by Hannovah
I was actually relieved when they left because there was so much I wanted to say.
“It’s only in the movies that I know men to propose in such questionable situations,” I remarked to Brandon. “A felon? A stripper who he recently met? A girl who he knows for only six weeks, three of which she just spent in jail? That’s who he wants to marry? This is a complete 180 degrees from his last wife. ”
“The sex is probably great,” Brandon surmised, closing his eyes and searching for an explanation.
“But Ray . . . that doesn’t mean he has to marry her.”
“You’re right. If he’s getting the milk for free, why buy the cow?”
The young lovers called the next day to say that they were stopping by because they needed some help, and a few minutes later they appeared with bags in hand. They had been shopping around for a wedding outfit. An outfit, not a gown, because that’s exactly what Ashley drew out of a gray plastic bag: a black-and-white Playboy Bunny tuxedo that she bought at a thrift store for $9.95. Then she pulled out a white veil, three reams of ribbon, and a glue gun: the task being to trim both the tuxedo and the veil with green, black, and white ribbons.
While the men remained in the living room talking, we ladies moved to the den to work on the wedding outfit.
The blonde chatterbox was euphoric as she revealed their plans. They would be married around sunset on the banks of the Oleta River with Joshua wearing only a green Speedo and his head tied with a doo-rag. They would both be barefooted. No reception was planned because the intent was for all attendees to go their separate ways right after the ceremony.
I did not approve of that at all, but I did not comment; I just stayed in my lane. This wedding was shaping up to be very unusual, but it was not mine. To each his own, I thought.
Ashley tried on the tuxedo over her daisy-dukes and tank-top. This Playboy costume was outrageous for a bridal dress, but she insisted that it would look great after ribbons were glued to it. After she removed the get-up and placed pieces of ribbons at various locations on the lapel, I carefully glued them in place. We performed a similar task on the veil, and when we were finished, we packed up and joined the guys in the living-room.
“So Josh, who’s coming from New York for the wedding?” Brandon was asking when Ashley took a seat on the floor next to her beau, and I on the love-seat next to mine.
“Nobody. I haven’t told them.”
“Ah-hah?” Brandon angled his head. “Why?”
“Well, I don’t know if Daddy will understand and accept my decision. Both he and Mom were disappointed when I divorced Joanne. And, I think . . . they’re kind of wishing that I’ll get back with her. They don’t know all the details of that marriage that I shared with you. You’re cool . . . you’re my kind of dad . . . you’re real cool, I could talk to you. But I don’t know if they will understand.”
“Listen, I know that you’re not seeking advice, but he is the father and you are the son; a pumpkin is never too heavy for the vine to carry. He might give you a little flak, but in the end he’ll support you.”
“As usual Ray, you’re probably right,” Joshua said. “I’ll call him right now.”
Joshua put the phone on speaker, called his dad, Harris, and after all of us said hi, the important topic began.
“Dad, I have some news. But, before I tell you, I want you to know that I’m not asking for advice at this time. I’m just letting you know what’s going on. I will be getting married on Saturday.”
Silence ensued. It was uncomfortable. For all parties. And I knew what was coming.
“This is a surprise,” Harris eventually said. “Do we know the young lady?”
“No. Her name is Ashley. And Dad, we are meant for each other.”
On hearing those last words, Ashley beamed brighter than the headlights on Joshua’s Camry, proudly displaying all her baby-like teeth.
“I see,” Harris said. “We never heard you talk about Ashley before. How long have you all known each other?”
“That’s not important. When it’s right, it’s right.”
Silence again. Then Harris ventured, “Tell me something . . . is your waiting period before remarriage up yet?”
“Yes, it was up last week.”
“You said that the wedding is this Saturday. Josh, what kind of sorry invitation is this?” There was pain in his voice. “Most of us would not be able to attend on such short notice.”
“I know, Dad, but we want who ever could come, to come.”
Harris took the details about the wedding’s time and place, and then ended the call on an amicable note. I knew that he and his wife, Martha, would not be able to attend because she was still recovering from a car accident injury, and Harris was her primary caregiver.
