“i never looked for an invitation from her in the mail but that’s probably because for the longest time i didn’t even know she was getting married. it’s only through us knowing mutual people, and one of those people mentioning it to me that i even know that she had found somebody else after me. but i’m going to the wedding, invited or not; we have unfinished business and there are things i've held on to that i need to get off my chest. so...in a moment reminiscent of the wedding scene in “the graduate”, i profess my undying love to a woman minutes away from promising herself to another. in front of hundreds of their friends and family, some people i know, but most i don’t, i spill my guts, laying the whole damn deck on the table. stuff like how i never stopped loving her and that we’re always and forever. i’m somewhere in the middle of my diatribe when i notice her husband-to-be; dude’s a teapot and steam’s coming out of both ears. i look into his eyes and i can read his thoughts; “today may have started with a wedding but it's gonna end with a funeral”. he’s cracking his knuckles; warming up his fists for my nose and mouth. i had fucked up; bad, and he’s going to make my face "exhibit a" of just how bad. he advances in my direction but she stops him before he can reach the first pew. she’s fighting her tears as retraces the steps she had taken not fifteen minutes earlier, back down the aisle and to the entrance of the church where i am standing, while hundreds of open mouths and confused eyes follow her. she moves deliberately; despite crying uncontrollably with every step. i stand waiting, nervous, as she approaches me because i honestly don’t know how to interpret what i see before me. she’s still weeping; but i can’t tell if it’s because the words i’ve spoken have touched a part of her heart that i still occupy or because maybe, just maybe, i’ve just ruined what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. i feel kinda bad because i can’t read her, not the way i used to be able to, but the deed's done now. the minister made the mistake of asking if anyone objected to the marriage; and while i didn’t actually say “don’t marry him”, the door had been opened and i stepped the fuck through it by telling the multitude of people there how i feel about her. finally, she reaches me and we stand face-to-face for what can only be an instant, but instants between us tend to become frozen, and this seems like another still-life moment, the kind we used to share when we were together. everyone else in the chapel fades away; and in the photograph there’s no fiancé, no preacher, no 4-piece orchestra, no three-year-old prospecting for gold in his nose as his mother walks him down the aisle with the ring; only we remain and only heartbeats can be heard. once again, she and i are together. me, bummy; dressed in a wrinkled black “dickies” shirt and pants. her, stunning; in a white “vera wang” gown, strapless, with thousands of beads adorning it. her dream dress was a five-figure dress; her veil, four; and i look like i just got off work at a meat plant or a box store. she’s beautiful, even more so than the vision of her i used to have where we were the ones promising ourselves to one another before god. but that was a dream from a past life. langston hughes once asked, “what happens to a dream deferred?”; and i guess my answer would be “this scene from “jerry springer” you’re witnessing right now langston.” we put off loving one another for so long that we moved on to loving other people. and having never gotten closure on “us”, one final, desperate attempt at regaining what we once had was inevitable. anyway, as we stand face-to-face, the seriousness of the situation brings to me back to the reality before me. i notice that her tears have smeared makeup that at one time had been flawless and i feel ashamed because of it. she reaches out to me, pulling me close enough that our foreheads touch for a moment. then she whispers something inaudible into my ear. i’m still trying to figure out what she said when she takes a step back from me, cocking her hand back behind her as far as she can; she’s looking for maximum impact when her fingers hit my face. she slaps the shit out of me, i literally have her fingerprints embedded into the skin of my cheek. and as i’m recovering from the sting of it, i fail to notice that her dude hasn’t stayed where he had been earlier. he’s advanced on me and before i can bring my hand to rub the pain away, he hits me with a two-piece; a cross to the mouth and a hook to the gut. i double over, blood dripping down from my mouth, onto my chin, and then pooling on the carpet. he moves in to finish me off with a knockout blow and this time she doesn't even attempt to stop him. i look at her looking at me and i see disconnect in her eyes; and i realize what it is: there's no me in her anymore. if i was looking for closure, then her allowing this ass-whooping to take place is the ending to the story we'd left incomplete. and there's pain in knowing that, a far greater pain than the beating i've received. he's prepared to hit me again as i manage to pull myself to my knees. i'm leaned back, laughing; the bloodiest, toothiest smile on my face. "what the fuck you smiling for nigga? fuck you nigga!" he lines me up and fires another right at my jaw. then another. but i can't stop laughing. i'm getting my ass kicked, in a church no less, and this shit is hilarious to me; which pisses him off royally. "fuck you bitch!"; and in an instant he's snatched me up by the collar. "nigga, you a crazy mufucka!"; i'm still smiling as i spit more blood onto the floor. two more shots, both to the jaw, and he drops me for a final time. he's still shaking his head as she comes closer to where we are. i'm curled up in the fetal position, bleeding; he's over me and she's moved next to my crumpled body. grabbing the ends of her dress to keep them from getting ruined by my blood, she bends down over me and whispers more inaudible somethings into my ear. then she gets up, takes her man by the arm, and starts to walk away...well, she is walking away until she turns around to come back and kick me in the groin. ahh...closure; fitting, 'cause nothing says we're over like a kick to the groin. i stop smiling then; i always say i "piss excellence" but i'm pretty sure i won't be pissing anything but blood for a while."
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