Of Best Friends and Weddings [FICTION]

“I’m not sure I should be here.” I whisper to my husband John as he links his elbow with mine.

“It’s your best friend’s wedding.” He leans into me and kisses my cheek. “He wants you here.”

“But his girlfriends always get the wrong idea.” I hiss.

“Surely, this one knows you are harmless. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been fiancé.” He grins.

I nod. “That’s true.” I lean in to smooch his cheek.

“I’m sure she isn’t half as beautiful as you though.” He kisses me back, letting his lips linger on mine.

“I did find it odd that they didn’t send an engagement picture with the invite.”

“Not everyone does that.”

“Everyone else I know does.” I respond.

He shrugs his shoulders, clearly unconcerned by this breach of protocol. As we approach the heavy wooden doors leading into the church, I stare intently into the opening. As we approach the ushers, I look away from the interior into a familiar smiling face.

“Bride’s side,” my old boyfriend Vince tells the gangly teenage boy at his side.

“This way,” the disinterested teen says as he steps in front of us.

“Um, no.” My brows furrow as I look at Vince.

“You are here to see Caroline get married, aren’t you?”

“Your sister, Caroline?” I squeak.

“We’re here for the groom, actually,” my husband looks from my face to Vince’s questioningly. “You know each other?”

“This is Vince,” I mutter.

“Oh.” My husband stands up taller, assessing Vince with discerning eyes. “Oh. That means Caroline…”

“…is the bride.” I mumble.

“Your Caroline?” He asks.

I nod my head.

Vince’s smile no longer clings to his face. Confusion takes its place. “Caroline told me you guys had come to an understanding.”

“An understanding that we would never speak again.” I inform him. “Or see each other.”

“Oh. Then…” He looks at John. “You must know the groom.”

John snorts. “You guys dated and you don’t know that Tom is her best friend?”

“Wait. What?” Vince’s mouth hangs open. “Thomas Carter is your Tommy.”

I bristle. “If you had trusted me about Tom, I wouldn’t have met John.” I sneer as old emotions flood over me. “So thanks for being a jealous tool.”

“i think we better show ourselves to our seats.” John glances at a couple who pauses at a discreet distance to watch the show unfold.

“I don’t want to sit down.” I hiss.

Vince snickers. “Good luck with that, man. I need to help someone who isn’t crazy.”

“Come on, sweetie,” John slides his hand into mine and gently pulls me toward a seat on the righthand side of the chapel.

I follow him into the pew but take the seat on the aisle and sit. He tries to coax me further but I refuse to move. He sits down next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

“You never told me what exactly Caroline did,” he whispers.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m your husband. Try me.” He leans in to better hear my answer.

“She poisoned her brother and this town against me,” I incline my head toward the nearest guests.

The organist warming up the pipes makes enough noise to drown out the whispers, but no amount of chaos could make me unaware of the stares, the lips moving swiftly with decades old gossip as their eyes can see only me, and the sideways stares of those wise enough to keep their mouths shut. John looks around and then back to me. His jaw clenches.

“So you being at her wedding…”

“…makes no sense.”

“Unless she wants you here for some reason.” John frowns and glances toward the front of the chapel where the bride will stand.

“I can’t let this happen.”

“I agree.” John takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t leave until I stop this wedding.”

He sighs and grips my hand in his. “Honey, please, I have seen the way you get when you think of her. Don’t do whatever…”

His words dissipate as I pull him in my wake. I stalk to the front pew, where Tommy’s mom sits elegantly attired to celebrate her only son’s big day. My heart lurches as I realize what I am about to do. As I reach her, I fall to me knees. I feel like a little girl again, visiting my best friend and hoping his mom will give me one of the cookies I can smell on the air. But I don’t smell cookies. I only smell the cloying sweetness of flowers and perfume.

“I’m sorry, dear, I don’t have room for cookies in this.” She holds up a sequined navy clutch and reaches out to pull one tight curl that dangles by my cheek.

“I don’t need cookies, mama. I might need you to help me.”

“With what, dear?” She smiles softly, but her smile fades as she surveys my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Hopefully nothing.” Hope that Caroline has changed embeds itself in my heart as I take a deep, cleansing breath. “I assume you have met your future daughter-in-law?”

“Of course, dear.”

I open my mouth but can’t find the words to ask. My mouth won’t speak words that could break her heart.

With my own heart in my throat, I ask. “Has she mentioned me?”

Grey brows knit together as she ponders my question. “Why should she?”

“We went to school together.”

“Really? I was under the impression she went to a private school.”

“Caroline Logan’s parents couldn’t afford private school.”

Mama takes her feet at those words. “Logan? Her last name isn’t Dottson?”

“It wasn’t when I knew her.”

“Then she has been married before?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Mama’s jaw tightens. “Excuse me, dear, I have to go talk with my son.”

My jaw drops as I watch her walk away.