Joshua and Ashley left soon after because they still had more wedding preparations to take care of.
“Ray, do you think we should go to the wedding?” I asked as we readied for bed.
“I can’t sanction this wedding,” Brandon griped. “It looks like a sham, and I have a bad feeling about how it might end up.”
“Me too. And it doesn’t seem worthwhile to dress up and go out there to endure the sun and mosquitoes, and not even be offered a soda.”
“But you know what Eddie, we have to go. Joshua has no other family here in Miami.” Then Brandon sat on the bed with a faraway look.
“What’s wrong, Ray?”
He looked at me and answered, “Nothing. Just that Josh asked me if he could fix up the guesthouse and stay there with his wife.”
My eyebrows jumped. I sat my butt down on the edge of the dressing table and asked, “What did you tell him?”
“I told him, I’ll ask you?” He stared blankly at the bedroom window, calculating in his head. Then he thought out loud, “It could be a win-win for us and him. Instead of him paying first, last and security . . . fifteen hundred dollars, and six hundred in monthly rent, he could spend about three thousand or so in materials and fix up the guesthouse much nicer than it was before. I’ll help with labor. And he wouldn’t pay any rent; he’ll just give us a hundred each month towards water and electricity. He looked at me and asked, “What do you think?”
Brandon had been neglecting the guesthouse. Three years ago, during a seasonal storm, a tree branch had fallen on the roof and we had not been aware of the destruction until months later. There was damage to the roof which had caused part of the ceiling to collapse, and mold to set in. Brandon had repaired the roof, removed the soiled carpet, and replaced the affected walls. But that was it. Each month since then, he had planned to work on the ceiling or paint or lay carpet, but never found the zest to attack it – quite unlike the passion that he always has for his rentals.
I had mixed feelings about the proposal. On one hand, I was happy that our guesthouse would be restored to a livable and perhaps beautiful condition, but on the other hand, I was concerned about Ashley and my husband. He was attracted to her; I had noticed that on her first visit to our home. Brandon had the convenience of being at home in the day and so would sex-crazy Ashley. And according to Brandon, ‘a man is a man’. Honestly, Brandon had never cheated on me before or if he had, I was unaware. But never before had we brought temptation to dwell this closely – practically under the same roof.
I loosened my ponytail and shook my hair to think. “I see your point,” I said.
“I feel a but coming. Bu-ut?” he signaled me to speak freely.
“Two things. What about your policy: not to rent to friends and family?”
“That’s with the apartments – my livelihood. This is different . . . I don’t use the guesthouse for income. But he will sign a lease just in case I have to evict him.”
“Okay.” Then I just came out and said what was really bothering me. “Well, I’m not comfortable with you and Ashley alone on this compound . . . in the daytime.”
“Ha-ha-ha. Ha-ha.” He laughed like he was at the comedy club. He curled over, onto the mattress and snick
ered, and I could not determine if he was laughing at me or at my statement.
But I was not amused. At all.
It took him a few moments to compose himself, and then he said, “Me and Ashley? Not a chance in hell.”
I held my serious stare at him, unconvinced that he had no interest in the blonde jailbird.
Brandon felt me. He quickly sobered up, leaned towards me and explained. “I thought you knew me. I’m not looking for anybody, Eddie. And if I was, it would not be a stripper. I’ve got more class than that.”
My lips twirled as I tried to believe him.
He added, “If you don’t know me by now, then you will never know me.”
“People change, Ray.”
“I haven’t changed yet. You’ll know when I change.” Brandon stretched his hand over to my knee and squeezed it. “Hey, it’s not a big deal.” He found my eyes and assured me, “If you don’t want them here, then they won’t be here.”
Not wanting to be the jealous wife without good reason, I said, “Tell him yes.” Note to self: Keep a close eye on Brandon and Ashley.
Wedding day – Saturday, the eighteenth day of August 2007.
