What have I done?
Smashed beer cans littered around my feet, with beer sticking to my ankles. Mud stained the bottom of my heirloom wedding dress.
My wedding should have been nothing like the red-neck get-together I just had. Could that display of animal behavior even be called a wedding?
I had spent my life dreaming about my ideal wedding, my mom prepping me when I was just a toddler. She had always planned my reception to be at the Topping Rose House.
I wiped the sweat dripping down my neck as I looked at the mismatch of folding and camp chairs strewed about. This weed-infested lawn seemed like the best spot for the priest to marry us the day before. My throat still hurt from screaming when the chair brawl broke out. My new husband Jim and his father and stepfather started the fight. Within a blink, half the wedding party joined in. I thought only Hollywood created that type of savagery. I guess not. I couldn't wait to spend the holidays with these people.
I had no idea where my husband Jim was. That morning, I wandered around the trailer houses, field, and yard, searching. There wasn't a lack of passed-out faces to scan. I never did find "the love of my life."
"Shayla, my brother might-a run off with his ex-girlfriend Buffy Joe. I saw her here last night," Jim's sister Kelly said, laughing through a mouth of rotten teeth. As I wiped her spit off my face, I had two questions. Why was that funny? And why were all her teeth rotten?
I looked at the bread-tie Jim had wrapped around my finger for a wedding ring. My sister wore a 100,000 dollar engagement ring from her husband. When my brother-in-law slipped on the wedding band, the ring rose $40,000 more in value. They had a lovely wedding at the Topping Rose House.
My red-neck wedding, in truth, was my mom's fault. I had only brought Jim home to grab my swimsuit. He was a tour guide for the canoe trip I was about to take.
Jim had called to cancel the canoe trip because his truck had broken down. Sophie, my childhood friend from summer camp, was visiting from Spain, and I had promised her a canoe expedition. It wasn't my thing, but Sophie wanted it.
When Jim had texted to cancel, I realized I was only five minutes from where he was stranded. I didn't think it a big deal to pick him up so we could still canoe.
As my mom saw that red-neck in our foyer, she abandoned all her social graces. "You need to leave now, young man. There is no place for you here."
It delighted me that my mom thought Jim was my date. I decided to have fun with this.
I put my arm around Jim's waist. "Mom, don't talk to my boyfriend like that." I resisted the urge to gag as his stale meat smell overpowered me. Jim played right along, and he slipped his arm around my waist. I tensed up. His greasy head leaned against mine—his breath smelt like an ashtray.
"What are you doing, Shayla? No, no, no, no, no!" My mom spat out with her hands on her hips.
"Mom, I am twenty-five. It's about time I did things my way. I love Jim, and you can't stop me from dating him." I had to hold in my laughter. I had found a button on my mom, and I loved pushing it. Her reaction bordered epic.
"I love your daughter, Mam." Jim played right along.
I was only doing this to trick my mom, but when I watched her facial muscles tighten and the vein pop out of her neck, exhilaration filled me. In my whole life, I had never rallied my mom up. I was the obedient daughter that let her control my life. I didn't even choose what I would eat during the day. A rush of excitement moved me. And like that, Jim became my boyfriend.
I had never dated anyone as fun as Jim.
The majority of stuffy dates I had gone on with other guys consisted of dinner and a movie. I only watched a movie once with Jim, and he projected it on a sheet in his backyard. I think his whole neighborhood joined us. We sat under the stars while bats circled our heads. The dark sky enveloped me in wonder.
We never ate at a restaurant, although we ate at lots of bars or truck-stops. I had never been to a bar before. Jim seemed to know everyone who came in there. Jim had a genuine truth to his friendships with others, which I had never felt in my upper-crust society. Everyone in my circle of friends and acquaintances was fake. Even my mom. No, especially my mom.
Jim and I had other dates, like truck-pulls and fishing. I still haven't decided if I like to fish or not. And then, of course, every other day, we had BBQs with greasy hot dogs and burgers. And beer. Beer in bottles. Beer in cans. BEER!
I don't like beer, with its yeasty flavor, but Jim and his clan of red-necks sure did. Beer seemed to be the center of all activity.
Jim brought a new dimension of fun and adventure into my life. I loved the ease everyone had when they gathered, and I admired the friendship Jim had with his parents. Jim's parents seemed to accept him for who he was. They spent their time enjoying each other's company instead of their time criticizing and trying to change Jim, as my parents did with me.
I never fell in love with Jim. I fell in love with how much my dating him upset my mom. For once, I felt like my mom was my marionette on a string, instead of me as hers.
I ended up in the compound of trailer homes as my wedding venue when my mom canceled my Paris trip. My mom and I had plans to go to France for shopping, just her and me. But, when I refused to break up with Jim, she revoked our trip.
The next day, when Jim proposed to me at the corner gas station, I said yes to spite my mom. Later, as I sat on Jim's family's five-acre property, surrounded by passed-out guests and trash, I realized how dumb it was to marry Jim to get back at my mom.
Our wedding had been complete with something they called pig-in-the-mud-wrestling. Some of the guests actually climbed in a giant mud pit and wrestled with pigs! It astounded me when Jim's mom gripped my hand and dragged me toward the mud.
I tried to shake her off. "Starla, I am in my wedding dress." My dress, which cost more than the whole wedding must-have, I inherited from my grandma. It was a lacy vintage assemble. Grandma might haunt me for life if she watched me wear it to this wedding.
