on marriage

Editing to follow.
__________________________
So here I am. Grand and Holgate. 2nd/3rd March 2004. 1:39 am, by my watch.
It's awful cold out, and people are getting married in the morning.
Someone dropped by a bunch of bottled water, and some pink tulips, with a note to share the love.
Someone else, maybe fifty, sits in front of a lit candle on a silver candlestick, with a dark-glass bottle of champagne and a Dixie cup. He and the man next to him--bluff, handsome, black knit cap--are huddled together in a bright blanket.
It's awful cold out. Five or six newsvans sleep, empty, on the curb. There's maybe twenty-one couples gathered here already--twenty-two--young and blushing, silver-haired, drinking, laughing. Mostly shivering. Two interracial couples. Some affluent; some not. Camp chairs are set up, and sleeping bags, and bottled water, on the cement at the Multnomah Building.
They're getting married tomorrow. Twenty-five couples, now. Twenty-six. Laughing to leach other. Shivering. Radiating hope. Calling relatives on cellphones, pacing in long jackets, sitting down for the long haul; they've got almost nine hours to go.
More phone calls. Someone brings more flowers--carnations--and bagels, and dog treats. Cars speed by on Grand; a couple gun their engines. Old lawn chairs, new blankets. A handheld UNO game. A handful of novels. Someone passes out Xeroxed paperwork.
"So exciting," I say. "Yeah," one middleaged woman replies. "History."
On one level, it is.
And on another, it's not. It's just some folks getting married. They might as well be waiting for concert tickets--they love each other, they're together already. They're getting a piece of paper, some legal benefits.
And yet. They're also getting sunlight, and I'm so thankful I could burst.
The world feels new. I know it's stupid, but it does.
I feel eminently single. And I realize I'm surrounded by, well, just people. They're no different than any other crowd I've been in. One guy shows off his tiny dog; some brides-to-be coo.
I always thought courthouse weddings would be unromantic, but I feel so full. For the moment these are legal--maybe the first ones in America. In my city.
I'm so goddamned proud, here at the vanguard.
I'm illegally parked next to my generation's new Stonewall.
And people in love are getting married.
It's awfully cold out.
But morning's coming.
___________________________

There's some more notes, some quotes from the affianced, that sort of thing. This is already a jumble.
But it's four-thirty, and my homework's not done yet, so I'll let this rest for now.
What a beautiful day.