Breeding Dylan

40: The Fire is Lit

"Here we go," Tareq offered me his arm.

I wrapped both arms around his and held on as he started to walk towards the doorway. We went through this small transition room and then out into the bright lights of the stage. 

I took one look at the crowd, a thousand strangers eyeing me with interest. I quickly turned back towards Tareq's side as he gently pulled me across the stage where the Hamads and Zakars were waiting with the Imam, a holy guy who would perform the ceremony.

Things in this country weren't super religious, but this was supposed to be the main cleric for Satra. Mrs. Zakar had been super happy to book him. She said it was a great honor. Tareq led me over to him as the music wrapped up.

I looked above me and saw that Mrs. Zakar had gone way over the top with the decorations. There were thousands of white flowers wrapped with gold ribbon made into a huge arch over the stage.

The edge of the stage was lined with more white flowers in pots wrapped with gold ribbon tied into ornate bows. It all looked very expensive and time-consuming. This was her last child to be married and she went all out for it. I felt bad for not appreciating it more. I would definitely thank her for all of her efforts, even though she had not included the shades of blue I picked for our wedding colors. The gold and white looked nice enough.

We got to where the holy man was and Tareq took me to stand between Mr. Hamad and Emerson. Tareq went to stand between his own parents. I got a quick look at the crowd, but then lowered my eyes to the floor. Mr. Hamad put his hands on my shoulders and held me between them.

The Imam started to speak and the guy in my earbud translated. It was some kind of sermon. He was talking about the importance of a union that will last for a lifetime and lots of other stuff. I tuned-out because my heart was racing, I could feel a thousand eyes on me, I was staring at the thick carpet under my feet, and baby Ahmed was doing a little dance inside of me.

His speech went on for what felt like a long time. I felt my knees get weak and I was starting to sway a little bit back and forth. Mr. Hamad held me still and kissed the top of my head.

"It's ok, little one," he whispered against my ear. I looked over my shoulder at him and gave a nervous smile.

The speech ended with some kind of blessing that sounded like a poem. He turned towards us and asked something of Mr. Hamad. I listened to the translator in my ear that the man was explaining the marriage contract we'd made including the gifts Tareq's parents had made to my family. I thought that was a little weird to put the details out there for the audience, but that was the custom here. Everyone would know the Zakars had lavished my family with gifts.

"We accept the terms and know Dylan will be loved and protected," Mr. Hamad said in Arabic and it came out in my ear through the translator.

The Imam turned to the Zakars and asked them the same question. Mr. Zakar affirmed that they accepted the contract and would treasure and protect me as part of their family.

With that, Mr. Hamad nudged me forward. He walked me to a spot in front of the Imam and pointed towards a large satin pillow. I knelt on it with my back to the audience. Mr. Hamad returned to where Emerson was standing. Mr. Zakar brought over Tareq and he knelt on the satin pillow beside me.

The Imam launched into another speech, this one about the responsibilities we were taking on. He mostly directed it at Tareq, admonishing him to be a good leader, provider, and protector for me.

He urged me to be gentle, caring, and obedient; to respect Tareq as my leader and provider and always go through him when I had a problem. 

It wasn't the most progressive speech, especially since we were gay, and I was already carrying the man's child. But tradition is tradition and it wasn't entirely untrue for us. I liked how strong he was and how he took care of us. I happily nodded and told him, "I accept."

He turned to the parents and gave them similar advice to watch over us and guide us through whatever may come. It was really beautiful, and I realized I'd stopped thinking about the crowd of people watching us. The Zakars and the Hamads both agreed. I was now one of them.

I looked up at Mr. Hamad and Emerson. They caught my eyes and offered a warm smile. Emerson was tearing up and Mr. Hamad held his hand firmly. 

I was so grateful for their love and for taking me in as their own child, but it still sucked that my real parents weren't up there. My mom would be crying through the whole thing. My dad would be nodding awkwardly and wishing he wasn't standing in front of a huge audience. My mom would have loved the decorations and the ceremony. They should have been there. 

Finally, the imam pulled a paper from his book and explained that since I was from the USA, he would include some things from my culture. He unfolded a paper and read a wedding blessing from my grandmother's culture. 

"Now you have lit a fire and that fire should not go out. The two of you now have a fire that represents love, understanding and a philosophy of life. It will give you heat, food, warmth, and happiness.

This new fire represents a new beginning – a new life and a new family. The fire should keep burning; you should stay together. You have lit the fire for life, until old age separates you."

It was beautiful. I remembered hearing it once when I was a kid at a cousin's wedding up in Payson. 

Mr. Hamad walked forward with a large, white, velvet box and knelt down between us to open it. Inside, there were two gold rings. The first was large and thick like a golden bolt, the second was smaller and lined with glittering diamonds. 

"Dylan. You are everything I ever wanted for my life, my future, my family." Tareq picked up the smaller ring and I noticed a guy with a microphone move to hover behind us. It felt like a movie set. I looked at the guy but felt Tareq's hand on my cheek moving my attention back to him. 

"I promise to always put your happiness and safety before my own. You have my heart, my faithfulness, and my protection. I will be faithful to you alone. Will you wear my ring and be my partner for life?" He held the ring hopefully. He had practiced his vows and had this cute, nervous energy to his delivery. 

"I will." I nodded and offered my ring finger. He slipped it on. It was a little heavier than the engagement one. 

I looked over at Mr. Hamad who stayed kneeling between us holding the ring box. I took the thicker ring meant for Tareq and held it up. 

"Hi... Yeah..." I started to blank on what I'd written. I looked over at Emerson since he'd helped me write it. He nodded encouragingly and started to sign something. 

"I am so excited about my future with you. I will be your partner, your support, your confidant. I know we will make a family to be proud of, because we love each other and there's nothing we can't do when we work together." I pushed the ring forward, forgetting to ask if he accepted it. 

"Yes, I will be yours forever," Tareq said as if I'd asked the question. I slipped the ring on his finger and he leaned in to kiss me. 

"You cannot wait?" The imam asked with a laugh as the translator in my ear repeated it in English. "Ok then, you are married," he continued. The audience laughed and then clapped and cheered. 

We got to our feet. My legs felt wobbly from kneeling for so long, but Tareq held me up as the imam presented us as a married couple to the crowd. The Zakars and Hamads quickly appeared behind us and clapped along with everyone. 

It wrapped up quickly after that and we took a zillion pictures as the guests mingled and made their way out of the theater. Several of the honored guests came forward and took pictures with us. Mrs. Zakar worked her way through them with dictatorial authority. 

I was officially a Zakar, and baby Ahmed would be born to parents who were married. We didn't know where we would live, but at least we knew we wouldn't be split up again. 

"We have reception dinner, and then to hotel for our special night," Tareq told me when the photographer finally finished. 

"I really just want to crash, so not hungry," I yawned as he walked me back to the room where we'd gotten ready. 

"We will make appearance, have some cake, dance one song, then we can go. Is ok? You feel sick?" he asked. 

"I'm good. Let's get this done," I told him. 

He stood, took my hand in his, and led me over to the reception.