June 23, 2018
Hyannis, Massachusetts
Brandon Goodwin could feel it coming.
In less than thirty minutes, the ceremony would begin, and his fantasy would come to an end. He couldn't bear it. This whole thing was just too damn much.
He quietly excused himself and went to the downstairs bathroom of St. Francis Xavier Parish. He rested his head on the side of the stall and waited for the panic to leave his mind. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes. The demon in his brain seemed to take forever to go away. A part of him wanted to laugh. He shouldn't be panicking, he thought to himself. He should be happy for them, not sad for himself.
Finally, the demon in his mind fled, and he tried to compose himself. It wouldn't be so bad, he thought.
Then he flashed back to his first day at Archbishop Williams High School, in the fall of 2003. The first day he met Mary Ellen Shaw and fell so hard for her...and also met Brian Hughes, who became his best friend. He found himself hating that day. He wished his parents had never put him in that goddamn school. Then he wouldn't have wound up here.
Brandon took a deep breath and returned to the pew. There was a white woman and a black woman now seated in front of him, both around his age, both deep in conversation. He could only see the backs of their heads, but the black woman had long, permed black hair and the white woman's hair was shoulder-length, blonde and curly. They were whispering about something.
The ceremony soon began, and Brandon put on the best acting job he could, feigning happiness as he saw Brian walk down the aisle. Brian actually stopped to give him a fist-bump, and Brandon gave him a thumbs-up as he made his way towards the altar. There was another gesture he wanted to make, but it wouldn't be appropriate.
Then, the end of the fantasy. Mary Ellen walked down the aisle, escorted by her father Martin. Brandon put his head down slightly. He couldn't bear to watch this. Suddenly, it was 2003 all over again. And '04. And '05. And '06. And graduation day, class of 2007.
He never had a shot at her. He never had a chance. She was from the part of Dorchester where the Sullivans and McDonoughs and O'Toole's lived. He was from the part of Dorchester that always seemed to make the first five minutes of the eleven o'clock news. If he ever tried to let her know how he felt, she would have either said no, or she would have said yes and Martin would have forced her to change her mind.
"That dress is gorgeous," he heard the white woman in front of him say in a distinct accent.
Maybe it was, but Brandon couldn't determine for himself. At least not yet.
The old priest, a bearded fellow who couldn't have been more than five feet tall, began the ceremony, and when he came to the part where he asked if anyone objected and to speak now or forever hold their piece, Brandon rolled his tongue into the roof of his mouth. He couldn't ruin this moment, as much as he wanted to.
Then came the exchange of vows, and Brandon finally looked up. Mary Ellen was even more beautiful now than she was during her days at Archbishop Williams. She was so tall and slender, with light-brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. She wore an intricately embroidered strapless lace wedding dress; the sight of her pale shoulders through her veil was beautiful and brutal at the same time. For years after they had both graduated from Archbishop Williams, Brandon had dreamed of what it would be like to kiss those shoulders, to run his fingers through her hair, to have a child or two or three with this lovely young woman. He'd never get the chance. Not now.
When the priest told Brian he could kiss the bride, Brandon wanted to die. This church felt like hell. He didn't dare look up. He didn't want the image of Brian kissing Mary Ellen to be in his memory; it would bring nothing but tortuous pain, he thought.
"Awww," said the white woman in front of him, again in a noticeable accent.
Brian and Mary Ellen walked up the aisle, and the new husband again gave Brandon a fist-bump. "See you at the reception!" he yelled. Mary Ellen never even bothered to look at him.
Brandon nodded, and rose again from the pew to head to the bathroom. All the stalls were now occupied. Jeez, he thought, I just can't catch a break.
-
"Wi-Fi sucks, eh?"
There was that accent again. It was the same white woman who was in front of Brandon when his life ended.
Brandon turned around and looked directly at the woman for the first time. She bore a strong resemblance to Rebel Wilson, and sounded a bit like her; Brandon thought that she was no Mary Ellen, but she was quite cute, with a flawless complexion and a nice smile. Her light pink dress seemed to make her figure even fuller and sexier; he couldn't help glancing twice at her cleavage.
"Yeah, I'm trying to get another Uber to take me to Scudder Avenue, but yeah, the Wi-Fi's out."
"I can give you a Lyft. Get it?"
Brandon laughed. "That's a good one."
The Rebel lookalike waved him over to the parking lot, and after a minute she located her black Prius.
"Nice ride."
"Thanks," she replied. "Wish it was a Tesla, but that's a bit out of my price range. I figured this was good for the climate, and good for my purse, too!"
"Good point," he noted as they climbed in.
Brandon couldn't help glancing at her cleavage again.
"So, did you like it?" she asked.
"The wedding? Ah, it was all right."
"All right? I thought it was beautiful! I'd love to have a wedding like that."
