Suicide Notes From A Wedding

  it was time.

  Brennan turned around, adjusted my lapels. “you look good, man.”

  “thank you.”

  we walked through the gate. strident and unprepared, turning left at the microphones. spread ourselves in a straight line, company halt. i folded my hands. sized up the crowd. caught sight of Carolina memories in the mix. wondered why they weren’t smirking, or grinning, or at the very least shifting in their seats.

  it’s because we’ve done a few of these at this point.

  Nick took his place alongside his father.

  down the aisle came a duo of miniature children, scattering rose petals.

  i scanned the gathering. squinted towards the back, where a pair of mounted speakers had been placed on either side of the steps.

  string quartet stationed on the left side of the terrace.

  i wondered what secret hopes they held for their talents, someday.

  they switched to Pachelbel, as Kayla and her father made their entrance. neither of them concerned with gravitas. beaming. not a trace of imperious intention as Michael shook Nick’s hand, embraced his daughter with the ease of excellent fortune.

  Paul gave his opening remarks, effects of a soothing lullaby. emotion channeled into effortless words, proving the tree never grew far from the fruit. voice projecting to the farthest reaches, out to the back, where the staff took turns banging their palms against a malfunctioning speaker, all static and hiss.

  no matter.

  bride-Lacey approached her microphone, read from Corinthians.

  groom-Lacey, apparently satisfied with English as a first language, read from the I Ching.

  12-hour shifts behind the counter of an adult store had served me well, feet holding up just fine. but the sun was starting to beat down on the front lines. sweat gathering at the base of my spine, a swampy tramp-stamp. undershirt, underwear, armpits dampening, as a threesome from Nick’s side stood to sing a trio of songs in the Shaker tradition. off key and out of sync. missing their harmonies by a mile, but maybe that was the point.

  with god on their side, their pitch was perfect as it would ever need to be.

  i caught myself staring at a passing ladybug.

  blinked several times.

  Paul stepped forward. took us all on a journey through the founding of Pennsylvania, marveling at the numerous cultures and individuals that had allowed us all to gather, join together in this eclectic, non-denominational recognition of Nick and Kayla’s union.

  i was beginning to lose focus.

  panicked that the heat would win the day, rob me of this moment.

  taking control of my distraction, i pictured the audience in their underwear.

  succeeded in picturing only the most attractive people in their underwear.

  the spiral was inevitable, and soon my brain was swarming with porn stars.

  and now, there were other biological functions to battle.

  caught in a taut, psychological game of cat-and-more-cat. a game i would have surely lost were it not for a single, mental hangnail.

  Bobby.

  that did the trick, and i was able to pivot from what might be, to what was. shift my brain into neutral just in time to witness Kayla’s vows. written for the occasion. followed by Nick, volleying the same joyous sentiments. both so earnestly ignorant of the heat, the drone of insects, that for one brief moment, they simply disappeared, vanished, overloading the sad foundations of this splintered, incoherent existence.

  i made a firm resolution that i would not be mentioning this to anyone.

  The couple exchanged wedding bands, punctuated by distant gunshots… soundtrack from the bad old days in Verona finding its way right where it belonged.

  with his vocal chords wound tight, Paul made it official.

  Nick and Kayla were now husband and wife.

  there was an electric pause as the pair of them stared into each other’s eyes with wild awareness.

  “oh,” Paul wiped his eyes. “i guess kiss each other, if you want to…”

  they cupped each other’s faces, pressed their lips close.

  the crowd cheered, and finally, i had a chance to bring my clammy palms together and go for some serious catcalls.

  a torrent of dried rice rained down as they made their way between the seats.

  Paul began to motion towards either side of the event; we weren’t home yet.

  groomsmen pairing with bridesmaids. linking arms and following the newlyweds.

  when my time came, Paul held up 2 fingers in either direction.

  i found myself flanked, arm in arm, with a pair of pretty little creatures.