We swung our Volvo off 163rd street and onto the entrance to Oleta Park: we, meaning Brandon, Maxwell, Lia, and I. The weather was co-operative: sunny and cloudless, a nice day for a wedding. We paid the toll guard at the booth, and continued in towards the parking areas that contained only a handful of cars. Most visitors to the park had already left, seeing that there was probably forty-five more minutes until sunset when the park closed. We had about ten minutes to play with before the nuptials began. No sweat.
We strolled towards a wooden deck overlooking the tranquil Oleta River, and counted seven people seated around, dressed up, I was sure, for a wedding. I recognized two of Joshua’s brothers and a sister right away, and as we approached, they got up and greeted us warmly.
“Meet Joshua’s in-laws to be,” the sister said.
We shook hands with Ashley’s mother who seemed genuinely happy to meet us. “Ash spoke so highly of y’all,” she said sweetly. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
“The pleasure is mutual,” Brandon replied.
“Meet the rest of the Daytona party,” her mom continued, motioning with an open palm. “These are my parents.”
We shook their hands.
Then the last person remaining extended his hand toward Brandon. “I’m Melchizedek,” he said. “I’ll be marrying the couple.”
I gulped as Brandon shook the man’s hand. Then I shook it too and said, “Nice to meet you.”
This Melchizedek was dressed in flip-flops, blue jeans and a multi-colored dashiki, but somehow his blood-shot eyes made him look more like a wino than a priest. He was about six feet tall with unkempt, salt-and-pepper shoulder-length hair that gave him a rock star persona. And he was so thin, I believed that he could easily hide behind an electricity pole. The battered Bible that was lying on the bench probably belonged to him, but I was certain the only scriptures he knew were about drinking wine at communion, and drinking wine for the stomach’s sake.
I sneaked peeks at everyone to check whether they shared my sentiments. This is madness. Where did they find this man? But Joshua’s folks, just like Max and Lia, seemed okay with everything.
Ashley’s people were pleasant but serious as they continually surveyed the parking area for the first signs of the bride and groom. I had no doubt in my mind about what Brandon was thinking, but I dared not look at him for confirmation as I would not have been able to contain myself.
Lia asked for everyone’s consent and began to take pictures left, right, and center, after which Maxwell took over, inviting her to pose with everyone so that she would not be left out.
Then Melchizedek announced with his bible in hand, “Good folks, shall we gather at the river.”
That was it. A single high-pitched note of laughter escaped out of my mouth before I could block it with my hand. I hoped no one was offended. We all got up, and smiling wryly, Brandon began to hum very softly, that well-known hymn, Shall We Gather at the River. He had read my mind.
We followed the rock-star-wino-priest down the wooden deck, with Joshua’s sister holding onto her brothers to steady herself in her pair of high heels. This would be the smallest wedding ceremony that I had ever attended. We stopped on the damp earth about ten feet from the water’s edge where the ground was hard enough not to muddy our shoes.
Melchizedek stepped out of his flip-flops and waded into the water, sending schools of tiny fish scurrying in all directions. When he was knee deep, he turned and faced us, opening up the Bible while gentle waves washed up against his jeans. As we all stood on the river bank, it seemed to me that we were at a baptism, not a wedding, and try as I may, I could not stop Brandon’s hymn from playing over and over in my head.
Then I heard footsteps behind us. I had to look. We all looked. The joyful bride and groom had just dropped a tote bag on the ground and were stepping out of their flip-flops. She wore the decorated veil and the black, Playboy Tux that contrasted beautifully against her exposed thighs. He wore a green speedo that brazenly communicated that he was well-endowed, and his head was wrapped with a black and green bandana. But apart from a black bow-tie around his neck, Joshua was bareback, just like a swimmer at the Olympics. I wondered what on Earth I was doing there, but when I saw the happiness on the face of the bride-to-be, I calmed down.
The barefoot couple positioned themselves, side by side, ankle deep in the water between us and the minister, and goose bumps began to appear on Ashley’s legs. Joshua’s bare-naked back, that showed every muscle twitch, seemed out of place next to Ashley’s smart-looking Tuxedo. I felt I was attending the marriage between a Chippendale dancer and a Playboy bunny. This was not right; this was disrespectful to the institution of marriage. Is this the new wave? Is this how the young people get married nowadays? I seriously doubted it.
