“Gaydies and lentlemen, let’s hear it for Detroit and Skye!”
The crowd whoops. Some sound more caustic than enthusiastic.
“I am so happy to be joining these two in holy matricide!” Sarah proclaims, then stops for a second to cough. “In our humble community of artists, it’s always especially touching when two of our own pair up. Because you know the saying: There’s nothing more stable than two artists dating, unless you count nuclear war. But I don’t mean to be the golden shower on this parade. No, anyone who’s ever seen Detroit and Skye together knows it’s meant to be...especially if other people are involved! No, no—oh, I see some of you in the audience nodding. Pretty good, huh? But wait—the law has decreed that there can only be two of them in this union. So the rest of you will have to wait for the after party, okay?”
J studies the couple as Sarah talks. Detroit is laughing, a good sport. Skye looks like they want to disappear.
“I want you to know, I got ordained by the Church of the Internet for this! It’s true—I got the paperwork and everything. You should see the Church of the Internet’s Sunday services. Eighty percent of it is porn. At least.”
A few laughs, but probably not as many as Sarah Burnheart had hoped.
“Alright, you’re not here for me.” (“We’re not!” someone in the back yells.) “Didn’t you get the memo aboutworshipping me? Don’t fuck with the Church of the Internet, bro. We can absolve hit-men just as easily as we can marry a pair of queers.”
Now Skye looks to Detroit, who nods and moves forward to get the mic.
“I see the wedded couple is eager to exchange their vows. Is it going to be youth before beauty or beauty before youth?”
“I’ll go first,” Skye says.
“Eager to get it over with, eh? Believe me, I felt that way with Detroit, too. But don’t worry—that was before you were born!”
J wants Detroit to tell Sarah to stop, but instead Detroit laughs and gestures for Skye to take the spotlight.
J notices that Skye does not thank Sarah Burnheart when she passes over the mic. They reach into their blazer, and for a moment J thinks they’re going to drain the rest of the whiskey from the flask. Instead they pull out a stack of index cards.
“Detroit,” Skye begins. But Detroit stays behind, doesn’t step up to stand next to Skye. Undeterred, Skye pivots, turns their back on the audience to speak directly to the person they are supposed to be marrying. They take a deep breath...“I vow to be there when you need me and to stay out of your way when you need me to stay out of your way. I vow to help you move the boulders that life throws in the road, and vow to turn those boulders into planters, so we can grow from our misfortunes. I vow to keep bringing colors into your days and nights, colors you can wear, colors you can feel, colors that decorate every piece of our life together. I vow to try harder to squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom, because I know how much it annoys you when I don’t. I also vow to put the cap back on. Neither of these are metaphors or sexual references. I’m really talking about toothpaste here. I vow to let you into my bad moods as well as my good ones. I vow to try, and try harder, and try even more, even when all I can feel is the strain. I vow to be a source ofbrightness. I vow to rub your feet and massage your back and take the things off your mind that hurt you the most. I vow to be honest. I vow to be with you so long that we can’t remember what happened in what year. I vow to never listen to you when you say you’re giving up sugar. And I vow, more than anything else, to be yours. Not exclusively, but primarily. Not lightly, but purposefully. With joy and gratitude.”
The crowd has grown quiet as Skye has spoken, and now they cheer. From the side, J can see Skye try to catch their breath. Detroit, meanwhile, looks moved for the first time this evening.
Skye holds the microphone out, and Detroit takes it. They face each other in front of the audience, just like at a real wedding.
“Damn it, Skye,” Detroit says. “I wrote something down, too. I have it folded here in my cleavage. But it’s...it’s not what you just said. I just—you caught me off guard. I mean, I vowed things like fucking with the patriarchy and making sure to never wake you up when I get in after you’re already asleep. I just—what is it you want me to say? You know how I am with vows. They always seem like a good idea at the time, but that time passes pretty quickly. When I was your age, one of my deepest vows was to never get married, to never give in to the madness that strikes everyone else. When my sister got married, it cost as much as a year of school for me. I mean, that’s madness, right? And I thought that tonight wouldn’t be like that, obviously. But those vows. Those are serious vows. Mine aren’t serious. And I guess the one vow I can keep is to not disrespect you by reading them. I thought it was a jest. Honestly, I did. Now I feel on the spot, and my brain just isn’t getting where it needs to be. I love you. Let’s be clear about that—I love you. I don’t have to vow to love you, because it’s already there, and I don’t think it’s going anywhere. You talk about gratitude; well, I’m nothing but grateful to have you in my life. You’re young and talented—you could do better than me. But no, I’m the person you come home to. I appreciate that. As for the rest, the being only with each other foreverpart—you and most people in this room know how I feel about that. Howwefeel about that. But, yeah...I guess that’s my vow. I vow to keep it like it is. Because it really works, as far as I’m concerned. Cheers to that.”
Detroit goes to embrace Skye, but Sarah intercedes, putting out her arms like a boxing referee. “Not yet!” she hollers, even without the mic. “Not ’til I say so!”
Skye’s back is now entirely to J, so he can’t really tell how they’re taking all this. The crowd, too, is milling uncertainly. There aren’t cheers like there were for Skye’s vows.
Sarah takes the mic back from Detroit and says, “Alright, folks. We’ve had the vows. Or at least one set. So now it’s time for you all to be serenaded by our wedding singer. He’s here all the way from Sweden, which I’m told is even farther away than New Jersey, if such a thing is possible. Take it away, wedding singer. I apologize I can’t remember your name.”
J takes the stage to polite applause. He puts the mic in its stand, plugs in his guitar, tunes for a second. Sarah, Detroit, and Skye line up on one side of the stage.
The honey whiskey provides a nice undertone.
“I’m so happy to be here to celebrate Skye and Detroit’s big day. They’ve asked me for two songs, one for each of them. Unusual...but I can see how it makes sense here. We’ll start with Detroit’s song.”
There’s a single, blinding spotlight, so J is relieved he has a reason to look to the side of the stage, to sing to the subject of the song.
He enters the room like a spoon
enters a bowl of soup
He’ll look at you like a tasty crouton
a crispy bamboo shoot
He’ll let you have a taste if you want
He believes in sharing the stew
