Cracked Glass and the Scene Maker

Dear Lord, there's the nod. Be confident. Be cool. No tears!

Abby suggested I get everyone's attention by tapping the glass with a spoon. She said, "The glass clinking gets me every time." So, of course, I agreed to clink. It never crossed my mind to practice. How complicated could it possibly be?

I stood and nodded back to the wedding organizer. I grabbed the spoon and swung. My shaking hand careened out of control, and instead of a tap, I hit the glass so hard it cracked. But that's not all. No, no. I hit it again, which extended the crack in multiple directions. But wait, folks, there's more. I hit the stupid glass again. The break was big enough this time for the wine to flow out. The newly created fountain took five seconds to empty. Five seconds! In embarrassment time, that's equivalent to a two-hour lecture on paint. I stared at the now-empty cup, and the crowd stared at me in horror.

I stammered, unable to form words. Roman took my glass, placed it on the table, and whispered, "Hey, Dennis." I turned to him, and he smiled, "The show must go on." He then broke the tension with a perfectly proportioned laugh. Seeing the groom laugh, the crowd felt they had permission and joined in.

We've been friends since sixth grade, yet he still amazes me. He restored my confidence with just a few words. The man's a genius.

I resumed, "May I have everyone's attention?" The crowd burst out in laughter.

I said words—enough to take five minutes. Then I sat. I heard clapping and cheers, and then the orchestra resumed playing.

People grabbed partners and pulled them onto the dance floor - willing or not. Roman and Abby sat for a bit, having finished all the obligatory dances with father, mother, brother, sisters, and each other. I don't dance, and I have no girlfriend to force me. And it's a good thing I didn't.

Tracy! She was standing in the entrance. My mind went into action before my feet could move. She must leave! I have to stop her! My feet finally caught up to my brain, and I swiftly approached the entrance. Was she always such a knock-out babe?

She scanned the room, looking for someone. I knew who. I also searched the room. I saw Roman with his back to the entrance. Thank the Lord. I intercepted the goddess in time.

"What are you doing here?" I whisper-shouted.

Tracy instinctively placed her hand on her stomach. "Oh, my! You startled me." Smiling, she said, "Dennis, the trusty sidekick. How have you been?"

Her beauty stunned me, and I lost my words again. She wore a red evening gown that would have caused a cartoon's eyes to pop out. I gulped and hunted for something to say. "I see you haven't lost your wit or ability to show up in places you shouldn't."

"Now, don't be grumpy. Just because Roman and I broke up doesn't mean we can't be friends."

"You have to leave."

She glanced over my shoulder towards Roman. "I will soon."

"Why are you here?"

She continued looking over my shoulder, "I had to make sure."

"Sure of what?"

Her eyes locked with mine, "That he loves her."

My stomach flipped while I gazed into her eyes. "He does. He really, really does." Seeing the disappointment and resignation on her face pained me.

She quit looking over my shoulder and stepped back into the hall. "I knew he would be. I just had to make sure. You know?" She searched imploringly for a sympathetic nod.

"I get it." I made sure to stand between her and the entrance. "What you two had was special. Heck! I would have bet my Mustang that you two would have been married with two kids by now."

We laughed.

"Me, too." She lifted her teary eyes to me, "What went wrong?"

I fought the urge to hold her, to pull her in so tight that she'd forget all about Roman and turn her attention to me. But instead, I just shrugged. I've always refrained from showing her how I feel about her. I couldn't let her see back then, and now I'm paralyzed by her beauty – she's ten times more gorgeous than she was back in college. Besides, she's clearly not over Roman.

"Part of me wants to barge in and make a scene," she said.

"No, no. We'll have no scenes. Well, any more scenes."

Her ears perked up, "Any more scenes? What happened?"

"Oh, nothing, really bad."

"Are you going to force me to twist your arm like I used to?" Her expression brightened.

I crossed my arms. "There will be no twisting either."

She lunged towards my arm, giggling. Her giggles melted my heart.

"Okay, you win."

I recounted the wine glass incident in colorful detail. I watched her expressions change from fake concern to sincere laughter to failed sympathy. She was so cute. Lord, I was falling and fast.

While telling my story, I leaned against a wall, leaving the entrance unguarded. I gulped. Did she notice the opening but chose not to take advantage, or did my story so preoccupy her that she failed to see it? We looked at the open space between the hall and the reception room.

"You know," she said, "Before your story, I would have made a break for that opening. I was determined to make a scene before the night was over."

"Why did you change your mind?"

She relaxed and leaned against the wall with me. "Your bet."

"Huh?"

"You said you'd bet your Mustang. I wish I had taken you up on that bet. I've always loved your car."

I smiled and chuckled, "You had a funny way of showing it. You never wanted to ride in it."

"True, but you see, I didn't want to ride in it. I wanted to drive it. Also, I didn't want Roman to see that I liked your car better than his."

Two couples walked into the hall, chatting away. I took a peek into the large room and saw Roman and Abby dancing. They loved each other, and it was obvious to everyone. How did they get so lucky? I turned back to Tracy.

"Thank you for not ruining this night for them," I nodded towards the dancing couple. "I'm also sorry he didn't see what he had."

I'm not a ladies man. Lord, what am I saying? I'm a bumbling idiot when it comes to the ladies. But I thought I saw a change in how she looked at me - like she saw me for the first time and liked what she saw.

"So, do you still have your Mustang?"

"Lord, yes. You never let a '65 go."

She smiled up at me with a mysterious expression.

"Do you want to drive my car?" I asked.

A twinkle flashed in her eyes, and she nodded, "And this time, I don't care if Roman knows I like your car better."