Fools Rush In

by Janice Thompson

  “Looks like we need a bride then.” Pastor Higley looked around, noting that all of the others—outside the family, anyway—were already in the wedding party. Finally, he looked at Patti-Lou with a nod. “Will you do the honors, young lady? And Mr. Billings, once you reach the front of the aisle, you can go ahead and stand in for your future son-in-law for the rest of the service.”

  “I’ll be happy to,” Sharlene’s father agreed.

  I couldn’t tell if Patti’s near-swoon came as a result of being called a young lady or from the fact that she would get to walk down the aisle on the arm of one very handsome widower. Either way, she practically sprinted to the back of the aisle and took Sharlene’s place on Bob Billings’s arm. After a scrutinizing glance, I had to admit they made a nice couple. Had Patti-Lou finally found her man—at a wedding rehearsal, no less? Another bada-bing, bada-boom moment, perhaps?

  D.J.’s mom started the wedding march once more, and the couple moved confidently down the aisle. The sight brought tears to my eyes. Just as they neared the gazebo, I heard the strangest sound. Almost sounded like . . . fluttering. Then . . . what was that—squawking?

  With the piano music going on, no one else seemed to notice. I shifted my gaze this way and that, trying to figure out if we had a bat on the loose, perhaps. No, thank goodness. I didn’t see anything that resembled a bat.

  As the music drew to a close, Pastor Higley took his place and began to lead everyone through the rehearsal. I wanted to pay attention. Honestly, I did. But the oddest bit of chattering to my left now had me completely distracted. I turned and looked up into the far rafters of the gazebo, stunned to see a near-featherless Guido. He sat perched in the oddest of places, just above Pastor Higley’s head, swaying to and fro. The loopy parrot appeared to be muttering something at first, then stopped and stared at me with the oddest look on his face.

  No no no! I vaguely remembered something the limo driver had said about having Guido’s wings clipped. We hadn’t had time to figure that part out yet. And now . . .

  I stared up, praying in silence that he would not move an inch or utter a single, solitary sound from this point forth. He seemed to pick up on the warning shooting from my eyes. I’d never seen the bird so quiet. Or so wobbly. Must be the antihistamines at work. Guido tipped this way and that, nearly falling on Pastor Higley’s head on several occasions. Only my prayers seemed to keep him planted in place.

  Fortunately, the service progressed rapidly, and before long the pastor wrapped up with, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  Poor Patti-Lou. I could read the disappointment in her face as Bob Billings skipped the kiss and turned her around to face the congregation. Earline began to play the recessional music. The faux bride and groom headed down the aisle at a steady pace.

  For whatever reason, Guido chose that particular moment to make his presence known to the masses. He let out a piercing shriek, followed by a lengthy stream of particularly foul words. Or would that be “fowl” words?

  Pastor Higley glanced up in time to see the parrot take flight, heading to his left. “Watch out, Earline!” he called out. “We’re under attack!”

  As if to prove him right, Guido landed on top of the keyboard, cried out “Go to the mattresses,” and began his machine-gun routine.

  Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion. I vaguely remember Earline fainting. And I’m pretty sure D.J.’s dad—a former military man—dove forward to catch her as she tumbled from the piano bench, shouting something about being under enemy fire.

  Perhaps sensing his fear, Guido swooped down on Mr. Neeley and landed on top of his head. Mr. Neeley let out a scream, and the parrot—probably spooked—took to flight once more, but not before delivering a string of words that would’ve made a sailor blush. In Guido’s beak was a hairy blob of something indistinguishable. Horrified, I looked at Mr. Neeley, realizing his hair had gone missing. In its place, a shiny, bald head.

  Off to my left, Patti grabbed Sharlene’s father by the hand, and they took off running across the courtyard, headed for the safety of the indoors. And Sharlene ran squealing into Cody’s outstretched arms.

  From out of nowhere, Aunt Rosa appeared, looking even stranger than usual with a pair of bright orange cowboy boots on her feet and a broom in her hand. She began to chase after Guido, calling out to him in Italian. Something about cooking him up for dinner.

