Train Wreck

Unnngahhhh. I’m alive again.

Barely.

My head is wedged under a dump truck. Pretty sure I’m weeping blood. And dear God, the back of my throat feels like I’ve gargled with squirrel turds. Especially nutty ones.

I turn on to my back and wait… this memory foam is not remembering me. Whose bed is this?

This is not my night attire. I usually wear the teeshirt from the day before and occasionally go to the effort of adding PJ pants. But this shirt is a different fabric altogether. And. Oh no. Man sized.

Underwear?

I can neither confirm nor deny.

I unwedge one eye lid squinting upwards.

This is not my ceiling.

This is not my bedroom.

Only one explanation. I’ve been kidnapped and I’m too darn hungover to do a thing about it.

But there is a tickle of a memory. I push it away. No. No. Too soon. But all the same I hear an echo of a conversation, whispering deep, deep in my subconsciousness. Regrettably just loud enough to be heard.

“Girl, no one goes to their ex’s wedding.”

Hedda. My step-brother. Now my step-sister. Or is she still my step-brother but with the buried name of George. Whatever. All power to her.

Considering pronouns and dead names distracts me for a few seconds before I hear her voice echoing in my head.

“You’re still in pieces from the breakup. Do not accept that wedding invitation, you hear me?”

“Mature adults move on and are happy for their partners. Your Dad went to your mother’s fourth wedding.” Precedent.

“Only because they forgot they had been married.” Hedda is a stickler for detail sometimes. “And you have not moved on. No way. No how. Give it up, honey.”

Wedding.

I sit bolt upright.

Leo’s wedding. Leo, love of my life, marrying perfect Ariel. Would I have been stupid enough to subject myself to witnessing that?

They sent me an invitation. Of course they did. Because Ariel is a honey, a sweetie and assumes everyone else lives the same charmed life she does. She hasn’t experienced anything like the pain I felt when Leo left me. She has been adored and showered with admiration from the time she sprang from a goddamn seashell or wherever she washed up from.

Here is how I imagined it would go.

I would rock up looking wonderfully carefree and single. Having the time of my life, Leo. Thank you for setting me free. And if anyone deserves domestic bliss with the perfect Stepford Wife its you.

His banker (with a silent w) friends who looked down on me the entire time we were together would be wowed at my reinvention. They would queue up to dance with me. Ariel would still be radiant because sunshine beams from her pores twenty four seven, but even soI would see Leo cast a wistful glance at me, thinking of what might have been.

I would have closure.

I would dance home and sleep with slice of wedding cake under my pillow and dream of my perfect single childless girl life. Me, Mary Tyler Moore, Carrie Bradshaw and Jan Brady living a fast paced life of career, dating and comedic moments. Hells yeah.

“Love is all around no need to waste it” I tell myself and leap out of bed and fling a cushion to the ceiling. “You can have this town why don’t you take it.”

I spin around and regret the move because the world takes a while to catch up.

“You’re going to make it after all,” a tenor voice chimes in and I freeze. I’m standing in front of the mirror looking not dissimilar from Tom Cruise in Risky business. Billowing white shirt, slightly muddy socks and although not wearing Ray Bans I have a panda effect going on with besmirched liquid eyeliner.

Behind me stands a man, who I assume is my kidnapper, holding a giant coffee mug wearing a grin stretched from one ear to the other.

I consider making my escape, but decide that can wait until after I’ve glugged down some of that black coffee he is holding.

“Aspirin?” He asks casually and I gobble down three. “Water?” He asks. “No, I see you’re skipping all niceties.”

He hands me the coffee mug and nods towards the door.

“There’s more in the kitchen when you feel like getting up.”

He leaves me to drink my coffee and find my clothes. No luck on the clothes front. I find a pair of running shorts and pull the tie tight and slip out of my business shirt attire into a tee shirt with a picture of a Harley Davidson and the legend, “ride hard”.  That might be a conversation opener to be ascertain exactly what went down last night.

I deal to the panda rings in the ensuite bathroom and borrow a toothbrush. That’s slightly better. 

But not much. I’m pale and interesting. More typhoid Mary than Mary Tyler Moore.

I weave my way to the kitchen where he is whipping up a concoction of tomato juice, Worcester sauce and lemon.

“No vodka,” he says as if he read my mind.

I hold out the shirt I was wearing. “Is this…uh… yours?” I ask.

He nods. “You can keep it if you want.”

“I’ll uh, have it laundered,” I say. “And these,” I indicate the borrowed shorts and tee shirt. “And, just wondering, um, did you remove my clothes?” He nods with a smile starting to ooze across his face, dimples dig in and it occurs to me, he is very good looking and I kind of wish I remembered his name. His eyes are brown. A deep aged whisky brown. Like a basset hound. His hair is down to his shoulders, flicked behind his ears.

“And uh…did… I mean, its not that I can’t remember exactly, I just want to be absolutely clear on detail, did…”

“You probably don’t remember because I had to carry you up here,” he pushes the virgin Mary towards me. “Drink, it’s a failsafe hangover cure.”

I glance past him through the window. It’s a wonderful view across the city, so I assume we are several floors up.

“When you say carry…”

“The lift was out,” he says and flexes unnecessarily.

I take a sip of his failsafe hangover cure and it appears it does not work instantly.

“Let me get this straight,” I say. “You had to carry me up here and then you undressed me anyway, you neanderthal.”