“I feel like I better get ready for some fireworks,” John whispers in my ear. “Unless I can convince you to leave this place with me.”

“No chance.” I whisper as I realize most eyes in the room have refocused on me now that Mama has disappeared.

I ignore them, clutching John’s arm as I stare toward the back of the sanctuary and await my fate.

~~~

I got a little side-tracked by life, so this piece might turn into a two part series or leave you wondering forever. Feel free to vote in the comments.

Finally wrestled part II from my muse!

Dad Rules [FICTION]

When I turned sixteen, my dad told me that in order to live life to the fullest, I needed to live by three rules.

1. Do all things with love.

2.  Remember, it can always get better.

3. Nothing except hockey is worth losing teeth over.

I never struggled with the first two, but that third one once proved untenable for me because of a cheeseburger. 

First, you have to know that I was a poor college student at the time. It was my second semester of college. 

Second, on that particular day, I only had enough money to buy a single cheeseburger.

Third, you have to know that the Applebaum Deli made the best cheeseburger that I have ever tasted. I have a feeling that was tied into me being a poor college student, but at the time I would accept no substitutions.

Fourth, that day was probably he roughest of my college career. I learned I failed a test for which I had studied all week. I lost one of my favorite earrings down a sewer grate. Don’t even ask about what brought about that calamity.  

I entered the Applebaum Deli and my day looked up. No one was in line. In fact, I could see the cook peering out the window at the few patrons to see if anyone needed food. His face lit up as he saw me.

“You want the burger, miss?” He turned away before I could answer.

I nodded anyway. The cashier rang up my order and returned to a far table where she was sorting clean silverware. As luck would have it, nature called, so I hurried into the bathroom. Upon my return, I found a skinny young woman sitting at the counter eating a burger with great gusto. I didn’t think much of it until the chef poked his head out of the kitchen window and looked from me to the other girl in confusion. 

The other girl remained oblivious to me, scarfing the burger down like she hadn’t eaten in a week. My own hungry stomach gurgled uncomfortably.

The cook finally spoke, “Did you need something, miss?”

I raised an eyebrow, “I just paid for a burger.”

“Oh?”

He turned disappointed eyes to the girl. She stuffed the last bite in her mouth and looked up at him, smiling with tight lips as she swallowed. She stood up and began backing toward the door.

“Wait a second.” The cook said, stepping out of the kitchen. “You said that she bought that burger for you.”

“She did.” The girl giggled and bolted for the door.

Hunger and disappointment from the day swirled around me and set my weary feet to pursuit. I caught hold of her hair before the door could close between us. She rounded on me. She might have been tiny, skinny, and underfed, but she was strong. She threw a right into my jaw so lethal and precise that I saw stars and released her hair to put both hands to my lip, which was coated in blood.

As I pulled my hand away, I noticed a chip of tooth nestled in my palm. The cook and cashier surrounded me. She took my hand and lowered me into the nearest chair, while he leaned in to peer worriedly into my face. He apologized a million different ways and assured me that he would get right to work on another burger.

“…If you think you can eat it.” He added as he noticed the tiny token in my palm.

My stomach declared its willingness to try, so I ran my tongue along my teeth before responding. “Yes, please.”

As he disappeared into the back, the cashier helped me clean myself up. “Sorry about that. Sometimes, she does manage to talk someone into buying her a meal. We just assumed…”

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have got so angry.”

“They call that hangry.” She smiled at me.

And that is when I realized that I had broke one of the dad rules, but let’s keep that between us.

~~~

This seemed like the perfect offering to help you celebrate Father's Day weekend. I hope you have picked out the perfect tie and the perfect card, perhaps featuring bacon or gas or other manly humor. And if you are a father, I hope you get extra snuggles from your tiny humans this weekend, even if they are now almost as tall or taller than you. Thank goodness for all the awesome dads and the men willing to fill their shoes when they aren't there to counsel us...

I Stand By You [POETRY AND RANT]

