Nathan at one of the outlying tables, his feet
tangled up in the disc jockey's cables, surveyed the room as unseen as a ghost,
while he mulled over what he might say for his toast. That the couple had asked
him for this benediction seemed at odds with them parking him here by the
kitchen. That he'd shown up at all was still a surprise. And not just to him,
it was there in the eyes of the guests who had seen a mirage and drew near, and
then covered their shock with a, "Nathan, you're here." And then,
silence. They had nothing to say beyond that. A few of the braver souls
lingered to chat. They all knew it was neither a secret nor a mystery that he
and the couple had quite an odd history.
Their bonds were a tangle of friendship and sex.
Josh, his best pal once, and Patty, his ex.
For a while he could barely go out in the city
without being a punchline or object of pity. Poor Nathan had virtually become
his new name, and so he showed up just to show he was game. Though his invite
was late, a forgotten addendum. For Nate there could be no more clear
referendum that he need but endure through this evening. And then, he would
likely not see Josh and Patty again.
Josh's sister was speaking, a princess in peach.
Nathan dug in his pocket to study his speech. He had poured over Bartlett's for
couplets to filch. He'd stayed up until 3:00, still came up with zilch.
Except for instructions he'd underscored twice.
Just two words in length, and those words were, be nice. Too often he thought
our emotions betray us and reason departs once were up on the dais. He'd
witnessed uncomfortable moments where others had lost their way quickly, where
sisters and brothers had gotten too prickly, and peppered their babbling with
stories of benders or lesbian dabbling, or spot on impressions of
mothers-in-law Which true, Nathan thought, always garnered guffaws. But the
price seemed too high, with the laugh seldom cloaking. Hostility masquerading
as joking.
No, he'd swallow his rage and he'd bank all his
fire. He knew that in his case the bar was set higher. Folks were just waiting
for him to erupt. They'd be hungry for blood even though they had supped.
They'd want tears, or some other unsightly reaction, and Nathan would not give
them that satisfaction. Though Patty a harlot and Josh was a lout, at least
Nathan knew what he'd not talk about.
I won't wish them divorce, that they wither and
sicken, or tonight that they choke on their salmon or chicken. I won't mention
that time when the cottage lost power in that storm on the Cape and they left
for an hour. And they thought it was just the cleverest ruse to pretend it took
that long to switch out the fuse. Or that time Josh advised me with so much
insistence that I should grant Patty a little more distance. That the worst I
could do was to hamper and crowd her. That if Patty felt stifled she'd just
take a powder. That a plant needs its space just as much as its water.
And I shouldn't give Patty that ring that I'd
bought her. Which in retrospect, only elicits a, gosh, I hardly deserved a
friend like you, Josh.
No, I won't spill those beans, or make myself
foolish, to satisfy appetites venal and ghoulish. I will not be the blot on
this hellish affair. And with that, Nathan pushed out and rose from his chair.
And just by the tapping of knife against crystal, all eyes turned his way, like
he'd fired off a pistol.
Joshua, Patricia, dear family and friends, a few
words, if you will, before everything ends.
You've promised to honor, to love and obey. We've
quaffed our champagne and been cleansed by sorbet, all in endorsement of your
hers-and-his-dom. So now let me add my two cents' worth of wisdom.
I was racking my brain sitting here at this table
until I remembered this suitable fable that gets at a truth, though it may well
distort us. So here with the tale of the scorpion and tortoise.
The scorpion was hamstrung, his tail all aquiver,
just how would he manage to get cross the river? The water's so deep, he
observed with a sigh, which pricked at the ears of the tortoise nearby.
Well, why don't you swim, asked the slow-moving
fellow. Unless you're afraid, I mean, what are you, yellow?
It isn't a matter of fear or of whim, said the
scorpion, but that I don't know how to swim.
Ah, forgive me, I didn't mean to be glib when I
said that. I figured you were an amphibian.
No offense taken, the scorpion replied. But how
bout you help me to reach the far side? You swim like a dream and you have what
I lack. Let's say you take me across on your back.
I'm really not sure that's the best thing to do,
said the tortoise, now that I see that it's you. You've a less than ideal
reputation preceding. There's talk of your victims all poisoned and bleeding.
You're the scorpion, and how can I say this, but well, I just don't feel safe
with you riding my shell.
The scorpion replied, what would killing you
prove? We'd both drown. So tell me, how would that behoove me to basically die
at my very own hand, when all I desire is to be on dry land?
The tortoise considered the scorpion's defense.
When he gave it some thought, it made perfect sense. The niggling voice in his
mind he ignored, and he swam to the bank and called out, climb aboard.
But just a few moments from when they set sail,
the scorpion lashed out with his venomous tail. The tortoise, too late,
understood that he'd blundered when he felt his flesh stabbed and his carapace
sundered. As he fought for his life he said, tell me why you have done this for
now we will surely both die?
I don't know, cried the scorpion. You never
should trust a creature like me because poison I must. I'd claim some remorse
or at least some compunction, but I just can't help it, my form is my function.
You thought I'd behave like my cousin the crab, but unlike him it is but my nature
to stab.
The tortoise expired with one final quiver, and
then both of them sank, swallowed up by the river.
The tortoise was wrong to ignore all his doubts,
because in the end, friends, our natures will out.
Nathan paused, cleared his throat, took a sip of
his drink. He needed these extra few seconds to think. The room had gone
frosty, the tension was growing. Folks wondered precisely where Nathan was
going. The prospects of skirting fiasco seemed dim, but what he said next
surprised even him.
So what can we learn from their watery ends? Is
there some lesson on how to be friends? I think what it means is that central
to living, a life that is good is a life that's forgiving. We're creatures of
contact. Regardless of whether we kiss or we wound, still we must come
together.
Though it may spell destruction, we still ask for
more, since it beats staying dry, but so lonely on shore. So we make ourselves
open, while knowing full well it's essentially saying, please, come pierce my
shell.
Silence doesn't paint the depth of quiet in that
room. There was no clinking stemware toasting to the bride or groom. You could
have heard a petal as it landed on the floor. And in that stillness Nathan
turned and walked right out the door.
