Confusion reigned. A loud thundering in my head had awakened
me as it slammed against nerve endings in what had to be what was left of my
brain. I looked and saw that I was fully dressed. Then the thunder roared again
and a voice echoed loudly enough to shatter my thoughts. “Hey lover boy. Coffee’s
on.” I blinked and the movement shot pain through me like an electric shock. I
had to figure this all out and it wasn’t going to be easy.
Rolling as gently as I could, I gained the edge of the bed
and threw my legs over a spread festooned with clown heads. Normally, that would
have frightened me, but I was beyond all that.
Then the door open and I saw Tom’s face. “Are we up?” it
said.
I nodded, more from an attempt to escape further
interrogation than to provide an informed reply.
“Are we okay?”
I said nothing.
“We thought you might ought not to drive, so I brought you home.
I moved the girls into one room and let you have your own bunk for the night.
Let’s have coffee and get you home.”
Home. Memory oozed into my mind like sewage flowing into a pond.
Home. That’s where I had left from the night before, before I had met Tom and
the others somewhere. Somewhere. That must be where my car was. That’s all I could
recall.
“Remember? We played a game and you won,” Tom said.
“A game?”
“Yeah, one called, ‘weirder things I have ever done than
getting married.’ Winner had to chug a beer each time. You tromped us, all of
us, by fair voting.”
I said nothing. He said, “Was that one about setting your guard
tower on fire really true?”
“The fireworks show?”
“Yeah. How much gunpowder did that take?”
“A bunch, but we had six hours to prepare,” I said, omitting
the fact that it was actually Rick Beaton, and not I, who had overplayed his
hand that night on the midwatch. I had performed well, albeit without the
unfortunate after effects. But what’s a little prevarication from a condemned
man? That’s what they kept calling me, “a condemned man.” A thought floated to
the surface of my brain like a bit of matter rising in a septic tank. Wasn’t it
John Steinbeck who said, “… a thing isn't necessarily a lie even if it didn't
necessarily happen?”
“Come on, Champ,” Tom said.
He led me to a hall bathroom and waited. When I came out, he
took me into his dining room and bade me sit for coffee. From there I could see
into the kitchen where two young girls, all dressed for a day of excitement and
fun at the country club pool sat at a breakfast table eating cereal. One was
about seven years of age, and she looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and disdain
that only those born for the manor can express so well. The other girl was younger,
maybe five. Her look communicated pure disgust. It must have been her bedroom
that I polluted. Tom’s wife never came out to greet us and I never asked why.
The ordeal didn’t last long. I refused a sweet roll and, as coffee
began to roil in my stomach, I nodded that I was ready to leave. Tom drove me
to my car. I rode in silence, concentrating on taming my stomach until we
reached “the scene of the crime.” There sat the Green Angel with a disapproving
look on her grill. As I emerged from his car, Tom said. “You only get married
once … maybe twice … oh hell, who knows how many times? It’s good to have one good
time before the shackles snap.” With that, he closed his window and off he drove.
I stood on the parking lot with the rest of my life spread out before me, like a clown laughing from on a bedspread.
Good times? Multiple marriages? Multiple bachelor parties?
Not for me. Anything requiring an event that made me feel the way I felt that
morning was for one time and one time only.
 |
| What am I going to tell the girls? Nothing, That's what. |
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