It All Starts Somewhere

It All Starts Somewhere

“We are all gathered here to bear witness to the union of James Michelles and Teresa Smith…”

You struggle not to yawn. It would be very rude, after all, what with all the pomp and tradition to uphold and the super serious nature of this whole sequence of events that will likely end in a failure of marriage and ravage the two involved of their finances, their peace of mind and their mental stability.

Jim is your friend; you internally scold yourself. It’s not for you to force your beliefs in this pitiful ‘institution’ on anyone. After all, who are you to talk? With no failed marriages to speak of and only two serious relationships that come close to this magnitude of this event, you’re hardly the authority on ‘love’ or how those chose to manifest it.

Yes, he is my friend. A very good friend at that. Wouldn't I be a terrible friend in turn if I don’t stop him from making a monumental mistake? You counter your first thought.

Having just come off the cusp of the second most serious relationship of your life, a run that lasted the better part of a decade, perhaps you’re not the of an unbiased mindset.

Your only saving grace was that you hadn’t married the shrew when the opportunity presented itself to propose. Had you done so your life would be immeasurably worse. Already, without legalities at her disposal, the wretch was trying to take ownership of the shared home you’d had, of your dog and several expensive appliances that were bought with joint funds.

Speaking up when the audience is permitted to do so would be the gracious thing, wouldn’t it? After all, Jim doesn’t deserve the pain that harpy will undoubtedly cast upon him in the years to come.

As if reading your mind, Todd, your mutual friend with Jim, clears his throat. You glare at him while trying to simultaneously figure out where in the rambling lecture the officiant is so you can time your objection just right.

“You’re scowling,” he mutters in a sing-song tone under his breath.

“And?” You sneer.

“You promised Jim this morning you weren’t going to say anything or do anything to disrupt his big day with Terri. If you’ve forgotten that, I can do my job and take you outside like a spoiled brat like I promised Jim this morning.” He threatens casually.

Gritting your teeth, you turn your attention back to the altar, where Jim is softly intoning words of love and unending devotion to a nice enough girl that he barely knows at all.

It’s not your place. You told him already he’s making a mistake and it’s one he wants to make with a smile on his face. You remind yourself, hands balling into fists on your lap.

“Don’t bother, I’ll take myself out.” You growl, restraining yourself enough to stoop instead of stand, not wanting to draw attention to yourself or directly impede anyone watching the farce at the front of the room.

You don’t run but your walk isn’t leisurely as you leave the chapel and go to the front stoop of this house of lies. It’s hard to be clear-headed in the wake of your own pain. How could you have thought you were ready for this, ready to sit by and watch a friend destroy his own life?

You cover your face outside a church and debate on just leaving altogether.

Not that you have anywhere to go.

With Harly taking your home it’s Jim who allowed you to stay in his home. He’s even switching over his lease to you, so you don’t have to hunt for an apartment again, as soon as he finishes tying the knot (the knot of his own noose more like), he’s going to move there with her and of course, you’ve been enlisted to help in his move.

It’s the least you could do after all.

You’re no stranger to bouts of crying, not lately in any case, you like to pride yourself in how quietly you’ve managed to do so in most cases. Surely you could go back in there and pass it off as ‘happy weeping’ but what would be the point?

What’s the point of anything?

You might as well just wait until his damned reception was over so you could at least say you had been there, ‘to support him’, as Todd would say.

It isn’t long before the doors open and at the front of the door are the now-married couple with the officiant, greeting those as they left with hugs and shaking of hands.

“Thank you so much for coming.”

“It was a beautiful service.”

“Congratulations to you both.”

On and on they go. You decide to skulk off to your car, not wanting to shake hands and lie to your dear friend about any perceived joy about this wretched affair. You drive to the reception hall in silence, not even bothering with the radio.

Music has lost its melody; foods have lost their taste. It’s been this way for months. You keep waiting for “it to get better” as everyone says it will but it never does. You’re no longer taken by anger as you were in the beginning, now only sorrowful.

You’d thought you could do this; you thought you could be surrounded by Jim and others and all this notion of “lasting love” and “living a life together” but all it’s done is twist the knife.

You feel as though you’re in a fog from the time you arrived till the time it now is, with people dancing and eating and laughing.

You’re sitting at a table with Jim’s cousins, Todd, and a few others you don’t care to know, half-heartedly contributing to conversation but ultimately lost in your own grief.

“-really who can say who’s more lucky you know? She’s getting a great guy and he’s getting a beautiful gal with smarts.” One of Jim’s cousins proclaims loudly before downing his third pint.

