boothbay Harbor, well north of Portland, Maine, I’m going to leave early because of the Boston weekend traffic. I don’t care if I’m early; I’ll listen to the radio or read, maybe catch up on some paperwork. There are two receptions, one given by each family. I’ll play it by ear as to whether I attend either.

***

I’m in the parking lot by 2:00 PM. The Myogyo Ji Buddhist Temple is in Framingham, Massachusetts on Route 9, a road that is home to every shopping outlet and chain restaurant known to man. I was expecting something out of The Last Emperor movie or Brad Pitt’s Seven Years in Tibet, the one where he has to drink butter tea. The small, grey, clapboard building is a big letdown. It looks like a post office in any Western Maine logging town. I could easily backtrack to the Mall to kill time, but there is so much Saturday traffic that it would be safer to stay right here. I have my well-read copy of Thoreau’s The Maine Woods, which I always carry with me. He knows every plant there is. I mentioned tracing sections of Henry David’s travel route to Soon Chi once, and she was all for it. Like everything else, I never followed up. After this weekend, I’ll re-read his Cape Cod; maybe take a few days, head down there and scope out how things have changed.

I vividly remember the only time I actually kissed her. I was at my desk reading about the new Athlon 64-bit chip AMD had developed. It would make the 32-bit chip obsolete. For me it meant a goldmine. I could buy up all those old 32-bit machines for a song and third world nations would kill to get them. I ran out of my office, gave her a hug and kiss on the lips, and told her to close up shop for a long lunch. We just went down the street for pizza, but it was funny when she tried to understand the technology involved. Some women would just give it a "whatever" wave, not her. She was determined to learn what the breakthrough was all about.

Then there was the time a pipe burst and flooded our stockroom. We had to get things up off the floor post haste. I went to the Home Depot and bought a dozen saw horses and several sheets of plywood. She was right there with me, slogging stocking-footed through ten inches of water, helping me lift everything up out of harm’s way. We slipped countless times and were soaking wet by the time we were done. We saved the inventory, and I put my arm around her when we were done, promising a bonus for all her help. She refused, saying she did it for me. I think that’s when I really fell for her.

***

Buddhists are big on luck. Soon Chi hired an astrologer to work on the wedding. Payments to a marriage broker have to be made on a lucky day; the same with the reception and gift giving. I know the guests will have to recite passages from the Vandana, Tisarana and a few other readings. I’ll just mime it because I don’t want to curse anything. There’s a lot of incense and candles as well. The actual ceremony and vows are free style as far as I can see, but Soon Chi told me her husband’s family has written some things down.

***

At 4:00 PM people begin to arrive. There are two Americans, but I think they are associated with the Temple and not the families. They are here to help out. Limos start to show up so I move my car to the back of the small lot. At five on the dot I head in. I don’t know if there is a bride or groom side. Everybody but the very elderly is kneeling on pillows. I sit Indian-style to prove that I’m still young enough to do it even though my back will regret it later. Soon Chi enters. She is wearing a traditional Korean wedding outfit. Her face is overly made up with rice powder and slashed by oversized crimson lips. It looks like an undertaker did it. She goes to the front, kneels and keeps her eyes averted. Her husband comes in. I am stunned. He is much older than I am. Even worse he has dyed his hair a jet black which, against his white mottled face, looks like a burned out building in the snow. Every finger has the glint of gold on it. Many in the wedding party have flowers around their necks; he has layer upon layer of gold chains. He stands before her. She has yet to see him. He reaches down and she rises. The vows begin.

It’s all over in a few minutes, man and wife. There is a free-for-all to see who will congratulate the wedded couple. I forgo the mob and wait for a more private chance to wish Soon Chi eternal happiness which is the translation of a Korean phrase I memorized. She is surrounded by well-wishers six deep, but she stops, breaks the human circle and comes to me. This is a happy day and sad day for her. The wedding makes her heart overflow with joy, but there is much sorrow in leaving her association with me. Maybe some day we shall meet again. I nod, forgoing an embrace because such familiarity doesn’t appear to be part of their custom. Seeing my indecision she takes the lead, hugs me and, while kissing my cheek, whispers something in Korean which I don’t understand. I step back and press the small box into her hand. Without even seeing what it is, she says she’ll treasure it forever. Then she is yanked away by three older women. As she melts into the crowd, she mouths that she’ll see me at the reception.