“Good folks,” Melchizedek began. “We are assembled here surrounded by the four elements of God’s creation – earth, wind, fire, and water – to witness the formalizing of the union between Joshua Browning and Ashley Anderson.”
Hmmm, not bad. But, where’s the fire? Oh . . . the sun.
“Therefore shall a man leave his mother and father, and shall cleave unto his wife, and they shall become one flesh. And later, much, much later . . . one mind.”
The man was right, because I do feel after all these years of marriage that Brandon and I do have the same mind. Wow.
Then the minister’s blood-shot eyes looked past the couple and settled on the group of us. “Who gives this woman in marriage?” he asked.
There was no response, except for the soft lapping of the water. Ashley turned around, and with an angelic smile, gazed at her mom. Then her smile turned to compassion and understanding, as her mother raised a weak hand up in the air.
“I do,” her mom whimpered, wiping her eyes with the other hand.
Ashley returned her attention to the minister, and my heart sank into my belly. I was about to comfort her mom, but the grandmother, who was closer, put an arm around her and hugged her gently. I held onto Brandon sideways with my head leaning on his shoulder, and I felt him swallow and take a deep breath. But he stood strong as a Spartan warrior.
“Do you, Joshua Browning and Ashley Anderson, take each other in holy matrimony with the promise to love, honor, and cherish each other from this day forward?”
“I do,” the couple responded.
“Is there a ring?”
“Yes,” Joshua said, and shoved his right hand down inside the front of his speedo.
Melchizedek’s eyes turned white. I myself couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I watched as the groom struggled, digging deeper, and widening his stance to retrieve the ring. Ashley began to giggle, and a few other voices joined her in support.
Joshua had a silly grin on his face and, determined to find the treasure, he hooked his other thumb in the waist of
his tight garment and opened it forward to make room.
Melchizedek turned his head sharply away like a Tango dancer.
“It’s . . . right . . . here,” Joshua tried to assure us, stooping so low his butt almost touched the water.
Lia took off her shoes and got into the surf, taking pictures frantically, while the other young people were doubled over with laughter. Brandon shook his head slowly. The Daytona posse seemed puzzled.
Thank goodness, Joshua found the ring at last.
The minister ran a hand through his black-and-white locks and then down his thin face. “You may put it on her finger,” he said, nodding at Joshua.
As Joshua took her hand in his and complied, Ashley looked into his eyes, and I saw total trust, total honesty, and total innocence.
Then Melchizedek stretched both arms toward them and announced, “By the power vested in me, I hereby declare you husband and wife. You may kiss.”
They did. And we all clapped. And the couple dived into the river, splashing poor Mel who quickly tucked the Bible under his dashiki to protect it. Yes we’ll gather at the River . . . that song would not leave my head. Oh gosh!
Surfacing, the pair came out of the water hand in hand to more of our applause and photo shooting. Then Joshua retrieved towels from their tote bag, and they dried themselves while greeting everyone.
“I want to thank y’all for coming,” Joshua said.
“Me too,” the new Mrs. Browning added.
We clapped again, and soon the whole entourage began making its way to the parking lot, where we all stopped at the reverend’s car and watched the newly-weds sign their papers.
Brandon and I felt that something was missing: a little celebration. So we invited everyone to dine with us at The Grill House, our treat. The visiting Browning siblings declined regretfully, saying that they wanted to see more of Miami tonight before their early flight back to New York in the morning. Ashley’s grandparents said they appreciated the offer, but complained that they were tired and wanted to go back to their hotel, to which her mother and Melchizedek agreed. Of course Ashley and Joshua had their own agenda. They planned that from today until next Wednesday when his semester will be complete, they will be pre-honeymooning in Fort Lauderdale where they were still staying. Then they will head up to New York to finish their honeymoon and have Ashley meet his parents. We understood.