“Well given you threw up all over your pretty frock as soon as we got out of the cab,” he says as my head hits the table in shame. “I kind of thought you might appreciate it.” He smiles. “I’ll bring it back laundered.”

“And we met…” I say with upward inflection indicating I have no recollection of how we might have met but I can hear Hedda in my head saying “Wedding. Wedding. Wedding. Do not go. Do not.”

“My sister’s wedding,” he says. “Ariel and Leo your ex.”

“Oh no,” I whimper. “What did I say to you?”

“To me,” he says. “To the best man, when you insisted on delivering a reply to his speech, to the entire guest list during the karaoke …”

Oh dear God, shoot me now. Not Karaoke.

He chuckles at my stricken expression. It appears Leo is not the only man in my life with a sadistic sense of humour. I can add whatever his name is to the list.

He hums a couple of notes and then sings, “You never close your eyes any more when I kiss your lips…”

“I didn’t,” I whisper.

“Oh, baby, something beautiful’s dying,” he says gleefully. 

No, no, no, no.

He moves over to me and squeezes my shoulders as if we are good pals, although I still do not recall being introduced.

“You got an encore,” he says. “The first stanza was a little watery but we dueted, remember?” I shake my head. “Bring back that lovin’feelin’” he warbles. He does have a nice voice.

“And the speech?” I ask with a shiver.

“I found it hilarious,” he says, clinking my glass. “Leo, not so much. The little rap you did at the end was absolutely the highlight of the evening for me.”

“I did a rap?” I asked.

I fall silent and try to recall just how humiliated I should feel. Flashback after flashback comes back and although I am fairly certain I’m only recalling about ten percent of the experience, I am utterly humiliated.

“I’ll have to apologise,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to show up and make a scene. I swear. I was actually invited.”

Ariel is tall, willowy, model like. She is perfection squeezed into a size 8 Khaite designer wear. Birds appear whenever she’s near. She is flawless.

I spent too much time away from Leo. We broke up and I thought that once I got through everything I’d have another chance but he met her and when I met her, I understood. End of.

“I really wanted to wish them well. It was my fault Leo and I broke up. I was away a lot… Andy,” I say as the name pops into my head.

“Ah there you go,” he says. “Starting to come back isn’t it?”

Flashback. Leo greets me outside the church and he seems happy to see me. He leans towards me to whisper...

I hope and hope and hope. He is going to say, “This is all a terrible mistake. How do I get out of this.”

What he actually says is:

“You know, it was for the best you had that miscarriage. I didn’t know what love was, until I met Ariel.”

I’m frozen. I’m not in pain. I’m numb.

“Imagine if we’d had children.”

Flashback, later in the evening. I’m sitting on Andy’s lap. We are seated at the naughty children’s table at the reception. I’m knocking back JD straight from the bottle.

“I get it,” I’m telling him trying to be a good sport. “I’m a mess. My Dad died then a few months later my Mom died. Then the miscarriage. It was all too much for Leo. But damn…”

Andy takes the bottle from me and puts it on the table and pats my back.

“She’s perfect. He’s perfect. Its right that they’re together,” I tell Andy. He opens his mouth to say something but I leap up in excitement. “Karaoke? There’s Karaoke? Awesome!”

And now. Andy. Assigned the job of cleaning up the calamity of an ex girlfriend who was invited out of politeness but showed up anyway.

“Sorry, bud,” I say patting his hand. “I lost it a little. I loved Leo so much and I screwed it up pretty much like I screw up everything. The world is still turning. The stars are in alignment. Its as things should be. Leo and Ariel are together and, you know, I’m going to …” I pause. Do what?

Andy leaves me to turn over the flashbacks trying to find something a little more palatable.

“It was lucky that I had the miscarriage,” I say. I’m not so numb now. I ache. And the pain is insufferable. He hadn’t understood what love was until he dumped me.

“Hey,” Andy says. “I know what he said to you. He deserves my sister for saying that. She isn’t perfect. Far from it. And they deserve each other. It wasn’t your fault. You were looking after your terminally ill mother.”

“I told you that too?” Oh my God, I’m pathetic. “I’m not looking for sympathy. I wanted to look after her. But I neglected Leo, I'm pretty bad at balancing things…” I shrug.

“I believe you didn’t come to the wedding to create all the …er … disruption that happened,” a slight smile starts up but he pulls back before the dimples set in when he sees my expression. 

I shrug. “He didn’t love me. I get that now. I guess there’s something I got out of this whole disaster. I’ll send something to say sorry, I dunno, what do you send people in a situation like this?”

“A dead rat?” says Andy. “Look, you have been treated badly. You don't owe an apologies. They got together months before you knew. While you were looking after your mother, Leo was cheating on you with Ariel.” I start to argue but my heart drops. He has no stake in lying. “Ariel invited you just to make sure you knew she’d won.”

There’s a long pause while I reflect what the moral of this sorry story is.

Andy takes pity on me, or feels my pain, but decides to spoil my virgin Mary with vodka.

“I guess I can accept I don’t have to be perfect, Ariel isn’t perfect, I can settle for less than perfect.”

Andy gives a sharp laugh. “Girl, not perfect? You’re a trainwreck!”

I clink glasses with him. “So what got you sitting at the naughty kids table with me?”

Andy takes a long gulp straight from the bottle of vodka. “Have you got time for a long story?”

“All I have is time,” I tell him. “Certainly don’t have anything in the way of pride left, so tell me your story. I’m all ears.”