They were getting married in the back yard.

The young man saw them setting up rows of folding chairs. From his fourth-floor apartment window he saw them erecting an arbor. Their yard had a fence but he was high above them, and he looked down into their yard and watched them get married. It was the dead of summer and all his windows were open. He could hear their voices and their excitement. He stood halfway hidden by his curtains and watched them from above. The fat uncles, the tanned cousins and bearded best friends. Everyone was plain except the bride and groom. The bride and groom were beautiful. Radiant. The young man watched them stand under the arbor and exchange vows he couldn't hear. He watched them kiss, and he listened to the crowd cheer. He returned to his couch and resumed the movie he was watching, but his windows were open, and he could hear the sounds of the reception. The laughing and conversation and jovial music, hits of the 80s and 90s. He stopped listening to the movie and listened to the reception. He wondered what it would be like to get married in the back yard. He wondered what it would be like to speak a sacred vow, and then look up, and see a young man watching from above, halfway hidden behind a curtain like a small, distant god.