The Wedding

He had dreaded the wedding ever since the invitation had arrived in the mail; a gaudy invitation, run-of-the-mill and tasteless, with a couple standing on a bridge.
Though he was in the car making the long drive home, he still wasn’t sure why he was going; part obligation, part pure curiosity.
The guy Paige was marrying, Blake, had been three years behind them in high school. The boy had always pictured Paige with someone older; but this wasn’t what bothered him the most. Blake was an ex-con. He had been arrested for stealing guns from more than one home in their small little town. Paige had waited, patiently and lovingly, for him to be released from prison so they could marry. He most likely would have been in prison much longer, but it was his first offense, and he was 17.

During high school, the five of them were inseparable; Paige, Michael, Stephanie, Kelly, and the boy.
For junior prom, they had all gone together; Paige had gone with Michael, Kelly had gone with her boyfriend, Daniel; and Stephanie had gone with the boy. The all danced up until the very last song.
After prom, they had gone bowling in their gowns and tuxedos. It seemed like something high school kids would do in the movies. They were all very happy.

The boy was running late for the wedding. He wondered to himself if it was tacky to be late to a tacky wedding.
He took his mother along. She was sort of his partner in crime. They rode in silence to the church because the boy was deep in thought.
How could he relate to these people after so long? How does he explain to someone what it’s like to stand in the Tate Gallery in London, looking up at Waterhouse’s The Lady of Shallot? How does he describe to someone the taste of sushi at 2 a.m. while listening to live jazz? How can he relate to someone the feeling of being on the dance floor, techno rhythms keeping a steady beat in his head, lights spinning dizzily, men wall to wall; an establishment of sex and alcohol?
The fact was that he couldn’t bring them to understand these things. The bigger fact; they wouldn’t ask. He hadn’t seen them in three years.

Three years ago, Stephanie and the boy had lain on top of his Red Chevy Blazer in Jackson’s pasture. The night had been a very humid 11 p.m.; a July night, suffocating with the breeze merely stirring the heat.
They had been in their swim clothes, and the sweat beaded on their skin, sliding off their cheeks, their stomachs, and their thighs to collect in puddles on the hood of the Chevy.
The grass was so high. Sweet and fragrant, it was tall summer grass that would cut for hay in the fall.
The sky had been amazing; at least one millions stars, a concentration only seen in the country.
The boy was on his back, hands behind his head. Stephanie was on her side so she could glance over at the boy from time to time. They talked of their futures and what they wanted out of life. Then, Stephanie began to talk of their immediate futures, beginning in about ten minutes.
“I just don’t want to be in a relationship right now,” the boy had told her.
“But why?” she asked, shocked because didn’t everyone want to be in a relationship? Wasn’t that the number one goal in life?
“I just don’t. I don’t understand why everything in high school has to have a label. Don’t people just date anymore? Our parents dated, didn’t they? It wasn’t steady or nothing.”
Stephanie leaned the back of her head on her hand. She loved the boy. He had made her believe anything was possible. He had shown her new music, new movies, a new way of thinking. She would follow him anywhere.

The wedding was excruciatingly long. When it was finally over, the boy and his mother stood to make their way out. In the entranceway Stephanie stood with her husband, Michael. Stephanie made eye contact with the boy, and smiled. They embraced.
She had gained so much weight; so had Michael. Is that what happens when you get married, the boy wondered. Do you just stop caring?

They had all had big plans. Stephanie would go to a school in Georgia and study music. Clarinet was her instrument, and the boy thought she was the best to ever come out of Beulah. Michael wanted to be a nurse. Paige planned to go to vet school. Kelly wanted to start her family with Daniel. The boy was going to Mobile to be a writer.
They talked about the future incessantly; but it wasn’t always serious. Sometimes it was merely frivolous. They would play stupid games, like guessing who would loose his or her virginity first. The boy played these games though he had one before they ever began. He had won when he was 15 to an out-of-town guy. There was no reason for them to know that.
At senior prom, Stephanie went with Michael. She had finally given up on the boy. Paige went with a mutual friend of theirs, Chad. Kelly, of course, went with Daniel. The boy went with a co-worker, Erin.
He had come out to his co-workers, and they were what his high school crowd called “the other friends.” He was very careful not to mix the groups. They invited the boy and Erin to dinner with them; the boy declined.
After prom, the boy took Erin home and ended up at Paige’s house with the rest of them. Michael went home early, ever the gentleman. Stephanie went to bed. Paige, Chad, and the boy played cards until almost dawn, then Paige retired, exhausted. The boy slept with Chad.

At the reception, the boy, Stephanie, Michael, and Kelly sat together at one table. Daniel, Kelly’s husband, couldn’t make it.
“How’s English going?” Stephanie asked the boy.
“I changed to print journalism?”
“Oh.” The boy had not gone to Stephanie’s wedding. He wasn’t sure he was really wanted their. He always felt like he had ruined her life. He always felt that if he had not been the way he was, he could have guided her to Georgia to study music. They could have had a life together that would have saved her from small-town mediocrity.
“Well, now you’re the only one who isn’t married,” Stephanie said. The boy looked off. “Maybe you’re the smart one,” she laughed. The boy hadn’t said it, but he had thought it.
“I can’t exactly get married,” the boy said. Their was an uncomfortable silence.