  Laz stumbled along behind her, using his cane as a potential weapon—not against Guido but against Rosa. His cries, “Leave that bird alone, you old fool. He’s not hurting anyone!” rang out against the cacophony of other sounds.

  Through the chaos, I looked over at D.J. as he rushed to his mother’s side and knelt in the grass to try to revive her. Bubba soon joined him, and the whole Neeley family took to praying aloud for the Lord to intervene. Earline woke up for a moment, started screaming and flailing her arms, took one look at her bald husband, and then promptly passed out again.

  After giving up on Aunt Rosa, Uncle Laz hobbled over on his cane and knelt at Earline’s side, pulling something from his pocket.

  “Laz, don’t!” I called as I recognized the familiar bottle of stinky oil.

  Ignoring my pleas, he doused her forehead, then began to pray in Italian that the Lord would raise her from the dead. Seconds later, much to my surprise, Earline sat straight up, smiled at the crowd, and asked what had happened.

  “It’s a miracle!” Laz proclaimed. “She’s been resurrected!” Tears flowed down his cheeks, and he knelt in the grass with hands extended heavenward, praising the Lord for allowing him the honor of witnessing a miracle.

  Convinced she’d truly been raised from the dead, Earline rose to her feet and began a celebratory dance that would’ve made the Full Gospel sisters proud. Her triumphant chorus of “Praise the Lord! Thank you, Jesus!” filled the air, adding a whole new flavor to what had just transpired. Her husband, bald but likely happy to be alive, swept her into his arms. They helped Laz to his feet and thanked him for the role he had played in ministering to them.

  At that moment, Guido—likely exhausted after his capers—landed on a chair in the front row with Mr. Neeley’s toupee in his mouth. I grabbed it, tossed it D.J.’s direction, and then snatched the featherless bird in my hands, muttering, “You’re not going anywhere,” to quiet him down.

  As everyone looked my way, I offered up a lame smile and tried to come up with something brilliant to say. After a few seconds, I finally managed to squeak out, “Well, I think that went pretty well, don’t you?”

  18

  Let’s Be Friendly

  Crazy dreams always seem to follow particularly stressful incidents in my life. For instance, after I skipped out on a couple of classes in college, nightmarish dreams plagued me for years. The Technicolor replay was always the same. I would wake up, look at the alarm clock, and realize I’d overslept. Then I’d spring into action, shimmy into my clothes, and run across the campus, hairy-scary, in search of my class. Only, I could never find my class. Instead, I spent the entire hour roaming from building to building, completely lost.

  And then there was the near-naked dream. I couldn’t recall dreaming it as a child, but after a particularly traumatizing event as a teen—one in which I’d bared my soul to a good friend in school, only to have her share the story with the masses—I’d repetitively dreamed that I showed up at school wearing only my underclothes.

  On the night before Sharlene and Cody’s wedding, I had the near-naked dream. My, what a dream! Surely it was one of those pizza-induced nightmares. In this version, I stood in front of the congregation at Chapel in the Pines dressed in Aunt Rosa’s slip, insisting I couldn’t possibly dance without my clothes on. The craziest part of all was that no one seemed to notice my lack of clothing. My vulnerability, though completely obvious to me, seemed to elude them.

  Sister Jolene grabbed me by the hand. “C’mon, Bella! Don’t worry about the choreography! Just let the Spirit move
you!”

  I tried a few tentative steps as Earline banged out a rousing melody on the piano off in the distance. When the music stopped, a bald Dwayne Neeley Sr. stood before the congregation with microphone in hand.

  “I stand before you today to ask your forgiveness,” he said, his shiny head bowed low. “For years I’ve lied to you about my hair—or, rather, the lack thereof. Can you find it in your hearts to forgive me?”

  As a mighty chorus of yeses rose from the congregation, Earline began to play once more, and we all took to dancing again. On and on I danced, completely oblivious to the crowd. Through the window I could see Bubba with his big meat smoker. The pungent aroma of barbecue beef filled the air.

  I’d barely had time to consider its ramifications when I heard a squawking sound off in the distance, then some familiar lyrics. “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie . . .” I glanced around, looking for Guido, as everything faded to sepia tone.

