Chapter 11 eleven

eleven Jennifer received her degree on Wednesday.Relatives from all walks of life, near and far, came from Cranston and Fall River (one aunt came from Cleveland), and all assembled in Cambridge for her graduation ceremony.By prior agreement, I wasn't counted as her fiancé at the time of the introduction, and Jenny didn't wear an engagement ring: that way, if we didn't make it to our wedding later, everyone would be angry, at least a few days late. "Aunt Clara, this is my boyfriend Oliver," said Janney.Often one would add: "He hasn't graduated from college yet."

Of course the relatives wanted you to poke me, push you, whisper, and even speculate openly, but they couldn't get anything definite out of either of us--nor from Phil.Phil can also be spared talking about atheist love affairs, which I think he likes. By Thursday, I had a degree from Harvard equal to Jenny's—and, like her, "a la carte."I am still the class master of ceremonies. With this qualification, I will lead the whole class of graduating students to take their seats.That is to say, even those top students, those "super geniuses" must follow behind me.I was so excited that I really wanted to tell these talented people that I became your team leader today, which completely proved my theory: one hour of practicing at the Dillon Gymnasium is worth two hours of reading in the Wiedenner Library.But I held back.Happy, let's all be happy together.

I don't know if Oliver Barrett third is coming.On the morning of the graduation ceremony, there were more than 17,000 guests in Harvard Garden. I might not have to use a telescope to look for them row by row.The two parent passes that were issued to me, needless to say, I gave to Phil and Gianni.However, the old stone-faced man is an alumnus, so he can naturally come in and sit with the alumni of the 26th class.But why should he come?I mean, aren't the banks still open for business? The wedding took place on Sunday of that week.There was a reason why we didn't invite Janney's relatives, because we were genuinely concerned that the absence of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit from our wedding would be unbearable to those who have always been devout Catholics.The wedding took place in Phillips Brooks Building, an old building on the north side of Harvard Garden.Timothy Brouwert, a Unitarian pastor at the university, officiated at the wedding.Ray Stratton was there, of course.I also invited a good friend from high school in Exeter, Jeremy Nahum, who preferred not to go to Harvard to go to Amherst College.Janney had a girlfriend from Briggs Hall, perhaps out of nostalgia, and a tall, slightly uninspired colleague from the Reservation Books.And of course Phil.

1 A university with a long history in the interior of Massachusetts. I asked Ray Stratton to watch over Phil.I mean, try not to make him nervous.But Stratton himself was not so calm!They both stood there looking terribly uncomfortable, and seeing each other only secretly deepened their own worries that this "self-made wedding" (as Phil called it) would be like Stratton's. As predicted repeatedly, "make a terrible ocean".The only reason is that Jenny and I have to talk to each other face to face!In fact, we had already seen the ceremony that spring when one of Janney's music buddies, Maria Randall, married an art and design student named Eric Levenson.It was a beautiful ritual indeed, and we were actually determined to emulate it then.

"Are you two ready?" asked Mr. Brouwert. "It's all right," I said on behalf of both of us. "Friends," said Mr. Brouwert to his guests, "we have come today to witness the marriage of a man and a woman. Let us hear what verses they wish to say on this holy occasion." The bride comes first.Jenny stood facing me and recited her chosen poem.That was touching, especially to me, because it was a sonnet written by Elizabeth Barrett: 1 That is Mrs. Browning, the English poetess mentioned when Jenny and Oliver first met. Our two souls stand tall, stand tall,

Facing each other face to face, silently, getting closer and closer, Until the outstretched wings burst into sparks... Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Phil Cavilelli's face pale, his mouth open, his eyes wide open in a mixture of surprise and reverence.We heard Jenny read to the last two lines, and it was a very characteristic prayer, in which she begged To have a place to shelter and love, even for a day, Even after one day, it will be dark, and it will be time to die. Now it's my turn.It's hard to find a poem that I can read without blushing.I mean, I can't just stand there and say those girly verses.However, there is a stanza in Whitman's "Song of the High Road", although it seems a little short, it says it all for me:

1 Whitman (1819-1892): a famous American poet. ...I extend my hand to you! I give you my love, more precious than money, I give myself to you, let the doctrine or the law bear witness for me, Will you give yourself to me?Will you walk hand in hand with me? Can we stay with each other forever, forever? When I finished, there was an eerie silence in the room.Then Ray Stratton handed me the ring, and Jenny and I said the vows ourselves, promising to love each other forever and never be apart. Mr. Timothy Brouwert, by powers vested in him by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, declares us married.

In retrospect, our "celebration dinner" (as Stratton called it) was far too "simple" to be simple.Jenny and I were adamant about not having a champagne party or anything, and since we weren't many we could take a seat in a tavern if we could, so we went to Cronin's for a beer.The owner, Jim Cronin, also bought us a drink, I remember, as a tribute to "the greatest Harvard hockey player since the Cleary brothers." "Nonsense," Phil Cavilelli thumped his fist on the table, unconvinced. "He's better than all the Cleary brothers put together." Phillips had never seen hockey at Harvard, and I believe he meant nothing more than that Bobby Cleary or Billy Cleary, no matter how good they were on the ice, He is not worthy to marry his lovely daughter anyway.In fact, we were already drunk at that time, and we were just looking for an excuse to drink more.

I made Phil pay the bill.Because of my decision, Jenny, who rarely praised me, later complimented me on my wit (“You’re going to be a good man, preppy.”).By the end of the day, though, when we were driving Phil to the bus, things got a little unpleasant.I mean, there's bound to be some tears to be had.He, Jenny, was crying, and maybe me; I don't remember much, except that it was kind of teary. Anyway, after saying all kinds of good wishes, Phil got on the bus, and we stood there waving until it was gone.Only then did I suddenly realize a terrible reality. "Jenny, we're legally married!"

"Yeah, now I can be a bitch."