Ever since their wedding day in Hawaii – from the moment he saw her in that dress, and how beautiful it had been, the way the straps slinked off her shoulders, almost coyly, down to her elbows, and how she would quietly correct the matter, blushing – Marc knew he had made a terrible mistake. And on the altar that day, at the edge of a mountain, he told his ‘about to be’ wife that it wasn’t her he had ever wanted to be with at all but rather “Your beautiful eighty-six year old grandmother.”
The bride shuddered and brought a hand quickly to her mouth.
“I’m certain of it.” Marc said, stepping barefoot down onto the grass. “I absolutely know it to be the truth. So – what do you say Gertrude? How’s about I give you all my life today and you give me whatever is left of yours? I promise I’ll treat you better and give you way more stuff than I had ever promised to give your granddaughter.”
Before a stunned sunlit congregation, Marc knelt down before the wheelchair bound woman, looked her in the only eye she had and taking her skeletal little hand up in his, he asked: “Do you accept, my dear?”
Gertrude didn’t smile or frown at the offer. In fact, she did hardly anything at all save let out a wheeze and make a frail motion with her hand as if she was trying to tell him something.
At that point, Jenna had seen enough. “Fuck you.” she said. “I’ve seen enough.” And in a state of understandable fury, she quickly tore the wedding dress off of her body like a banana peel and tossed it over the cliff edge.
“Marc.” she screamed, shuffling closer to the cliff edge. “If you go any further with this, I swear to God on my naked body, as I stand here, I’ll jump in after that dress and you’ll never see me again.”
The ageing priest, Fr. Oliver, would try and intervene in this matter. He wanted to stop the girl. But all he did in the end was trip over his robe and fall to the ground like a spindly little alter boy.
“Oh Lord.” he said. “My hip.”
A young boy relative in the front row, no more than twelve, would laugh at this mayhem unfold. For him, falling priests, or people falling over in general, were things he happened to find very funny in life and so he chuckled away to himself from the depths of his little belly. At one point, because he was laughing so much, he’d have to bend over and undo the top button of his slacks for some extra relief.
“My goodness.” he said, rubbing his inflated stomach. “This is turning out to be a better day than I thought.” Leaning over and poking the woman in the shoulder, he said “What are you gonna do granny eh? Don’t forget Marc has a beach house somewhere in the world and could probably afford to put you up in any home you want. Think about this carefully now.” he said, whispering deep into her ear. “Don’t screw this up like you did with grand-daddy, ok? You only went and screwed that guy up the butt with a pogo-stick and I haven’t forgotten about it. Just remember that.”
“The little fat boy is right, Gertrude.” said Marc, eyes filling with tears. He turned to the boy then. “Daryl isn’t it?”
“Ken.”
“Ah yes.’ said Marc. “Of course, you’re Ken. How are you?”
“Good thanks.” said the fat boy. “I’m enjoying this far too much and looking forward to seeing how it will all unfold, and I think I speak for everyone else here when I say that. So what do you say granny?” he said, really digging his fingers into her. “You gonna go with him or what? Remember…pogo-stick.”
Jenna’s half naked body had started to shiver now in the sudden presence of a light south-westerly breeze. The twenty-six year old blonde was standing there, totally exposed – before friends, enemies and family – wearing nothing but a long white veil and the carefully laced lingerie number she had gotten as a gift. The priest, seeing this suffering, slowly got up and draped her in a cloak. He was in a slight pain after his tumble and you could see that was the case from the way he was scrunching up his old, miserable face.
All eyes, for the most part, were now on old wheelchair bound Gertrude who wheezed once more and waved her hand about the air like a struggling child. In her mind she was probably saying something profound, something moving, but all people could hear coming out of her mouth was absolute garble.
“Meh, meh, meh. Meh, meh meh.”
This went on for a while, for longer than it maybe should have, and would end up really frustrating a lot of people who had taken time out of their busy days to attend.
They’d be growing restless.
Swearing.
In fact, some folks could be seen grabbing all of their things and leaving altogether.
“My darling.” said Marc, quickly switching knees, sweating slightly. “What are you trying to say to me?”
“Come on grams.” said the boy Ken. “Quit milking it for crying out loud. You gonna be his piece or what?”
Then, in one final blurt, old Gertrude managed to release the very thing she had wanted to say since this new confession of love had come into her life.
“What is it, luv?” said Marc, fully braced now. “Please speak.”
“I…I…I” said the woman.
“Yes?….Yes?….YES?”
“I THINK I JUST SHIT MYSELF.”