  And that’s where the dream ended.

  Only, it didn’t. The drowsiness slowly lifted, but from the safety of my bedroom, I could definitely hear Guido chirping away in the next room. He had both the lyrics and the melody to “That’s Amore” down pat. And just as in my dream, the distinct smell of barbecue filled the air. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, realizing Bubba really was outside, preparing for tonight’s Boot-Scootin’ barbecue extravaganza. I tried to imagine how wonderful it would taste. At the wedding. The one I hoped and prayed I could still pull off after last night’s chaotic rehearsal.

  In the midst of my reverie, a rap on my door gave me a jolt. My mother peeked inside with a wider-than-usual smile. “Ready for the big day, Bella Bambina?”

  I smiled as I pondered her nickname for me, the one she used only in very special circumstances. Just as quickly, the smile faded. Thinking back on last night’s fiasco, I wanted to pull the covers over my head and hide for a week or two.

  “Come on now.” She approached the bed and smiled at me. “Surely you’re not going to let a little thing like what happened last night keep you from moving forward. Things happen, Bella. Things happen.”

  Yes. Things happened. To me. A lot. Strange things. Things that didn’t happen to anyone else I knew. And I had the oddest feeling stranger things lay ahead. So staying under the covers might just be my best option.

  “Laz feels terrible about letting Guido out of his cage,” Mama said with a sigh. “He didn’t mean any harm. He said he thought the fresh air would do the poor little bird good.”

  “The poor little bird?” I just shook my head, unable to think of anything sensible to say.

  “Aw, c’mon, bambina. Forgive and forget. That’s what we’re called to do. And today is a new day, after all.”

  After a few more words of reassurance from my mama, I started to feel better about my life and its strange coincidences. She left the room, and I took the time to reach for my Bible, determined not to let yesterday’s events determine today’s attitude. So what if everything had crumbled around me last night? So what if D.J.’s parents thought I was a nutcase? There were worse things, right?

  I stumbled from Scripture to Scripture, finally landing on just the right one: “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, make your requests known.” Laz’s favorite verse resonated once again, and I finally felt a sense of relief sweep over me. Still, how could I lay down every anxiety? The way things were going, I’d lay one down and another one would pop up. I felt like my life had morphed into a never-ending arcade game with no win in sight.

  Clutching the Bible, I closed my eyes for some alone time with God. I prayed for the bride and groom, that their day would be perfect. I prayed for my parents, that they’d be able to rest easy and enjoy the day. I even offered up a special prayer for Guido. And for Sal. That done, I offered up a quick prayer that the Neeley family would see fit to forgive me for last night’s bizarre and unexpected antics.

  After praying, I rose from the bed and showered, then dressed for the day in some cute shorts and a Galveston-themed T-shirt. I’d be changing later tonight into a denim skirt and Western shirt, one I’d purchased especially for this occasion. Jenna had even loaned me a hat, though I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to put it on.

  Only one thing remained undone. I stared down at the pair of cowboy boots I’d selected from the front hall batch. They were cute, I had to admit. Brown leather against pink. They matched my pink country-western shirt and had a great boot-scootin’ feel about them. But, cowboy boots? Could I really do it?

  Just for fun, I slipped them on, then primped a bit in front of the full-length mirror. Sophia chose that moment to stick her head in the door. “Hey, Bella, can I borrow your—” She never finished the sentence. Instead, her gaze shifted to my feet. “You’re wearing boots.”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know if I can do it tonight, but I’m trying them on for size. Gotta see if they fit.”

  “They do. It’s just like Cinderella.”

  “What?”

  “You know. If the boot fits . . .”

  “Then the Texas cowboy version of Prince Charming will sweep me away to wedded bliss?”

  She nodded and reality hit. These boots symbolized a lot more than just a country-western themed wedding. If I committed to wear them, I’d be making a statement. I was ready for change. Ready to embrace something new. Different. Ready to Texas Two-Step my way into D.J.’s arms.

  If he still wanted me after Guido had stolen his father’s hair.

