The Mountain Village Wedding

My college friend Elif got married in her grandparents' village in the mountains of Turkey, and I flew halfway around the world to be there.

The celebration lasted three days. Everyone in the village came. There was a tractor decorated with ribbons, a drummer and a zurna player who never stopped playing, and long tables in the village square covered in food the grandmothers had been cooking for a week.

There was dancing, constant dancing. Old men linked arms with teenagers. Elif's grandmother, eighty-nine, pulled me into a circle dance and laughed at my feet. A little girl decided I was her best friend and held my hand for two days straight.

I didn't speak the language. I didn't need to. When I left, the grandmother kissed both my cheeks and gave me a hand-embroidered towel. I use it every day and think of that square full of music.