Daniels Wedding Blues, Chapter One: A Collective Groan

Daniels Wedding Blues

Chapter One: A Collective Groan

 

     The chiming of wedding bells rang in my mind as the approaching date crawled forward ever so slowly before suddenly arriving on our doorstep. It was finally time to watch my older brother get married and in my case, play best man. I love my brother but I never thought of myself as best man material: you bring me in to make some cute quips like a vaudeville act before shifting to someone who’s acolytes really make them best. Just as with my current job, I should have been assistant best man while some decorated teacher took to telling everyone how much he saw my brother light up over educating young minds. Some kind of analogy akin to Helen Keller learning about water only this time a young freshman learning how to write without using K or LOL. The draft was in however: I’ll be your huckleberry Mr. Teacher.

     Others would lie to you and tell you that this event was some kind of roller coaster ride with ups, downs and the occasional vomit inducing second. That would be pure bullshit in the hopes of selling a story. Truth is always stranger than fiction so consider this the moment you get strapped into It’s a Small World with no chance of getting off the ride; all the animatronics are afflicted with bi polar disorder and the swelling music playing around you is nothing more generic wedding fodder numbing your ears. Oh and we have casinos too. Can’t forget the drinking either.

We could consider their engagement as our ticket to this ride but it never really hits till the first second tuxes come into play. Tuxedos represent the big change more than a simple invitation; now I have some middle aged man or woman telling me how fat I have gotten since prom while getting dangerously close to my junk. Shit gets real, real fast. Getting fitted for a tux and the other hurdles were odd yet charming basics of our trip down the floaty boats, the wedding itself the crashing cocendo before finally finishing our backseat romp with a reception full of entertainment and spirts. I didn’t buy my ticket; I was born into this one. I arrived at a small town store that took the responsibility of selling crafts, trinkets, coffee, cupcakes, balloons and tuxes as part of the small town charm of “if we don’t sell it, who will”. If this wasn’t her first rodeo of early morning tux fittings then she dropped the ball hard by not having a greasy spoon-esk coffee pot brewing; the chance to gouge a few extra dollars from hungover and stressed out families can never be overlooked.

      My parents were happy to see me with the other groomsman along with the groom himself: the stress was beginning to take effect and any additional refrain from the impending horror gave them a sigh of relief. My parents are good honest folk with the ability to laugh and enjoy a good time. Mom and Dad had never been decked out in camo pounding Coors Light or brand new van having “Jones” either, thank Christ. “Don’t have to be fancy, just friendly” was always the motto along with the never forgotten “don’t be a dork, wrap the pork!”  When we can pay it forward, we do. Rich men with golden caskets can kiss my ass, bury me face down so you can do the same and give my money to friends, family and all the women I love. Our time at the coffee clerk/floweriest/everything else/tailor ended with a few complaints and needles, why she didn’t offer a stiff drink for a high price is beyond me. 

     Our tired, stressed and warn out corpses were then shuffled to the next stage in game via hour long drive, only stopping for some BBQ at a place that wouldn’t serve ribs before five like some kind of damn monsters. I had just begun to feel some kind of calm with the weekend’s events at the horizon when we came upon our lodgings for the weekend: The Meskwaki Bingo Casino Hotel. Boys and girls I can say that nothing brings a feeling of dread to me like the pit of sorrow that is serious gambling: the loss of money and pride with nothing to validate its existence in this world other than being some kind of justification for when we royally screwed over Native Americans many years ago. Our ancestors set us up to lose to the house and as much as we deserve it, I still hate it.

      The walk inside the hotel was a shock to the system for anyone living in a town where only one or two people ever broke the squeaky clean model of Mayberry. This however was the true American portrait: give me your tired due to smoking, weak due to fast food and let me clothe them and feed them for a price. Live the American dream if for only one moment before taking the money from their wallets and the scooter from their ass. These were the kind of people who make you feel better about your own issues and struggles; I may be big, hairy and disappointing but I never dragged myself from the hospital to answer the sirens call and play the slots. 

     Men and women struggled to make the walk to the front counter in the pursuit of accommodations while all licking their chapped and disfigured lips in anticipation of the flashing lights of slot machines. I was drawn into the scene by my parents and the groom himself with a family activity feel; “Come gamble with us” they said, treating the act of losing money as one would the friendly game of mini golf. As much as I declined, the fix was in: we’d hit the casino floor and enjoy ourselves before heading out to rehearsal. 

Sweat had already begun to soak my brow: maybe these people didn’t know about my love of impulses that would compel a man to spend his money on the bar and games of chance. Before I knew it I was shuffled onto the floor like some kind of pig for the slaughter: the money in my pocket was ripe for the taking and it was up to these one town carnies to figure out a way to take it from me. Carnies they were, as they would make small talk with each and every rube who sat before them in the knowledge that this was how they would earn that Christmas bonus early. Our group slowly made the march to through the arch that separated lodging grounds from the money pit and surveyed the scene before us: corpses sat propped up in chairs transfixed on the flashing lights that once called me to the arcades of my youth, each one mesmerized on the game placed in front of it and caught in the vicious cycle of button press, card swipe, button press, card swipe. AMC had it all wrong, witness the true Walking Dead.  

     My friends, these people were the basic bottom feeders of the eco system that made up the casino ocean floor: no one hunted them or sought them out, yet no matter where you looked they were on the odds and ends of the sea bed. Surrounding them were the sharks who truly believed that they could beat the sea at its own game and live off the bounty it offered. These sharks tried to make a living off the hours sat behind the metal machine, pressing the single button or tapping the green felt mat in the hopes of covering the dinner for the night. These are the sharks that we hear about stepping outside the deep blue sea and biting some young blonde surfer, dragging her around for a while trying to eat that piece of meat before getting turned away due to some cinematic gas can. Sea creatures like these always end up getting caught in the net or struggle to survive for the rest of their days. 

