Over the years, many devotees of J’s music have gotten in touch with him when their weddings are in the larval stage, asking if he’s available to put some musical colors onto the ceremony’s wings. Wedding singer gigs are usually more lucrative than busking, but J does not charge much for these efforts if (like Jun and Arthur) the couples are of modest means. Undoubtedly if you asked J as he waits for the urinal why he is here, he would answer, “Because of my song ‘If You Ever Need a Stranger (to Sing at Your Wedding).’ They were strangers. I am singing at their wedding.”
Still, there’s more to it than that. J just doesn’t see it yet.
Instead he sees Arthur adjusting himself back into his underwear and Jun angling to take his own turn at the urinal.
“J!” Arthur calls out. “We’re so glad you’re here! We’d shake your hand, but I think it would be best if we washed off first. It’s really hard to piss in this tuxedo!”
“It’s wonderful to be here,” J says, maneuvering around the pair to get to a stall that has freed up. “It’s quite a crowd.”
Jun and Arthur finish their effluent business by the time J finishes his own. They wait as he washes his hands, then wrap him in a two-armed, three-legged hug. When they step back, they take a look at what J’s wearing: a deep-red beret and a wine-dark shirt covered in balloons, a number of which have already been popped.
“Oh, dear,” Jun murmurs sympathetically.
In keeping with the wedding’s theme, J had planned to be dressed as Nena’s eighties classic “99 Luftballons,” even though (a) only about sixteen luftballons fit on his shirt and (b) the song in its original German is about a group of fighter jets that open fire on balloons they’ve mistaken for UFOs, starting a ruinous military spiral that leads to a world where “99 Jahre Krieg lieBen keinen Platz für Sieger”—“99 years of wars have left no place for winners.”
“What happened?” Arthur asks, assessing the red rubber carnage.
“Your nephews,” J answers. (The nephews are aged ten, six, and five, and collectively dressed as Kung Fu Fighting; the balloons didn’t stand a chance.)
Worried that his truthfulness has brought down the mood as only, say, the last lines of “99 Luftballons” can, J adds, “But it’s okay! I can be ‘Raspberry Beret’ instead.” (“Raspberry Beret” ends in a world where “I think I love her.” Better.)
“A Prince and two queens!” Jun exclaims.
Arthur groans, but there is affection in his protest.
J smiles at the sight of them in their absurd tuxedo. It is not the kind of smile that needs any thought behind it. His heart has grown so full that his mouth must lift.
The word for what he feels istenderness.
Thatis the true reason he’s here.
There are a few standard questions J asks couples when trying to write their wedding song. But mostly, he improvises. He can measure immediately whether both people in the couple want him to be there, or whether only one of them is a fan and the other is merely humoring. If both are into it, the process begins.
J always starts with a simple question: “How did you meet?” (For Jun and Arthur, at a museum installation; Jun was the artist, and Arthur was doing the installing.) Then he might progress to “What did your friends first think of the two of you together?” or “What was your favorite date, from early on?” After that: free swim. “What’s the stupidest fight you’ve ever had?” or “What’s your favorite piece of his clothing?” or “What habit of hers went away after she met you?” Jun and Arthur talked a lot about the challenges of queer romance, how in their youth it felt antisocial to not be hedonistic, and how settling down now feels like a betrayal of youth, to some degree.
“So what does this wedding mean to you?” J asked.
“Well, it all comes down to Plato’sSymposium,” Arthur replied.
“Not to be confused with Plato’s Retreat,” Jun added, snickering.
Arthur pressed on. “Correct.Symposium. I’m sure you heard about it in school and thought it was boring beyond words, but it’s actually amazing, in a funny and touching way. It’s a bunch of Greek guys who come together, get absolutely wasted, and talk about love.”
Jun picked up the thread. “Aristophanes, a comedy writer who’s probably the drunkest of them all, recovers from his hiccups long enough to tell this story of how humans used to have doubled bodies. There were three different kinds: the double males who were from the Sun, the double females who were from Earth, and the androgynous who were half man and half woman and lived on the Moon.”
“The double humans started to mess with the gods, and Zeus got angry and decided to split them all in half—”
“—You probably know this part fromHedwig—”
“Can I finish? So, yes, Zeus split them up. But he did nothing to erase their memories.Ourmemories. So each of us walks around the earth looking for our other half.”
“And now I’ve found mine.”
“And I, mine.”
“So the wedding is when we’re scheduled to have the surgery to be connected again.”
They then explained to J their idea for the double suit.
