Suicide Notes From A Wedding

by Joaquin Emiliano

“like… import/export –”

  “yeh.”

  “P.R. start ups –”

  “yeh.”

  “consulting firms, hedge fund management –”

  “fer sure.”

  Korben took another drag. “i work in a bar.”

  “i envy you.”

  “you work in a sex shop.”

  “i do.”

  “strange.”

  “history will decide.”

  Korben shook his head. “no, it won’t.”

  “that's for me to decide.”

  “no, it isn't.”

  “most likely not, no.”

  our cigarettes continued to evaporate. from 50 yards away, back at the ranch, a burst of laughter reached our ears.

  “but are you happy?” i asked.

  “yeah…” Korben gave it some thought. checked his math. “yeah, i am.”

  “so that’s good.”

  “are you happy?”

  “are you?”

  “feels like i just answered that.”

  “you seem a bit down,” i misdirected. “something on your mind?”

  “a friend of mine tried to kill himself.”

  i took a drag. “anybody i know?”

  “probably not.”

  “well… tried, right? at least they didn’t figure it out.”

  “that was the thing about it…” Korben nodded towards my glass of wine. i passed it on, let him take a sip. “i don’t want to sound like i condone this, but he really did come up with something special.”

  “yeah?”

  “he bought a bottle of vodka. had himself a bottle of prescription pills. sat in his room with a pack of smokes. started drinking. drank to the point where he was no longer… in control of his decisions, i guess. where if he was supposed to kill himself, then that is what would happen. blacked out. like he planned to. when he came to, he actually had taken some of the pills. but not enough…”

  i nodded.

  “so…” Korben took another hit of my wine, handed it back. “he was basically sick for an entire week. but at least he knew that he wasn’t supposed to die.”

  “took himself out of the equation.”

  “that’s right.”

  “hm.”

  “what?”

  “a little brilliant, is all.”

  “don’t get any ideas.”

  “haven’t had one of those in years. don’t worry.” had me some wine. handed it over to Korben. he took his share. passed it on back. i coughed. “hey, K?”

  “yeah?”

  “i know we're sharing a room, but… should lady luck offer up any of her ladies… i'm fine sleeping on the ouch.”

  “sleeping on the ouch?”

  “couch. sleeping on the couch. just saying. don't let the decision involve a crisis of conscience.”

  “thanks. same goes for you.”

  i took a tug. “it won’t.”

  “it might.”

  i smiled, watched my cigarette dwindle. “of all the women i've ever hooked up with, 50 percent are married, or they have kids.”

  “what about the other 50 percent?”

  “who knows? 100 percent of them have never spoken to me again.”

  the cloud cover finally broke, blessing us with a luminous moon, captured in half-imagination.

  Korben reached out. gave my shoulder a tight squeeze. “thanks for the smoke.”

  “any time.”

  we gave the puddles a few more things to think about and went back to join the party.

  ***

  out in the building’s isolated backyard, a bonfire had been lit.

  Nick and his friends hauled the keg from inside. as flames did their best to kiss the sky, they all gathered together for keg stands. i stuck to the shadows. watched Nick wrap his fingers around the silver rim. muscles bulging as a few helpers turned his body upside down. face going red as the blood rushed south.

  the nozzle was secured in his mouth.

  everyone shouting out the seconds as his Adam’s apple worked.

  i noticed a large Tupperware container resting on the lawn, next to the fire.

  seconds later, i recognized it.

  courtesy of the lady. in the cafe. just a few hours ago, diligently putting together chocolate, and marshmallow, and graham.

  Nick tapped out, and everyone cheered.

  the fire kept waiting to be put to good use.

  none of us listened.

  ***

  shortly after the keg rally, friends and family gathered in the road to discuss the next move.

  Chester, ever the carnival barker, put in the strongest bid for taking the party back to our place.

  the keg would be delivered to the pool. welcome to all.

  do a little dance. make a little love. get down tonight.

  my crew piled into the car. tires wound their way around the golf course.

  “how about Lacey's speech?” Chester asked.

  i kept my mouth shut this time around. let tongues wag. treated my eyes to some scenery.

  “what are we doing about booze?” Korben asked.

  Joyce was playing with the back of her boyfriend’s neck. “keg’s coming, right?”

  “should last us a bit,” Chester reasoned. hopeful.

  “we've got wine,” i said.

  “at the house?”

  “anywhere we want it, baby.”

  Chester began to laugh, far ahead of the curve. “oh, Lucky! you miserable drunk!”

  “yep.” i hoisted the bookbag onto my lap. “4 full bottles of red, right here in my own little nest egg… Wesleyan style.”

  i was met with applause, cries of pure euphoria.

  occasion had it, my business was a little profitable as well.

  ***

  we made it back without killing any wildlife.

  i changed into jeans and a faded shirt reading Obama for yo’ Momma.

  met the rest by the pool. popped a bottle, passed it around. the conversation meandered. gave room for crickets and stealthy frogs to join in. comatose waters enjoying tiny, chlorinated waves.

  waiting for the party to come to us.

  what we got for our patience was Nick Reckless. plodding down the stone steps. throwing his massive forearms over the gate.