  Sophia continued to stare, worry etched in her brow. “I’m not sure the boots go with your shorts, though.”

  She left the room, and I took off the boots and set them to the side, reaching for my sandals. There would be plenty of time to contemplate the boots later.

  As I entered the hallway, I heard Guido’s raspy voice ring out from inside Uncle Laz’s room. I rapped on the door, and he answered with a look of chagrin on his face. “Bella, about last night—”

  I put my hand up. “No. Don’t worry about it. What’s done is done. Today we start fresh.”

  “Guido has something he wants to tell you.” Laz took me by the hand and practically dragged me across the room. “Go ahead, Guido, tell her.”

  The featherless bird warbled out something that almost sounded like, “Sorry, Charlie!” and I had to laugh.

  “Did you teach him that?”

  “We worked on it till after midnight. It’s the least I can do.”

  With outstretched arms, Laz pleaded silently for my forgiveness. I slipped into his embrace and heard him praying over me in Italian, asking the Lord to bring peace. To grant my every wish on this fine day. And to make the wedding facility a success.

  I stepped back and brushed the tears from my eyes. “I love you, Uncle Laz.”

  “Love you too, kiddo.” He planted a kiss on my cheek, then glanced at his watch. “I’m supposed to be at the restaurant, helping Jenna and Marcella. But I’m going to stop off next door and see how those Neeley boys are doing with the barbecue first.”

  “Me too. I’ll be over there in a few minutes.”

  He headed off on his way, and I stopped to chat with my mother, who sat on the stool in her bathroom, going through the usual morning makeup routine. She took more time than usual this morning—probably needing to erase the worry lines from last night.

  At exactly 9:30, I headed downstairs to catch up with the boys next door. I’d almost made it to the bottom of the stairs when the doorbell rang. My heart flew into my throat when I saw D.J.’s mom standing there. Visions of Mr. Neeley’s toupee in Guido’s beak flashed through my memory, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could somehow have a do-over. Had Earline come to give me a piece of her mind, perhaps? Was she hoping to dissuade me from dating her son? Or had she decided to ask us to pay for the damages to her husband’s hair?

  Ushering her inside, I once again offered profuse apologies for Guido’s behavior, hoping my heartfelt words would win her o
ver. She shushed me, then reached into her purse to pull out a stack of bright pink CD cases, which she handed me with a relaxed smile as she offered up an explanation. “A couple of months back, Pastor Higley preached a series called ‘Taming the Tongue.’ After some prayer on the matter, I decided Guido needed to hear the sermons. They’re arranged according to date, so they should be easy to follow. And the topics are most assuredly appropriate.”

  I stared in disbelief as she flipped through the six CDs, which she promised would change Guido’s life forever. Was I the only one who hadn’t yet climbed on the “let’s get Guido saved” bandwagon? Was the Lord trying to send me a message? Was it really possible to rehabilitate a bird and thereby minister to his owner?

  “You just give this situation to the Lord, Bella,” Earline said with an affirming nod. “He cares for the birds of the air and the fish of the sea. And he loves you even more. And by the way . . .” Her eyes filled with tears as she finished. “I think you’re just wonderful, darlin’. Don’t you fret one little bit about what happened last night.”

  Relief swept over me, and I reached to give her a hug.

  After releasing me from her embrace, Earline reached into her purse and pulled out a tiny slip of paper. Pressing it into my hand, she said, “Memorize this Scripture. Trust God for a new season.”

  I opened the paper and read, “The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come. Song of Solomon 2:12.”

  I glanced back at Earline, curious as to its meaning. She gave me a wink, and I had the strongest feeling the verse—at least her interpretation of it—had nothing to do with Guido. No, Earline was trying to tell me something altogether different. She somehow recognized the fact that the Lord was shifting me into a new season.

  Suddenly, reality hit again. Like Guido, I’d spent my whole life in the confines of a tiny little cage—aka the Rossi clan. I knew little outside the realm of my own family. But now, with D.J. in the picture, the Lord was symbolically opening the door to my little cage and asking me to spread my wings and fly a little. Could I? Would I?