A Messy Thing

Statement of Stewart Forsyth. Male. 34. Insurance Adjuster.

She fell.

No, I didn't follow her. I was there because she invited me. I'd actually made a point to avoid her that night, until she approached me.

This wedding had been postponed so many times. First by the bride, then the groom, then COVID. I thought we’d be giving eulogies before wedding toasts, so when it finally happened all the groomsmen made a pact to focus on celebrating the bride and groom. No distractions. No chasing women.

And in walks the maid of honor.

She has this curled, sandy hair. This blue floral dress. Those “fuck you” designer sunglasses. Someone messes up in their toast and says the bride was the high school valedictorian when it was her. So she's smart. Then she gets up there and gives this toast about how she and the bride volunteered at the local hospice home when both their parents died. So she's caring. And she cracks these jokes, I can't remember what they were, but I remember I laughed. So she's funny too.

But I stuck to the pact. I danced. I did the chair thing with the bride and groom. And I didn't say a word to her. Like I said, she approached me.

After the band did their final encore, she comes over to me with a bottle of Tito's she snatched when the bartender wasn't looking. It was an open bar, so doesn't count as the theft, right? She asks if I want to take a stroll. I tried my hardest. I did. But couldn't help myself. I said yes.

The inn sat on top of this hill with a little pond at its base so I suggest we go there, thinking it might be a romantic spot. We follow the trail down and take turns sipping from the bottle. The sky was overcast so it was hard to see, but fireflies lit our path and bull frogs croaked all around us. It was like that scene from The Little Mermaid. The one with the boat and the marshes.

Then there was this crash.

Statement of Madeline Hargreeve. Female. 29. Gallery Curator.

I felt his eyes on me the whole night. From the second the wedding party took pictures, he was watching. Of course, I wanted to do something about it, but not this.

The bride wanted us to date. She thought it would be so great if we married each other's best friends. Everyone I met who's done that is either divorced or insufferably dull.

And if you ask me, he and that whole group of friends is the reason this wedding has been postponed time and time again. She doesn't know if he's husband material, and I don't blame her! I told her I don't like his friends. They're loud. Boisterous. Drink too much. Not a serious bone in their bodies.

And Stewart is the worst of them.

He didn't speak to me, but he crept and peeked, and he thought I didn't notice but, he's a fucking giant! You're not allowed to be a woman in America and not clock all the men in a room that can LITERALLY choke you to death.

I was nervous enough during my toast and he laughed at something that wasn't meant to be a joke. He completely derailed my train of thought. I was so fucking mad. Like his laughter, fake and loud and haughty, would impress me? Oh, thank you for the encouragement. Oh, he can laugh at a woman, what a feminist icon. Bravo, sweety. Bravo.

I tried to ignore him. I tried to enjoy the wedding. But when the music cuts out, he brings over this half-finished bottle of Smirnoff. Who drinks straight Smirnoff?

Psychopaths. That's who.

My first reaction was I didn't want to be alone anywhere near him, until I thought, this is an opportunity. We’ll go down by the water. I’ll prove I'm not afraid of him AND I’ll him on his predatory behavior. And once he’s floundering and defensive, I'll give him a shove and send his ass right into the ponmd. Save the next girl he sets his eyes on the trouble and score a little revenge by shriveling his manhood.

We walk down the hill and its muggy and damp and the mosquitos are everywhere. I can't see my hand in front of my face. When we get to the bottom, I realize the mud's even thicker, so I take off my shoes, and as I pull off the second one, I slip.

The bottle flies out of my hand as I try to catch my balance and it explodes off a rock. He grabs me and I didn't want him to touch me, but I also didn't want to face-plant into the pond. So I grab hold of his arm, thinking he'll hold me up. But he doesn’t. His weight shifts. There is this moment where we're both weightless. This massive, dark silhouette blocks out the moon.

I push him off me before we hit the water and he twists to the side. That's how he hit his head.

Katelyn Nault. Female. Age 25. Wedding Photographer.

Those two made eyes at each other the whole night.

The big guy was drooling all over his tux, and the chick? She loved the attention. She acted like she didn't, but she did.

Look here. This is when she made her awful joke about the bride’s ex-boyfriend. She's smirking just a little because she got a laugh, but it was just a single laugh from him. And here she's glaring across the dance floor hoping to catch him looking, but he's chugging a Bud Light, so she's mad because he's not looking.

And here they're reaching behind the bar to steal a bottle of vodka. They're trying to be subtle, thinking no one notices them, but the bartender's letting it happen and laughing. It's like watching toddlers steal a cookie jar.

They take off down the hill and I know exactly where this is headed because I've seen this movie before. Everyone thinks weddings are magical and beautiful, but that's because the people like me are magicians. If I did documentaries, they'd look more like Ken Burns' Civil War. People with torn clothes, dead eyes, limping along.

They stumble down this hill and it's dark and rocky. I think the hill will get them, but by some miracle they make it to the pond. He turns to her all smooth like he's about to go in for the kiss. She closes her eyes and drops the bottle.

It breaks, of course. She jumps at the sound, like she didn't consider dropping a glass bottle would break, but her heel gets caught in the mud and she pops right out of it. He grabs her arm to help her balance, but he can barely hold himself up right, so they fall.

They go tits over tail into the pond. She gashes her leg on the broken glass, which is definitely infected because that pond is standing water. He smacks his head against a rock and it sounds like a coconut against wood. Thunk. I doubt he had much up there to start, but there's definitely less now.

He's face down in the water. She's wailing. Everyone from the wedding comes rushing to help and someone calls 911. Ugly, messy, and embarrassing, but nothing sinister. Just another wedding mishap.

It’s a surprisingly gruesome profession.

I’m willing to bet once they both get discharged from the hospital, they go on a second date too. They deserve each other.