You don’t know it, but I stand beside you

I wish my cloak could extend to hide you

From those who would choose to do you harm

But I lack the power to disarm

Those who arm themselves with hate

But I dream that we can change a fate

That has you quaking, lost in fear

A torment you don’t deserve

And I hope you forgive my nerve

For, if you let me, I will stand at your side

Hold your hand, never try to hide

The truth of my admiration for you

Of all that you are and all that you do

Believe in yourself, try to believe in me

And build a better world than we see

~~~

I know this post is a little late to the party, but I struggle to find the right words. It is so hard to find words that no one will be offended by. And if I write a post long enough to express everything I am feeling, it will be a novel.

Black Lives Matter!

And, yes, all lives matter. The analogy explains the importance of this best is Jesus’ parable about the shepherd and his sheep. He left the many to rescue the one because the many were not in danger: the one was. 

I don’t claim to understand what black people go through. I am so white that I think I justify a classification of “pasty white” on surveys. I do, however, have some experience with people judging me based on preconceived ideas. Despite proving my abilities in both math and reading, I kept getting placed into the remedial classes in grade school based solely on my last name. My personal safety was threatened a couple of times in middle school by my association with an older brother who practiced offending people. But you can’t look at me and know about those stigmas.

We need to give people a chance to show us who they are before me make decisions about them. We need to be more like toddlers. I walked away from my daughter long enough to hand a form to the receptionist at the doctor’s office. I returned to find her happily playing with a new friend. She didn’t care that he was a boy. He didn’t care that she was half his age. And neither of them cared that they weren’t the same color. Until I came over. Then the little boy looked up at me to gage my reaction. I smiled at him. He smiled back, and they went back to playing. And my heart ached a little that such a sweet little boy already knew he had to be worried about people’s prejudices.

I grew up in a small town in a formerly Southern state, until they broke away in 1863. I didn’t get a lot of chances to interact with people who were different from myself. And when I did, I had the good fortune to meet people who gave me reason’s to admire them for our differences. I learned to notice that someone was funny, smart, kind, loving, or breathtakingly beautiful instead of judging them on qualities they have no control over or something someone else did.

Be kind. 

Show love… to everybody. 

Be your best self.

Stand up for what is right.

And have a fantastic Friday.

Lazt Day

‘Last day. Last day.’

I sing this happy song deep down in my heart. The whole summer unfolds in my imagination. Days of sun and surf and late nights filled with bonfires and s’mores. I spin the dial on my locker one last time and stuff loose papers and thin notebooks into my backpack. As I pull the zipper over the memories, I notice hurried footsteps clicking toward me.

“Come with me. Now!” My best friend grabs my hand and pulls me toward the cafeteria. “If you don’t come now, people will die.”

I grunt in response, following in her wake as my bag bangs against my back. She doesn’t stop running until we reach the cafeteria’s double doors. I give her a questioning look as I realize the doors are closed. I have only seen them closed once—during a tornado drill.

“What’s going on?” I gasp for air.

“Just look.” She hisses and tilts her head toward the skinny window in the heavy wooden door.

I take a step forward and peer through the smudged glass. I gasp again. On the other side of the glass, two of my classmates lurch between long rows of tables, tripping over chairs. Through the large glass windows on the opposite side of the cafeteria, the remainder of the school watches anxiously.

“Really?” I mutter.

“They must not have known you were here.” My best friend pats me on the back.

“I don’t think zombies know much of anything.” I glance down the hall before pulling off my jeans and t-shirt to reveal a spandex outfit featuring a large Z in a circle bisected by lightning. 

As I slip a mask out of my bag and over my face, my friend grins. “Zombinator to the rescue.”

“I never agreed to that name.” I mutter as I reach into my bag, producing two stakes.

“But I did.” She winks and opens one of the doors for me.

The zombies turn toward the squeal of poorly tended hinges. One tilts its head to the left and surveys me with milky eyes. The other lurches toward me, opening its mouth to release undefinable gibberish. 

Someone in the crowd of onlookers whispers, “Zombinator.”

I clench my jaw and step forward, trying to ignore the awed echo of the ridiculous moniker as the zombies hungrily shuffle toward me, slowing raising their arms. “Arrghhh.”

“Sorry, guys,” I mutter, raising my stakes and darting forward. “No meals for you.”

I drive one stake home in the eye of the zombie to my left. The second slips lower and I shudder as it slams into an open mouth, pouring gore onto my hand. As I try to hold down my lunch, a roar of approval erupts from the other side of the glass. A door opens and the bravest of the curious step forward for a closer look at the now inert zombies at my feet. I turn and disappear through the double doors, where my best friend greets me.

“You did it again.”

“And I need to wash my hands.” I hold them up. “Again.”

We race toward the bathroom. Halfway there, I note with relief that my backpack rests on her shoulder.

“And it is time to go back to being a normal, dull girl.” She notices me eying my backpack. “Don’t worry. I know you need your change of clothes.”

“Indeed. Being a super zombie killer would be even harder if people knew who I am.”

She nods agreement as we slip into the bathroom for a quick change before joining the rest of our classmates to gape at the vanquished zombies.

“Did you see that?” One of many voices breaks through the chaos to reach my ears.

“Wow. The Zombinator took out both of them in one smooth move.”

“She is so cool. That’s how we know she doesn’t go to this school.”

I throw out a few comments of my own, but they get lost in the general chatter as I mentally prepare myself for a busy summer with more zombies than sunshine. I find myself scanning the throng around me, fighting back a chill as I wonder how many of them I will meet under unpleasant circumstances before fall arrives.

~~~

When I was a kid, the last day of school was usually at the beginning of June, so I thought this an appropriate choice to enliven the first Friday of June. Hope you are all staying well and taking care of yourselves. Feel free to leave some love...