  “hey, check, this out,” one of them said.

  “you get 2 of us,” the other gushed.

  “yeah!” i replied, and felt my mouth about to add: every man dreams of taking 2 girls right up the aisle…

  miraculously settling for the more ungainly proclamation: “neat!”

  this hardly impressed, but it kept us on the yellow brick road, as my scuffed shoes guided their heels over uneven cobble stones, capping the ceremony without a single misstep.

  i breathed a sigh of relief as the bridesmaids scrambled to get as far away from me as possible.

  went looking for Chester, and the 2 of us settled into a firm, enduring embrace.

  Nicky and Kayla had finally gotten married.

  ***

  the terrace was alive with conversation, food, and booze.

  i knew at least one of those held some real promise.

  there were 2 separate tables serving up the sauce. i hooked a right, took my place in line. not a lot of traction. always someone who simply could not do without their martini, or cosmopolitan or Manhattan. carving into an honest drunk’s time with requests best suited for Buckingham Palace.

  i shuffled over to the opposite end of the terrace and queued up.

  found myself standing next to Chester’s father.

  Owen’s eyes gleamed through a pair of tiny spectacles. face adorned with a wizened beard. several dozen pounds lighter than the man who had fallen straight through the attic floor back in ‘95.

  some 12 years ago, a group of us had gathered at his house to drink. one of our friends had been going through tough times. drunk off a fifth of Malibu, threatening to drive away. to where, god only knew. to what end, we could all guess. in a ballyhoo of drunken logic, i determined the best course to prevent this was to plow headfirst into a wall.

  the plaster had caved in, leaving a Lucky-sized hole. Owen had taken it in stride, requested that i bring over some spackle. maybe patch up the damage my thick skull had wrought on his house.

  never got around to it.

  don’t think he ever forgot this affront.

  “how’s the writing going?” he asked.

  “it’s fine.”

  “good. keep it up.”

  Owen ordered a water, white wine for his wife, and excused himself.

  the bartender’s nametag read Rodrigo.

  i ordered 2 gin and tonics. one with a maraschino cherry.

  he served them up. asked who was getting the one with the cherry.

  i downed the first one, and raised my remaining glass. “i am.”

  he smiled at me.

  ***

  i caught up with Milo and Laura.

  “what are you drinking?” Laura asked.

  “gin. tonic.”

  “what’s with the cherry?”

  “dessert.”

  Milo gave her a nudge. “Lucky here can tie a cherry stem with his tongue faster than anyone i ever met.”

  “thanks,” i said. “tell it to your girlfriend, rather than any number of eligible women floating around.”

  “oh, i’m sorry!” he raised his arms, waved them above his head. “hey, everyone! guess what? something!”

  he had a point. “yes.”

  Milo accepted the win, motioned towards his lady. “you know, Laura was friends with Nick on Facebook before her and
i ever met.”

  “no kidding.”

  “Nick and i went to camp together,” Laura said. “i found him on the Facebook, and it wasn’t ‘till years later that i met Milo. crazy, right?”

  “yeah.”

  “you ok?”

  “just realized…” i took a large sip, cherry stem dancing near my tongue. “i can’t even calculate how long it’s been since the universe has given me a sign like that.”

  “do it anyway.”

  i shrugged. “some time after Misty and i got together, we came to realize that we had once been standing at the same bar, at the same time, in Edinburgh, Scotland. 3 years before we had ever met… she recognized the Batman shirt i was wearing. at the time, she didn’t approach me, because she thought I might be Scottish, and she was never too great with deciphering their accents. but it was that day. and it was us.”

  “wow.”

  “yep.”

  “that’s pretty amazing.”

  “yeah. and now we have to figure out what to do with our cat.”

  our circle expanded. gobbled up Chester, his father, Joyce and Korben.

