The Courage to Fall

Lily invited me to her wedding while we lay naked on the couch, our heads resting against opposite armrests. "Oh, this is for you," she said, fishing the invitation from the bag on the floor beside her. The sun cast shadows into her navel as she twisted back and handed it to me.

It was an attractive invitation, hand-embossed with a veil of gauzy paper. "This is nice," I said, fingering the RSVP card. "Can I bring a date?"

She ran her toe along the line of my jaw, making the whiskers rasp. "Who?"

I shrugged. I was bluffing, and admitted it. "Penny, probably."

"Okay." She smiled, her eyes half-closed. I considered making love to her again, but fell asleep before coming to a decision.

I spoke to Penny later that week. "I'll be your date for Lily's wedding," I volunteered.

"Alright!" she agreed. That was easy. "By the way," she went on, "I know that a few of us had talked about going in together on a gift, but I found a nice glass decanter that I'm going to get for them, so you're on your own."

Shit. To be honest, I didn't remember any plans to split a gift. I hadn't even thought about a gift until Penny brought it up. There were few things more annoying than being ambushed by forgotten duties, but gift shopping was one of them.

What kind of wedding gift can you get for a couple that has already lived together for five years?

Practical, yet thoughtful: Electric toothbrushes. A rainbow assortment of spray paints. Post-It notes. Beer.

Playful, yet romantic: A chinchilla named Max. Pump-action squirt guns. Twenty feet of rope and a gallon of ice cream. Nerf swords.

Unique, yet disturbing: His and hers voodoo dolls. A fossilized bat. Ten pounds of goat cheese. A severed head.

"Oh my god, I'm having such a bad morning," said Lily on the phone.

"Do you need to be rescued?" I asked.

"Yes, please. How about noon? No, make it two."

I picked her up on my motorcycle, and we crossed to the North Shore, nipping into one of the canyons. The road stopped when the canyon walls went vertical, but there were foot trails, and we followed them into the rainforest. Lily picked a narrow path at random, and we hiked down to a huge boulder at the river's edge. Climbing on top, we wrapped ourselves in each other's arms, and watched the river tumble between the cliffs.

"This is my spot," said Lily. "I found it."

I was agreeable, even though I'd been here before. "Tell me about your morning," I said.

"I got in a fight. Punched some guy in the face."

I grunted in amusement.

"He was harassing me, and I was really stressed about the wedding, so I punched him. I used my left hand, but I still got him pretty good. There was a good sound."

"Like dropping a pound of ground beef on the floor?"

"Like beating a sack of live fish with a piece of lumber."

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine that sound, but it was difficult with the roaring river and the crows.

"The morning just went downhill from there," continued Lily, leaning into me. "Is it too late to back out of the wedding?"

"You've got four days until the ceremony," I said. "Plus the ten day warranty period after that."

Turning around, she pushed me on my back and gave me a long, wet kiss.

"What makes a good wedding gift?" I asked my friend Al.

"Dope," he said.

"They don't smoke," I said.

"Mangoes," he said.

"Not mangoes," I said.

"I love mangoes," he said.

"Not mangoes," I repeated.

"Goldfish, then," he said.

I gave this some serious thought.

"How come you always end up over here, naked?" I asked.

"Keeps me sane," said Lily, drawing pictures on my back.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" asked the shopkeeper.

"A wedding gift," I said.

"We have lots of great wedding gifts," he said, obviously believing himself to be helpful.

I wandered through the shop, confounded by the number of different ways they could make candle holders and CD racks. Tucked against one wall was a cabinet containing some glasses. I picked up a tumbler etched with a Chinese character. "Harmony" said the English translation, etched beside it. I examined a second glass. "Love" it said. There were six glasses.

"I'll take them," I said.

With the glasses wrapped in tissue and stuffed into my backpack, I leapt on my motorbike and raced for home, feeling lighter and fleeter with the killing of a duty. Traffic was thickening in the late afternoon heat, but the bike was nimble, and I was quick. But not quite so quick as to avoid a Honda that changed lanes suddenly without signalling. The rear fender of the car touched my thigh, and I pulled towards the meridian, laying on my horn, trying to find room in the shrinking lane. The Honda driver realized his mistake, but rather than pull back, he hit his brakes. My right handlebar clipped his mirror, the front wheel wrenched sideways, and I somersaulted over the gas tank.

I limped into my kitchen, unzipped my backpack, and pulled out the tissue-wrapped tumblers. Unwrapping them, one by one, I examined the broken shards, and then placed them into the garbage.

Beauty.

Peace.

Happiness.

Miraculously, one glass survived. I placed it on the counter, and looked for something to drink. I could find only a couple of ounces of vodka, which I emptied into the glass, waiting for the last drops to get the courage to fall.

The phone rang. It was Lily. "Can I come over?" she asked.

Sure, I said.

Hope, said the glass.