[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he day of my wedding I woke up hungry. Deathly hungry. By lunchtime, it was life threatening. I got a bacon cheeseburger, two orders of fries, and a milkshake to-go. Then, I parked on the beach and wolfed it down.

I noticed my hands were shaking.

I glanced at the tuxedo hanging in the backseat of my truck. The suit was one size too small. I didn’t know a thing about tuxes. I wished my father had been alive, maybe he would’ve known about them. He might’ve picked out a decent one. Or taught me how to put the damn thing on.

Who was I to decide on wardrobe? I would’ve rather had somebody assign me a costume. Like in our grade-school pageants. Back then, Miss Pam gave me the same stinky costume year after year. I was always the one in the tunic.

Holding a shepherd’s crook.

That evening, I arrived at the wedding chapel after sunset. I was greeted by Jamie’s daddy, and my uncle. They stood on the front stoop, eyeing their watches. They looked more awkward in their suits than I did.

“What’n the hell?” Jamie’s daddy squinted at me. “You got your vest all catty-wampus.”


“Get over here,” he said. “Don’t you know how to dress?”

I guess not.

The two of them stripped me down right there in the parking lot.

“Hold still,” Jamie’s daddy said. “We’re going to make you look pretty, son.”

I know it was only figure of speech.

But it’d been a long time since anyone called me son.

Leave a Comment