  “it’s just so strange,” Korben told Owen. still marveling… “i’ve known these guys for so long. and seeing them standing here in their tuxedos, out there as groomsmen at Nicky’s wedding… it’s just kind of unbelievable…”

  Owen reminded us we were all getting old.

  i gently faded away, and went to claim my bookbag.

  headed out towards the garden.

  the chairs had been cleared. incidental vacationers wandering over Nick and Kayla’s invisible footprints. sunlight debating the earth on its exact speed of rotation. seeking balance. finding common ground in the form of a resort staffer asking me to head towards the dining room.

  time to celebrate good times, come on.

  ***

  as tiny pockets of guests were herded through the gate, i broke ranks. stepped off the path. let the rest stroll past. set my gin on the ground. laid my bookbag alongside. unbuttoned my jacket and strolled on out.

  wasn’t sure how i had previously missed the small patch of putting green for toddlers and tykes.

  picked up a truncated golf club. began to knock around. carefully lining my putts. missing by a mile most of the time. ambling about in my own lonesome shroud. watching the little white ball spin, planet knocked off its axis.

  as far as golfing in a full tuxedo went, surely this would be the last time.

  my 6th sense kicked in. i turned towards the path. saw Milo, Laura, and Korben. snapping pics with their phones held aloft. i gave them a few basic poses, something for the ladies. tossed the putter aside and joined them.

  we followed the caravan along the hedges, this time headed for the west wing. walked through a set of glass doors. greeted by a large, carpeted room with an improvised fireside lounge. a chain of tables were lined against the far wall. place cards like tiny kitten ears. names on one side, seat assignments on the other.

  “where you all at?” i asked, searching for my place in this world.

  “table 6,” Korben said.

  “table 6,” Laura said.

  Milo nodded. “6.”

  picked up my card, and flipped it over, crossing my fingers.

  i smiled.

  “you with us?” Laura asked.

  “sorry, losers… it appears i am in for an unequivocally more erotic dining experience…”

  i handed Korben my place card.

  he had a look. “yeah… i don’t think head table means what you think it means.”

  i took the card back, stared very hard. “it doesn’t?”

  “no.”

  i glanced at Milo and Laura. “it doesn’t?”

  they shook their heads.

  “well, then…” i tucked the place card in my pocket, cleared my throat. “i will be taking this up with the groom, immediately.”

  i turned to retrace my steps.

  struggling through a thicket of guests, upstream the whole way.

  ***

  i was halfway up the terrace steps, when the coordinator latched onto me. mentioned something about the introductions. didn’t understand much past those two words. she brought me into the fold, reunited me with the rest of the groomsmen.

  thought about asking Brennan about the girl in black gauze. he was busy. all of them were, talking among themselves, thick as thieves. Chester was nowhere to be seen.

  another sip of gin, and we were whisked inside. left of the lobby, down a flight of stairs. we came out at the edge of the game room. i recognized the entrance to the tiny restaurant where Korben, Alley, and myself had gathered upon arrival.

  before temporal vertigo could knock me off my stride, we took a sharp right, down an elongated, narrow hallway. hit the brakes halfway through. hugged the wall as a pair of staffers rolled an enormous table to its destination, underbelly of a medieval wheel.

  we kept on. took a left, right.

  our endgame was a threadbare, rectangular room with low ceilings. overhead fluorescents. a mirror stretched out along one of the walls, bordered by spherical, soft-yellow bulbs. along its length ran a countertop littered with handbags, makeup kits, and hair products. bridesmaids crisscrossed the room in abstract acts of maintenance. groomsmen already taking their place in plastic chairs, feeling their tuxedoes.

  life was a cabaret, old chum…

  i settled into a seat at the end of a fold-out table. sipped my gin. one of the bridesmaids walked over. paused before me, mouth agape as though trying to remember her lines.

  “yeah,” i told her. “i don’t know, either.”

  from behind me, i heard the sound of laughter.

  turned and found Kayla’s father in the corner, sitting atop an impossibly tall bar stool. laid back, bottle of Becks in his hand. untouched by the bustle.

  goddamn, i really liked that guy.