Meskwaki was no different. The casino had all kinds of gamblers but at this time of day only the worst kind were out and about. Our group made its way to the different games, shedding a few bucks on machines of every kind of flavor before settling into the table games. Human interaction can go a long way in taking someone’s hard earned money, at the least I get a little humility to the pounding my wallet will take in the next thirty minutes. Felt carpet tables beckoned us to saddle up for winnings but it was only after a lap or two around the arena that we found what we had been looking for: Roulette. I took my seat along with the other members of my family circle and begun the ritual ceremony. Place your hard earned money onto the alter, receive the tokens in a false gods graven image and gamble your soul away. It’s actually a lot of fun when you think about it. 

     I enjoyed gambling like most people enjoy scratching a bug bite to the point of blood, no matter how good it feels to scratch that itch again and again. Surrounded by family we all together begun to throw our money into the game and alcohol into ourselves with every spin of the ball. Five dollars on red, ten dollars on even, a few assorted dollars placed through random numbers. Each spin of the colorful wheel takes more money away until we’ve exhausted ourselves and the open pit in our wallet truly matches the one we drink to forget. 

     Our time at the casino ended for wedding rehearsals. At that moment I was happy to escape the infected zone of the button pushing money zombies and head out to somewhere, anywhere. Even if it was the church for the wedding and it meant going through the motions five or six times. Little did I know even in that moment I would feel ill as I watched from afar as my parents wore faces of stress and anguish as multiple people jumped in and out of tweaking things to benefit themselves. 

Pictures had to be done in ways that favored others while taking away from what the bride and groom would have preferred. Watching from afar as my mother held a flush disconcerting look on her face, I felt just as tormented as I did at the casino.

 She was a good woman trying to do the best for her son, which meant putting up with things at his and soon to be his wife’s behest. Lack of control, or in this case a simple 50/50 arrangement was painful but she took it like a champ. Dad held the same emotions on his face, conflicted to seeing their son’s wedding being taken from their hands. I could say many things reflecting on that moment but it kept constant with the theme of the weekend: “let’s get this over with.” I don’t know when I will get married but I’ll be dammed if I don’t take the lessons from this story and more so that church to heart in making sure every moment is one of joy, happiness and maybe a little silliness. As with all stressful and agonizing situations, dinner was held after. I had the fish. It was okay. 

     We all wanted a stiff drink at that point; less because we could but more because we needed that medicine after the day’s events knowing it wasn’t over yet. All of us found ourselves down in the casino once again like the arms of an ex that you hate but know is up at 2 in the morning and will cuddle you just like the old days. Within the flashing lights of the casino was a stripped down version of a dive bar that hired some sad excuse of a live band to play familure tunes to the lost and dammed who stopped wandering if only for a few songs. There the band of what appeared to be gym teachers and mechanics performed to the delight of several obese women who appeared to be chugging Red Bull and vodka in the hopes of forgetting they were partying inside the middle of a fucking casino. Together again, our family cheered in the most half assed way that tomorrow was the big day; the truth was everyone was ready for this thing to be over and the actual fun part to begin.

      To get closer to that moment was to drink. I grabbed my traditional whiskey and water and began to talk with the sporadic collection of cousins and distant family members that corralled around my brother and mother. We talked while watching the empty tables in front of the band, each song a few members of our community would announce that they were hitting some aspect of the casino and depart like a whisper in the dark. Journey cover music can only quench the thirst for entertainment for so long and I left soon after to find something to do. This casino had me by the balls: no arcade, theater, hell anything at all that wasn’t either in your room or gambling. With no other options, I plopped by fat figure in a seat at a roulette table and begun to bleed money into the machine while ordering drinks. Beer and whiskey helped me to quit caring about each dollar that slipped from my hands while I gleefully hoped for my number to come up. Soon enough I begun to fall into a groove of chatting up my fellow players while ordering more drinks. 

     This gravy train had to keep rolling baby, and as my wallet flapped empty I knew a stop at the ATM could change that as well as get me another icy cold beer. The scene was warm and glowing as I told the table I had to run to the ATM to grab some more cash: these were my friends! The alcohol had made everyone so much fun! I didn’t want to quit spending money with my new buddies and a drunken stumble to the ATM would give me the chance to get another hit of the roulette needle. I pocketed a cool $100 dollars and begun to power walk to the bar. Hell I thought, I’ll get two beers so I can stay at the table longer this time. A darkened bar awaited me where once shined lights, TV’s on Sports and cute waitresses that had to put up with my drunken ass. Dumbfounded, I could see that one light was still on: the electric clock that listed the time as 1:28 in the morning. “Holy shit”, I dropped the warm alcohol induced fog from my head and realized it was time to get my ass to bed. 

     Religious folks would tell stories of seeing the world differently after having “the scales fall from their eyes” and that generic saying applied to me now: power walking distantly across from the roulette table I noticed how my friends were a scraggly looking couple and an dealer who couldn’t have been more depressed to be working at 1 in the morning. Faster away from the scene of the crime, more imagery turned back into the sad story I had witnessed in the beginning of my stay. Those still gambling clung to the giant slot machines just as I had been transfixed to the table of my demise. I stumbled faster until I reached the elevator and made the ascent to my room where I could get some damn sleep. I had one job this weekend and if I kept drinking and gambling by god I was going to fuck it up. The bed enveloped me as those late night ex’s had so many times and took me in when I stumbled through the door. Sleep would take me and as a bonus, I would still have that hundred dollars in my wallet from the night before.