After the kiss, the couple turned to face their respective families in the Grand Ballroom of the Marriot Hotel. Pictures were taken under the gold and burgundy décor. Cheery smiles, an illusory atmosphere, and an open bar hid the fact that the groom rented this place for a steal, having sold the manager an imported car. He screwed the manager out of some money, all done with a signature friendly grin, but the deal was satisfactory enough to where the groom could cheaply rent out this place for his betrothed, a Returns Department clerk at the local Wal-Mart. The two met when the groom tried to return a DVD set he received as a gift without a receipt. In his mind, he thought his smooth-talking earned him a cool forty bucks and a hot date at the nearby Applebee’s. In her mind, she thought she nailed a big shot as a surrogate father for her recently implanted child. Their private thoughts remained thusly, and ten months later, a wedding was on.
Today was the day where two families became one. Today was the day all those who could gathered out along one of the main highways running through a quaint suburb. The plates on the white tables were washed twice by the undesirables in the back kitchen, and the banquet food was thrown in the microwave thirty seconds longer to ensure its quality.
Different clans of the Smiths and the Hedgesons sat around these tables. Geriatrics. Youths. Yuppies. Jocks. Nerds. Princes. Princesses. They talked about how lovely the couple looked. They ignored the fact that the bride had an abnormally large forehead. They left unsaid the thought that the groom kept the appearance of some skinhead, neo-nazi fascist. He actually had hair, but it was short and blonde enough to blend in with the lighting. It was styled to present a confident, militaristic feel even though its wearer often found himself mumbling and crying most nights, unable to live up to the interesting stories he weaved at work to make a sale. To his peers he was James Bond. Without his tongue though, he was as exciting as a number two pencil.
The groom’s brother got up to make a speech now. He grabbed the mic and cracked a few jokes. They were clean and tasteful as there were pious elderly present. The sibling uttered the same social expectations all those at the tables said amongst themselves – how lovely the couple looked, how happy they are together, and how blessed they are to have each other. It was a pleasant speech. The ones that followed all were, keeping in the same vein. None diverged from the handful of vocabulary found in Hallmark cards.
There was only one attendee who was not smiling. Even the drunken idiot who spilled his wine cooler (cleverly labeled as light beer) on his tux grinned in compliance with the overall mood. Yet, this rogue had the gall to look glum.
No one conversed with this black sheep. The blasphemous monster kept his head down and was ignored, a ghost in the midst of unfiltered cheer. He was another brother of the groom’s – the youngest of four. Forced in the shadows of his brothers, this cretin had all his artwork pissed on by the groom once. It was an act of jealousy masked as a wake-up call from one successful brother to a less financially-endowed younger brother. That was the year the groom sold five cars in one month during a major recession. Tim just happened to be the only family member who didn’t care, leaving the dinner table early to finish painting. In turn, his insolence was handled internally.
“He’s just a party pooper,” one grandmother commented, breaking the unspoken vow to ignore him. She was the only one.
As Tim sat there stoically, life continued in motion around him. Bridesmaids and young girls, sexually charged by the concept of marriage, conversed excitedly in herds, followed by the eyes of drunken friends of the groom. The graceful gazelle were being stalked. The old men knew it and kept quiet, occasionally sneaking a peak at cleavage if they could get away with it, and the old women purposely remained oblivious. It wasn’t proper for a wedding party member to think that way. Weddings are a union of man and woman under God. They are social activities of purity not to be tainted by primal lusts.
Even though Tim’s head kept low, he paid attention to his surroundings. He watched the lions stalk their prey. He saw the older people comment about the glamour and decadence of it all, talking only about the illusory beauty of the whole affair like “civilized humans”. No men dared to talk about how the government fucked them today. No banking. No politics. No whispers of feigned faith in the Lord. The dirt was kept under the rug, like Tim’s desires.
“PENIS!” Tim shouted at the top of his lungs.
Silence descended in the ballroom. The mice could be heard scratching around in the walls as Tim’s voice turned everyone into dumbfounded corpses. The barmaid even froze, her hand glued halfway inside of her pocket as she shoved another tip away.
For three minutes, eyes bulged and mouths stayed open. The utterance of the male sex organ threw the wrench in the clock tower that shut the whole town down. Obscenity at its finest. When nerves returned and awareness kicked in, one woman was escorted away. She was crying. The foul-mouthed depravity she heard destroyed the wedding for her and ruined the chances of the lion cradling her in the back room.
Guests began to get up and exchange “good evenings” with each other. They quietly handed envelopes to the married couple and walked out the door, led by angry matriarchs. There were no car sales – just hushed grumbles.
Tim remained seated. He kept his head low, feeling the burning glare of the crowd scorching his scalp. PENIS. How could he? PENIS?!
As the last guest filtered out, muttering an apology under his breath in hopes that Tim, the hot-headed terrorist, didn’t hear, only three remained. The groom and the bride stared in shock at the youngest brother. They had already bored of sex with each other months ago, and the night was still young. What would they do? The groom didn’t have any new stories from work concocted to woo his wife with. He was betting on the old ones giving him some steam for family members he hadn’t seen in over a decade. Worse than that, there were no great primetime TV shows on tonight to ease the awkwardness, only reruns and unfunny dramas.
Somewhere, Tim thought he could hear a tower crumbling. He walked over to the barmaid for the first time during the whole affair and ordered an import. He selected a heavy stout, tipped the woman, and flashed her wicked grin.
“I only drink real beer.”