You poke a bit more at the pork chop on your plate to give the illusion of eating, how much longer is it?

“And what about you sourpuss? You gonna go out there and find a good girl?” he says abruptly.

You glance up, then back to your food. “No.” you say softly, shoving a piece of meat in your mouth to keep from following that statement up with any of your ‘depressing notions’ as Todd calls it.

“No? You sure lad? There’s a number of pretty girls walkin’ around here. Young and ripe and waitin’ for the pickin’!” he nearly shouts, getting at least two glares from the next table over.

You shrug, not wanting to engage a drunken man with your thoughts. Why bother? He’s beyond reason, everyone is. Every fool here. The thought that just because someone has a nice face or a nice smile is no reason to want to chain yourself to them. It’s all-

“E-excuse me?” someone says just a little too loudly at your back.

You turn and the table turns with you to see a girl, short in stature with long hair pulled back partly in a silver party dress. She’s shaking from head to toe and before you can respond in any fashion, she thrusts a drink out with both hands.

“Um, the social convention is to give someone you find attractive a-a drink, s-so…” she stammers, not looking at your face but at the ground instead.

You blink before lightly taking the glass from her hands. “Erm…”

“Um, yes! Well…bye!” she says and hurriedly turns away to a few tables down where a gaggle of girls are giggling and waiting for her.

You watch her retreating back while the rest of your table laughs out loud.

“Well, would you look at that!”

“Didn’t have to go looking for yourself at all now did you?”

“What a strange little thing, don’t you think?”

Strange, definitely, but not untrue. There was a vulnerability in the girl and her action, the act of reaching out to another with such uncertainty and then hurrying away to safety was…

“Cute, more like.” You say absent-mindedly, before looking down at the drink in question.

You take a sip, an old-fashioned rum and coke. Not a bad drink, certain to go well with most drinkers, and not too heavy or elaborate in taste. It was…cautious.

For the first time in months your thoughts aren’t so glum and in fact, become more curious. What a way to make an impression. For all the talk of confidence being sexy, you find yourself drawn to the hesitant, almost frightened nature of the meeting.

She was being true, not putting on airs or false confidence. In coming with a drink so basic and speaking in such a tone that shows no experience in these types of things, a risk she was probably goaded into making.

Risk.

You haven’t drank the drink, looking at its contents with a sort of dazed mindfulness.

Perhaps…the risk is worth the potential for pain in the eyes of Jim and everyone else. In the eyes of that girl, though she didn’t stand around to be scorned by you, it would be no struggle to laugh at her efforts.

You find yourself glancing off in her direction every so often but don’t make a move to her. You take the ribbing from the table and continue to remain a passive member for quite a while until the evening begins to wind down.

You startle when Todd suddenly grabs your forearm.

“Hey, I know you’re not ready for another relationship and that’s fair, but you’ve been looking at the girl all night. Why don’t you go talk to her?” he says softly, not wanting to draw attention to the conversation and risk more teasing by the rest of the table.

You stammer. “I…I don’t…she’s…”

“You don’t have to ask her to marry you or even go on a date! She could just be a nice person to talk to…” he persists, letting go of your arm and returning his attention to the table. “You are always saying you wish you had someone to talk to.”

You’re grateful for Todd’s discretion and even more so for his words. He’s not wrong. The past few weeks that would be the biggest complaint of your life. You don’t feel comfortable talking to Jim, not with his wedding upcoming and the rest of your friend group is done with listening to you.

What you’ve wanted for some time was someone to be as vulnerable with you as you’ve been feeling for months. Someone open, someone honest.

You don’t intend to stand up but abruptly you are, and you meander over to the table the young woman is sitting at with two other girls, the rest of whom are dancing or have left.

“Excuse me.” You say gently to her back.

She turns and almost immediately flushes while her remaining friends giggle incorrigibly. You ignore them and vaguely gesture around. It’s an outdoor reception, a lovely garden party for this time of year.

“You, fancy taking a walk around with me?” you ask, your gaze cast to the wayside while you scratch the underside of your chin. You don’t want to intimidate her with a full gaze, hell, you’re not even completely sure you want to do this at all.

She glances at her friends who whisper “Go, go, go!” and gesture with their hands for her to get up and leave.

Taking a bit of a breath, she stands and looks up at you with an eager nod. “I…would like that, very much please!”

Completely unconsciously, a smile comes to your lips, and you chuckle at her enthusiasm. It’s so unexpectedly cute, how could you not smile? Like a sudden bout of wind hitting you in the face.

