The first song was “Octopus’s Garden,” then “Fins” and “Aqualung.” The radio station had let Serge pick them out himself. Serge also gave the station a marriage script that would be piped into the water as the minister and the couple pantomimed. The groom removed the ring from a Velcro pocket in his buoyancy compensator. The theme from Jaws started. A DJ began reading.
I, Serge, take you, Molly, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to love and hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, choosing you exclusively as my wife, friend, partner, airtight alibi, getaway driver, nurturing each other’s growth, making fun of the same relatives behind their backs, developing a list of running gags that is the foundation of any solid relationship, doing all the cool things married people do, which is why I’m really looking forward to this: snuggling on the couch with photo albums, watching classic movies in bed with lots of snacks, making silly remarks when we fart, at least at first before it becomes contentious, always agreeing with my wife that her really hot-looking friends dress like sluts and promising never, ever to fight. And when we do, to fight fair and not take off our rings and throw them at each other or reach for hot-button secrets we confided like those kids from junior high and their cruel nicknames — damn them to eternal hell! Then having lots and lots of kids with normal names instead of Scout, Tyfani, Dakota, Breeze or Shaniquatella, reading them bedtime stories and nursery rhymes, singing Christmas carols, teaching them that the “special words” Mommy and Daddy use around the house can’t be repeated at school because it’s “our little secret.” Now a moment to thank the sponsor of today’s wedding. Let’s hear it for Conch FM, home of the hits! And remember to keep a lookout for the Southernmost Prize Wagon! Back to live action: I further solemnly swear to adore and respect, to honor and defend, against all foes foreign and domestic, my love, my light, my life, the wind beneath my wings, the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air, fourscore and seven years, in Birmingham they love the guv’nah — ooo-ooo-ooo! As long as we both shall live! Amen!
He slipped the ring on her finger.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
The nuptials spit out their regulators and kissed to “Yellow Submarine.”
The dive boat erupted in applause when Serge and Molly broke the surface. People on the other boats began cheering, too. So did some of the divers who had wandered into the ceremony and surfaced with the couple. They scrambled for the artificial bouquet that sailed over Molly’s shoulder into the Gulf Stream.
There was a cake on the boat, finger food, champagne. The merriment built. People danced. Serge stomped on a plastic cup.
Before they knew it, the sun was fading and the wind had picked up. The underwater music festival neared another successful conclusion. Time to head in and continue the celebration back on land. Boat engines started; mooring clamps were unhooked. The remaining divers began surfacing.
Except one.