  “hey, guys. those in charge of the keg got lazy. stopped by their place, and decided to have the party there.”

  Chester was crushed.

  in our wilder and more vigorous years, his father’s house had always been the go-to for all gatherings and general tales of lunacy. all social groups, cliques, shades of the economic spectrum would manage to find their way. the bards still sang ballads of hot tub hookups, live bands, drinking games, and merriment that would set the table on a roar.

  …if those walls could only vomit.

  “but we have the pool,” Chester said.

  “i know.” Nick sighed, none too convincingly. “but the decision's been made.”

  “ok.”

  “it's only 3 houses down.”

  “all right.”

  “see you guys there?”

  “yeah.” Chester shrugged. “maybe.”

  Nick had other things to worry about, and left the decision in our hands.

  “yeah,” Korben said. “we're old.”

  i took a hit of wine, straight from the bottle. “yes. we are what once was.”

  “what do you think?” Chester asked. “should we go?”

  “we should at least stop by,” Alley said.

  the rest of us agreed.

  “it's just a shitty thing for them to do,” Chester said, seizing his own bottle of red.

  “it's cool, Chet…” i zipped up my bookbag, shouldered it. “i still think you're a rock star.”

  Chester tilted his head to the left; signature move for whenever feelings had been hurt. “you haven’t even listened to my latest album.”

  “didn't your band open for the Foo Fighters in Europe?”

  Chester t
hrew his head back and laughed. echoed across the mountains. “you’re right! it was totally awesome!” he wrapped me in his arms, took me to go. “let's go party. can we go party?”

  i nodded.

  goodbye house.

  we all felt our way, together through the dark.

  ***

  there was a time when the soft approach to a party had been a singular thrill. even after brutal nights in the kitchen or working tables… warm crackle of voices growing louder, the symphony of glass bottles, sporadic cries of excitement promising any number of chance encounters, events. a litany of stories to tell once the sun came up.

  years later, with every junction exhausted, there was nothing left but a single road. a well-paved road in the Poconos, encompassing a massive golf course. a road that led to a driveway, leading to a house packed with late-night revelers.

  “they've got a porch,” Korben observed.

  Joyce shrugged. “and somehow that trumps a swimming pool.”

  i tightened my grip around the bottle of red. eyes aching in the floodlights. pushed my way past the screen door, through the porch, and into the lion’s den.

  ***

  once more, the assorted couples and cliques melded and popped. a deleterious spectrum of smiles and loosened ties. as though adapting to their surroundings, the clear plastic cups had reverted to an opaque, bright red.

  i had a pull of wine. searched for sanctuary in the crowded living room. tempted to take one of several doorways into the kitchen, hallway, anywhere.

  as fate would have it, i was the world’s worst Waldo, and Nick had no trouble spotting me.

  “hey, FIGARO!” he gave me a hug. smiled slyly at my bottle of wine, and gave it a little wave. “how you holding up?”

  “hell of a speech, Nicky.” i raised the bottle. he brought his cup against it. the crumpling sound was less than festive. “you slayed `em.”

  “did you hear my mother's speech?”

  “no.” i changed the subject. “do you mind talking shop for just a split?”

  “not at all.”

  “there's been a few incidences of ill communication, so i want to be very clear about this… tomorrow, all the groom guys –”

  “groomsmen, yes.”

  “- are meeting at our place. at 4 in the afternoon. for wedding photos. is this correct?”

  Nick hesitated… “yes.”

  “is that a yes yes, or a Nicky yes?”

  “it's a no.”

  “ok. good. so the plan…?”

  “before all that, we need to go to the florist.”

  i took a few hits of wine. “we have to go to the florist?”

  “to get our boutonnieres.”

  “i’m going home.”

  “you've already spent how much on the tux, car rental, and condoms you will never have the opportunity to use?”

  “yes...” i sighed. “so when and where tomorrow?”

  “let's meet at 3:30 in the lobby of the lodge.”

  “fine. 3:30pm, lobby. you promise?”

  “i've only got room for one promise this weekend. it's going to be a big one, and i'm not wasting it on the likes of you.”

  “have some wine.”

  Nick grabbed the bottle and raised it in the air…

  “MMMMMEN!” he proclaimed, before taking a marginal sip and handing it back.

  “well done, Nicky. that was epic. it really was.”

  “Gina, come over here!”

  before i could remind him that wasn’t my name, i was thrown headlong into a conversation with an actual Gina.

  ***

  whatever Nick’s reasons had been for thinking this was a good idea, the introduction must have been cataclysmic. painful enough to warrant an automatic purging of memory.

  suddenly, i was sitting next to Gina. the two of us awkwardly positioned on an unhappy couch. abandoned by Nick and left in the invisible presence of god’s janitor.

  she was blond. pale and pretty. plush lips revealing a bright set of perfect pearls. round cheeks like tiny plums. eyes shimmering, pleasant, but with an unspoken determination. as though there were no place for the present in a world built on the strength of a well-executed mission statement.

  doing all i could to postpone my half of the mystery, i struck first with bland swiftness: “so, what do you do?”