***

I really don’t want to go to the reception. The groom’s relatives are hosting a lavish Korean dinner at the Copley Hotel in Boston. I could be just as happy grabbing a fast food burger on the way back to Maine. Also, it means navigating Boston traffic and parking at the Prudential Center for twenty-five bucks an hour, but I fantasize that maybe it would be like the ending in the movie The Graduate where Dustin Hoffman and Katherine Ross defy convention and run away together.

I arrive at six-thirty. Everyone is awaiting the bride and groom. When they finally make their grand entrance there is a photo op stampede. Soon Chi has changed her outfit and redone her makeup so she looks more like herself. I am seated at a round dinner table for ten which only speaks Korean. I sit like a stone, ignoring and being ignored as I watch how radiant and graceful Soon Chi is with her many guests. Finally she gets to my table and singles me out. She is wearing my ring and tears fill her eyes when she thanks me for it. Others at the table try to break into the conversation but she ignores them. There is so much she wants to say. She will tell me in private correspondence when she is settled in her new life. I also promise to keep in touch. As our tender meeting draws to a close, a woman appears at Soon Chi’s side. I’m introduced to Mona, an aunt on her mother’s side who is just a bit younger than I am, plump with a round but pleasant face.

I return to my meal with Mona sitting next to me. She speaks excellent, unaccented English. When others at the table address her, she responds in English. I am grateful for her presence. She is a good listener and draws me out about business and my affinity for Nineteenth Century New England writers. As we fill up on bulgogi (some sort of pungent beef) and deungshim-gui (aromatic steamed chicken), she wonders if I like sports, and we discuss the Red Sox for a bit. She used to be a full time bilingual teacher in Lowell, Massachusetts but was laid off and now does substitute teaching. She calls a waiter over and orders vodka and tonics for us. As the meal progresses there is more amiable book, movie and computer chat plus three more rounds of drinks for the table, my treat.

Around nine she gets up, drapes her arm intimately over my shoulder and asks me to watch her purse while she uses the ladies’ room. As she walks away, I study her figure and am not disappointed. True, age has filled out some areas, but she carries herself well and is very easy to be with. Then the thought hits me that this is something Soon Chi has orchestrated. I presented her with jade; she has responded with Mona. A wave of nausea overtakes me, possibly from too much vodka and kimchi, and I begin to perspire. In halting English someone asks me if I’m all right. "It’s the heat and the spicy food," I explain. I take a napkin, dip it in ice water, remove my glasses and wipe my forehead. I want to go to the men’s room but feel obligated to watch Mona’s bag. I push my chair back and lower my head until I feel better. Slowly the dizziness subsides and embarrassment takes over. I am a pathetic old man from Eastern Maine who can’t hold his liquor, a fat cat American who lacked the guts to take Soon Chi and be right next to her now on the dais, accepting gifts and looking forward to the sensual excesses of the honeymoon.

Then someone is massaging my shoulders. I look up peek-a-boo fashion and Mona has returned. She squats down next to me revealing a fleshy inner thigh. "Are you okay?" she wonders. I can feel the concern in her voice. I tell her I am, but that maybe some cool, fresh air would help. She helps me up, and I suggest a walk outside would be just the ticket. Soon Chi spots me from her table of honor, smiles and waves. There is a bittersweet look on her face. I decide I am drunk enough to go up and tell her what I have always felt about her, but Mona steers me towards the side exit. She doesn’t think I should drive. She has taken a room in the Copley and produces the laminated room card as evidence. It would be best if I stayed here tonight. In the lobby another wave of dizziness wafts over me. She pushes the elevator button. Other Koreans get on with us. They stare at her and look with disgust at me. Did I recently sell their relatives back in Seoul an outrageously priced old Gateway computer with the 2000 Millennium edition of Windows which crashed three weeks later? Or is it that I’m a pathetic American, so desperate for companionship that I’m hitting on an out-dated Korean woman?

We reach the sixth floor. Mona beckons me to follow her, but I stay behind gripping the elevator’s brass rail next to the buttons. I am exhorted by Koreans to make a decision so they can be on their way, but it’s like leaving the safety of a womb. The door begins to close; Mona blocks it with her foot, re-enters and grabs my arm. I follow her out like a child being led to school for the first time. She tries the card in the lock but the red light keeps flashing. She retries it more slowly and her patience is rewarded by a solid green light. A queen-sized bed dominates the room. I wonder what the bridal suite is like. The bed has been turned down and two heart-shaped chocolates in red foil rest sensually on each pillow. I remember from some movie where a young Asian girl used the word "pillowing" to describe what she and her companion do in bed at night. That’s a nice image. I should have thought of it five years ago.