The Smell of Whiskey

Two Parts Medicine (Part 4)

     Bear in mind that it was snowy, a wintry mess. A kind of place you wouldn't send yo mama to, like Beaverton, or Gdansk. A kind of thing that all over the world folk would pause and say something unintelligible like, "Smrooms", or the classic, "Land o' Goshen". For, not just on the weekdays were it de rigur, oh no my friend! It was chocolate slobbered 'finnies', strange metallics and andro-urges. It was past, pliable, subject to peer pressures only the blind could see. Two parts intelligence, four parts of me wanted to scream aloud, "You fuhkeeen basta-cardigans!" The fifth part, as we all know - and by we, I mean those of us who pause, reflect, ponder and swill frothy beverages asunder - just sat quietly in the corner, thumb stuck in the pie, a gleeful, madman face, supported by high-arched brows, saying much more than was spoken, even at the conference and offering a polite apogee to the apologie, "I'm fine, thanks." It wasn't just garish, it was harsh, crass and marshy grass-fed gobbledygook. A sigh was released, slightly and indiscriminately under the upper lip area. The winter was nigh.

     At the apogee of that apologie, some kind of weird shit happened, like when Uncle Faustus got all that creamy stuff all over his lapel and you were told it was a creme ala creme something or other. Otherwise, it was fine until the levee was finally breached; which of course it was, on the fourth of November, as predicted. You remember? At the bar? He sidled in beside you and said, "Bark 'em up the wrong tree," and you replied that you never lied on Sundays. It was shortly after that, really shortly, like a mightily bit of a small bit of shortly, two-thirds and one half less than and not a peeky-squeak more, that the marriage intentions were announced: 

                            On this day, 4th of NOVEMBER, 1986 that the intendeds, 

   JULIE KENNEDY CONSTANTINE and MICHAEL HYDEN ARROWSMITH

                                        are to be wedded in HOLY MATRIMONY.

                                        The blessed event shall take place at:

                                     ST.AUBEN'S CHURCH OF THE IMMACULATE RITUAL

                                     in the township of BETHESDA, WYOMING.

*services start at 3, be there at 2:30 at the latest, or we can't guarantee you a seat. You might want to bring along a pillow or something. Oh, and also, grab the umbrella from the accessories nook in the hall, the roof leaks and Fred, our handyman has been in the hospital with gallstones. We're gonna serve some nibblies afterward however, if you could grab something from Lockie's on the way in, maybe one of their sandwiches, or a salad, that would be really helpful. Honk twice out front, if you need someone to come out and grab the food before you park and I'll send Father Desmond out to fetch it from you. One last thing, the clutch has been acting up in Mammie's Chevrolet and she's simply beside herself with worry. Could someone help her out, please? Take her dog out for its pooping, or maybe start a funding campaign of some sort. Last year, when ol' Henry's tractor went on the fritz, a couple of folk rounded up a bunch of sheckles from a couple of yard sales and had 'Betsy' purring like a mountain lynx nearing birthing time and anticipating a fish supper with the gang. Ha! Ha! That was a funny made, a regular hoot 'n a holler when I get going. Nudge... nudge... remember Tammy?

     Then shortly after that, but just prior to death, the divorce party drew to a close, with you all sad and weepy. 

     The following Thursday, the newspaper arrived at the door with the story that nobody - and I am going to emphasize, nobody -  wanted to read, be told about from someone else's reading or, at the very worse, stumble upon whilst sipping java at the local and just meandering through the papers, slightly plussed by the tardiness of the guest. No, make that squalor. Oh heck! Call it shit! It is was it was! That said, someone wanted to read it and he was Griselda Mackovitz. There was a mistake with the tracking and all the a's got replaced with something quite bizarre. However, not being at liberty to speak of such untruths, the culprit (sans c works and refined pass) spoke up, loud and clear, only in a vain  attempt to hide the fear, "I feign no more! Buy it by summer, or fly it back to the motherland, it makes no difference to me. I am the ark and I cede you all deference I am allowed. Take it, my good man! Take it and fly!"