"That is what would make it so awesome," Starla said with a snort and kept dragging me closer.
"Starla, stop!" Had I just yelled at my mother-in-law?
Starla stared at me, then released my wrist. "Party-pooper."
Did she honestly call me a party pooper at my wedding?
I looked around the property and wondered where she was now. Was she one of the passed-out bodies?
I stood up from the pile of beer cans.
Maaa. A goat rummaged around the garbage. Even though I had dodged pig-wresting in my wedding dress, mud had managed to soak the lace. It sickened me to think I had soiled grandma's dress. I stood and walked past the goat. It snatched a bite of my train and wouldn't let go.
"Give me that, you vermin." I grabbed a beer bottle and hit the top of the goat's head with it. The goat released my dress then displayed its horns.
"Watch out. It's going to buck you," I heard one of Jim's cousins say, one of the few people not passed out.
I grabbed a folding chair and shielded that horrible goat from me as its head rammed the chair a couple of times. With each buck, I stumbled backward.
"Help me," I screamed. The cousin finally led the goat away, but not before he took a video of my plight on his phone.
It took a minute to calm from the goat's vicious attack. Heavy breaths filled me as my shaky hand steadied myself on the make-shift alter we were married over. The humidity of the morning drenched me in sweat. My hand rubbed the rough wood on the altar. Who would have thought I would be married over a barrel? Surprisingly, the wedding certificate still laid on it. I picked it up. Our legal signatures etched in red ink. I am not sure red is a legal color for signing documents.
Vrrrrr. The sound of Bobby's monster truck roared to life. Bobby had disappeared last night; otherwise, that monster truck was supposed to be our limo. Beer cans tied with twine dangled from the bumper. Obscene drawings adorned the window from those who had decorated our wedding "carriage". Bobby should have chauffeured us to the Best Western for our wedding night.
Beep. Bobby blared the loud horn, which jerked my heart, and I jumped. Out of one of the trailers, Jim and Buffalo-Joe came running out, hand in hand. They laughed as they climbed up the enormous tires into the limo.
Rrrrrr. Bobby revved the engine, then peeled out. Mud splattered the cars as the monster truck disappeared into the sunrise. The loyal chauffeur drove the "happy couple" away.
A heavy lump filled my chest. I think I just got abandoned on my wedding day. Well, I guess it was the day after my wedding day. But, either way, my husband left me. I looked at our wedding certificate and tightened my grip. I was legally bound to that cheating-lowlife.
"Ain't you going to go after 'em?" Kelly said, walking towards me. She took a swig of beer from a bottle. I didn't know what time it was, but it was still early in the morning.
"Um, no. He left me."
Kelly leaned her head back and took a giant chug. Beer dribbled out of the side of her mouth.
"Ahh," she said. Brrrp.
Gross. I dropped my eyes to the certificate, with my name Shayla etched for time.
"Don't be glum, sis. We'll find you another man."
"Twenty-five and divorced. Wow, that sounds amazing." I had really jacked up my prospects and future.
"Ah, no worries. Ma was on her third marriage at twenty-five." Kelly dropped her level and searched the beer cans. She picked one up and finished the stale beer in it. I shuddered at the sight.
Wonderful.
"Maybe I can get an annulment," I said. "We didn't even have a wedding night."
"You're fine. We printed that there certificate on the computer. Did you go to the courthouse and file for a wedding before the wedding?" Kelly picked up and dropped more bottles and cans.
"No. Are you supposed to do that?"
"Yes, something like that. You go and pay for a certificate. Jim went there, but it was like forty dollars or something. When he complained that was good beer money, I told him I could just print him up a certificate. And here it is," she said, touching the marriage certificate. Her gaping mouth turned to a large smile, obviously proud of her forgery. "I did a good job. Looks legit, doesn't it?"
I stared at the certificate. I didn't know what an actual marriage certificate was supposed to look like.
"So my marriage isn't legal?"
Kelly took another long swig of beer. "Nope."
"But, a priest married us."
She wiped her mouth on her bare arm. "So?"
I stared at the certificate. I looked around the compound with its five trailer houses; One for Jim, one for his mom and step-dad, one for Kelly, and two for storage. I thought about my family's three mansions and two summer cottages scattered around the country.
I didn't want to live here on this junky compound. I did like my life with all the wealth. But, on the other hand, I loved stepping into a new way of life. Jim's people knew how to have fun. They genuinely cared about each other. I didn't want to walk away from that.
"I guess you are not my sister anymore," I said. I didn't care that Jim ran off with another woman. Actually, I was glad he did. But, it hurt to leave a group of people who engaged in life. How could I return to the rigid social rules that had defined me?
"I might not be your sister, but I'll always be your friend," Kelly said, standing up. She put her arm over my shoulders, and I felt her kindness.
A couple of pigs headed toward us.
I looked at the wedding certificate. I might not be legally married to Jim, but my mom won't know that. I put the certificate on the alter for the moment.
I looked at my soiled dress. I watched the pigs move closer, then said, "Hey Kelly, I have an idea. Let's do a little pig-in-the-mud-wrestling."
My new best friend grabbed my hand and said, "Yee-haw! That's what I am talking about."
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Redneck Wedding
by Stephanie Daich
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