  Gina tucked a strand behind her ear. “i’m a strategist for The James Group.”

  “what’s The James Group?”

  “we design apparel, we market and wholesale brand name clothing, shoes, that sort of thing.”

  “you do all right for yourselves?”

  “Fortune 500 company. so, yeah.”

  “and a strategist does, what?” i figured as long as i kept her talking for the rest of our lives, the 2 of us could very well have a wonderful future together. “i understand the concept of strategy, don’t get me wrong. i kind of went to college. i’m just curious, within the context of your job.”

  “i research and analyze markets, technologies and trends. develop business pitches and proposals. mostly i help to develop brand strategies.”

  “brand strategies?”

  “how to introduce or maintain continued visibility in the marketplace of our own brands, or licensed brands.”

  “so you figure out the optimal strategy to get my brain to memorize, then buy the clothes you sell…” before i could pat myself on the back for incorporating the word strategy into my statement, it occurred to me how the statement as a whole must have sounded.

  even worse, i quickly realized that she realized it wasn’t just a statement; it was honest sentiment.

  “don’t get me wrong,” i course-corrected. “i buy clothes, same as anyone else. i mean, not often. usually when whatever i own turns to rags but… these jeans i’m wearing are, i believe, Italian.” i hoisted my pelvis in the air to get a better look at the tag etched into the right pocket. “looks like they’re Diesel…” i squinted, drew my face closer to my crotch. “Diesel somethings, i can’t quite see…”

  Gina tugged at the bottom of her strapless dress, covering her thighs as much as she could, while crossing her legs away from me. as a matter of courtesy, she asked me what it was i did.

  well, the following exchange was a familiar one.

  shortly after realizing i did not own my own adult retail company, as much as stand at a register all day and advise people on how to better stick things into their bodies, Gina coughed politely. checked her smartphone. threw me a diplomatic parting line, and marched across the room on a pair of black high heels.

  can’t say as to what brand they were.

  and, as though aware of what further spirals this event might yield, my brain treated me to yet another glorious, 8-minute blackout.

  ***

  i gave my bottle of wine the time of day. felt my gums turn to parchment. in the middle of the room, a cabal of beautiful people were gathered, cups hoisted aloft. belting out the opening number from Cabaret.

  “Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome!”

  i made the perilous journey to standing position. helped myself to more wine.

  “Fremde, etranger, stranger! Gluklich zu sehen, je suis enchante! Happy to see you, bleibe, reste, stay!”

  i stumbled through the masses, struggling towards the porch.

  “Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome Im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabaret!”

  i flat-lined my way out and into a thinner crowd.

  sitting in a wicker chair was Nick Reckless. staring up at me, as though awaiting a full report.

  “Nicky!” i shook my bottle of wine at him. “stop introducing me to people! we both know how these things end, how everything ends, and stop it!”

  Nick’s only retort was a silent shrug, coupled with a dangerous, chaotic grin.

  “well, yes,” i replied. “guess i should have kept my mouth shut around Kayla’s father.”

  he touched the tips of his fingers together and nodded.

  ***

>   another blackout of indeterminate length, and i found myself in negotiations with Chester and Korben.

  deciding whether or not to stay.

  Alley and Joyce beamed down to the planet’s surface. the final votes in favor of salvation.

  yes, let’s get out of here.

  the glow of their smartphones illuminated the way home.

  ***

  we were 5, yet again, standing alongside the pool.

  dark forest resting on all sides. starlight lecturing us on insignificance as we drank, smoked, wondered at what point this had become the best of all available worlds.

  “and to think,” Chester mused… “we've still got the actual wedding to go.”

  “thought there was someone in a golf cart,” i mumbled.

  everyone turned towards me.

  i wiggled my naked toes. “does anybody remember the names of anybody they've met?”

  “yes.”

  “yes.”

  “yes.”

  “yes.”

  “shit…” i glanced around, ambled close to the edge of the pool. “anybody seen my bookbag?”

  collective heads shook left and right.

  “great… must have left it at the party house.”

  “anything important in there?” Korben asked.

  “cigarettes, condoms, bad writing… the building blocks of life.”

  “who was that chick i saw you talking to back there?” Chester asked. “the blonde?”

  “just another example of what’s in store should i decide to stick around.”

  “she was cute,” Alley said. “she seemed into you.”

  “10 years ago, that might have been the case…” i tilted my head back, poured some wine down the hatch and stared at the stars. “once a man gets to be a certain age, his value begins to plummet unless he starts making socially acceptable decisions… by and large women are adverse to a man who lives on the fringes, unless his risks have yielded something… worth sticking around for, i guess.” i set my bottle down. “otherwise, he’s just a flyer for another garage band. nailed to a telephone pole, side by side with a picture of a missing cat.”

  i felt bad about the silence that followed.

  fuck, give them something to believe in, i thought.

  planted my bare foot against the lip, pivoted, and let go.

  said goodbye to the sky as i fell backwards, arms extended.

  trust fall.

  ***