  Kayla stepped in, and the random began to coalesce. somewhat. along with her maid of honor, she went about pointing, pairing the groomsmen with bridesmaids. prepping the ark for another global deluge.

  i straightened my jacket, ready to congratulate her.

  before i could, she cut me off. “Lucky…” Kayla brought me face to face with her mother. “you’ve met Lacey, right?”

  remembering our previous lavatory encounter, i tipped an invisible hat and puked up my best cockney: “too right, oi surely ‘ave met the missus…”

  for some reason, this seemed to work.

  bride-Lacey wandered away as Kayla motioned towards a thin blonde, dressed all peachy keen. “you are going to be coupled with Mandy.”

  i switched to my own voice. “you make us sound like boxcars.”

  “you are.”

  Mandy smiled at me.

  “hello…” i smiled back. “see you drew the short straw.”

  once again, there was Michael, laughing.

  Mandy took it as a cue to grin uneasily and turn to the mirror. reapply her lipstick.

  i downed the rest of my gin. took a bite of maraschino, and popped the stem in my mouth. concentrated. worked my tongue around, bit down, tugged. pulled a perfect knot from between my lips.

  30 seconds. not bad at all.

  i looked around.

  Milo had been right; the only person who cared was sitting right there in my seat.

  i dropped the knotted stem into my glass.

  the coordinator stepped in. “it’s time.”

  i reached beneath my chair, picked up my bookbag. stood and buttoned my jacket.

  Kayla caught me from across the room. came at me with a maternal smile. “no, Lucky. you’re going to have to leave your bookbag here.”

  “but it has my juice box.”

  no time for irony. “you can get your juice box later.”

  i set my bag down.

  witnessed everyone else chatting eagerly with their assigned mates.

  glanced at Mandy; staring in the mirror, doing her lashes.

  stretching ou
t her remaining moments without me for as long as her face would allow.

  ***

  Mandy and i walked along without saying a word.

  we took a few turns, then onto familiar turf; place card table on the right, a setup of plush couches and armchairs on the left, stationed before a large, stone fireplace.

  the wedding coordinator was pushing overdrive. led Mandy and me towards a set of closed, monolithic doors. the sound of live music vibrated from within; a booming voice whipping an unseen crowd into a frenzy of buzzed anticipation.

  we were positioned behind Kayla’s mother and father.

  at the very front stood Nick’s parents.

  arm in arm, at the ready.

  i glanced over my shoulder. confused.

  everyone else in seemed to be suffering from a bout of spontaneous choreography.

  Zhang was spinning his lady around, ballroom style.

  Brennan was arm in arm with 2 bridesmaids. hands at his hips, instructing: “i think we should go - ” he pointed his fingers to the right, shooting from the hip – “guns, guns, right – ” switched directions… “guns, guns, left - ”

  James had collapsed on the floor. simulating a full-body slide between the shapely legs of his giggling partner.

  felt a little early for them to be as drunk as i was.

  could be it was time to figure out just what the hell was going on…

  “so…” i turned to Mandy. miscarried the question. “what do you do when you’re not being a bridesmaid?”

  she seemed genuinely relieved to break the silence. “i’m a mother of 2, so that’s a full time job, right there… what do you do, Lucky?”

  the best mistakes were always worth repeating. “technically, my job is to facilitate the advent of your job…”

  “how’s that?”

  before i could reply, the MC’s muffled announcement bled through the double doors:

  “ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Paul Reckless and Mrs. Lacey Reckless!”

  the doors swung open to the sound of music and wild applause.

  from beyond, i could see the leftmost area of a large ball room. guests gathered at their tables, all teeth. clapping in tandem. phantom marionettes visible for one scant second, before Paul and Lacey were swallowed whole. doors closing behind them.

  Mandy and i moved up a few feet, and that’s when it hit me. “oh. right. what exactly is going on here?”