Wedding Day. Part One.

I sit, drink coffee, bite on a piece of toast and read the paper. Front page is about Whitewater, the new Russian government, and something about the costs of the LA subway. I think about the old train tracks that are disappearing into the ground throughout Los Angeles. If you pay attention at certain intersections, you'll notice old train signage and perhaps the black and white stripes of a train warning system and lights. But most have been stolen. All over the city I imagine boys' rooms with train signs acquired for the risk and kept as trophies. Young men, exercising their testosterone.

And then I think of blind Father Feenan. He is still alive in my mind.

The phone rings. "Hello...no dad, I haven't seen Donna. I'm not going to jinx the day. Why don't you get here around 11:30. Yeah, I'll be ready." The phone then continually rings with miscellaneous wedding questions, "Where's the church? And the reception? Should we bring the presents to the church? Can we bring our cousin who's visiting?"

I stop answering the phone and jump in the shower.

*****

Dad and I arrive at the church. Jesus, there are a lot of people standing outside and I have no idea who the hell they are. I think I see Rush Limbaugh but my father assures me that's a figment of my mind. And I think, why?

We park and head for the side door. I notice a bar on the other side of the alley behind the church. An old man stands outside drinking a Bud. Once inside the church, we head for the backroom without looking around, but when the door shuts behind me, I glance back to see a vivid and saturated glimpse of them, and my body momentarily paralyzes. Fran and Drew on the groom's side, alone, in the front row.

Oh boy, I think. I can't go through with this, not with them watching. No way possibly can I go through with this. And again I think of blind Father Feenan and I hear him say, "That is God's gift, time." I think that's what I need, time. I see a small door in the corner that leads to the alley. Time. A clock reads, "11:45." Already time is passing. Dad sits comfortably, breathing easy, in one of four leather guest chairs that are placed in some strategic form. At least that's what I think. I see the door. It's a glass door covered in sheers and the sun beams through leaving zebra shadows on the yellow parquet floor. Time. He says something clearly, but I hear it only as a mumble. I start to shake, "Listen dad, I got to go the bathroom."

"You all right?" His look of worry does not go unnoticed.

"Yeah, I just got to whiz." And I head straight for the glowing door to the alley.

"Hey, the bathroom is..."

I quickly turn and say before he can finish his sentence, "I'll be back, I just got to take a whiz." And I leave.

The alley is in need pavement. Loose dirt clings to my black tuxedo pants. Small stones fall in the crevices of my shoes and I happily accept them. They feel part of me.

The bar is about 50 feet away and I can see the old man swishing the last sip of beer in his mouth and spits it out. It looks like he is waiting for me, and I nod hello. Eagerly, he waves back. I feel like I am in the back woods of West Virginia, where everyone knows everyone and he is someone I know. When I reach him, he slaps me on the back, and tells me to buy him a beer. "Sure, I say, no problem." He is dirty, but I like him already. He reminds me of someone.