You offer an arm to her, and she hesitantly takes it before you start your way toward a particularly nicely arranged hedge maze.

It’s hardly “true love” or any such thing, but as you walk and talk, you find yourself enjoying this woman’s company. Her manner of speech and honest nature do her a great service in your eyes.

You try not to detail too much the troubles of your own life, instead asking her to share her story, which she does without restraint, occasionally flushing when she’s felt she’s shared too much. There’s a sort of innocence about her that you find very endearing.

It’s odd, but you find yourself wanting to protect that in her and offer a small taste of your own opinions on relationships.

“You need to be careful, Natalie. People aren’t always as kind as you would like or hope them to be. I mean, Jim and Terri love each other sure, but that’s fleeting. They’re more likely to get hurt by this union than to prosper from it.” You sigh, turning your gaze to the sky above and the setting sun.

You hold your breath, waiting for the disparaging remark or exasperation you’ve come to expect when you tell people your thoughts on the matter.

She surprises you when she gives a slight nod. “You’re not entirely wrong, this new budding feeling they have, it probably won’t feel like that forever.” Then she smiles. “But if they work at it, like they promised each other to do at the church, it could be even better than now! They just have to keep at it and keep talking. They say relationships often die in silence you know.”

That was unexpected. And also quite true. At least, in your experience with Harly. You can recall it all, months before the breakup, she would come home, kiss you, and then become glued to her device of choice. Computer, phone, television. You would ask how her day was, she would say fine.

It was silence that killed your relationship and your inability to get her to engage with you. You would argue that you tried, that you would set up dates that would fall prey to that silence, you would prattle endlessly about your job, your interests, anything you could think of and she would be dismissive.

Then, you stop trying.

And then it was over.

You glance down at Natalie. “You don’t think it’s a bit naïve to think that way?”

She gives a hapless shrug. “Maybe. I haven’t had many boyfriends myself or anything, but I’ve been on my share of dates. The quickest way to know it’s a dud is when we’re not saying anything.”

“And what would you say of those who don’t speak much out of choice? Those who find endless chatter to be grating?” you press.

She grins at that. “Oh, you can say a lot without saying anything I’ve found. But that’s not enough. If you want something to go somewhere you have to talk. We’re not telepathic you know?”

You nod as the two of you make your way back to the table. “Thank you, for walking with me.” You say distantly, still mulling over her words.

She giggles. “Thank you for taking me along. I liked talking with you. If you uh, wanna talk some more, I can give you my phone number. If you like.”

You glance down at her offered phone and then back at her. Her eyes are shining with the light of the fairy lights strung about, her smile is open but a little nervous.

Something about it all makes your heart beat a bit quicker and you take her phone in your hand, entering your name and number.

Her smile widens to an all-out grin and the effect has another laugh bubbling out of your chest.

“Great! I’ll text you right now, so you can save my number.” She gushes, taking her phone back and sending you a message.

You chuckle when you open it up and then save her contact in front of her. “Thank you, this was…nice.”

You turn and leave, trying not to wince at the chorus of squeals from the table you leave her at, and head up to the wedding table where Jim is sitting with his bride.

He grins at your approach. “Hey buddy! Having a good time?”

An unconscious smile comes to your lips. “Actually, yeah, I am. But I think I’m going to call it for the night, mind if I head off?”

He stands and pats you on the back. “Not at all, mate! Glad you came out. I know it wasn’t easy for you. I’m gonna be hanging out with Terri for the next few days, we wanna get some time together before we start bringing all my junk over, but feel free to call me if you need!”

You nod and offer a smile over to Terri over his shoulder. “Didn’t get a chance to say so earlier, but congratulations. To both of you.”

She smiles. “Thank you. Congrats to you too. Natalie is a really nice girl.”

You fluster. “We’re not…I mean, we just talked!”

She shrugs. “It all starts somewhere. Just go easy on her if you’re not looking for the real thing. She’s a bit of a romantic.”

You gap a bit before pulling it together and giving Jim a hardy handshake. “Right. Well, goodnight.”

As you ride off in your car you shake your head at Terri’s implication. It’s hardly the start of some grand romance, just a talk and a walk with a girl.

A kind girl…a girl with an open heart and sparkling eyes…

On a whim, you reach for the radio nob. You hadn’t bothered with it for months because why bother with anything, right?

It’s a little alarming to you then, when the music begins to play and you don’t feel that it’s incessant noise. Quite the contrary in fact.

You sing along softly as you make your way home.