Day Before
It was a sunny February day. Spring, not due for more than a month, seemed to be giving a preview of what she had planned. The non-migratory birds of Springfield were singing in the just-budding trees.
Guests had begun to arrive: Joe Bergstrum, Thelonius, the kids from the beech, the Callahans, Brian's college friends and their families, and assorted miscreants from the music industry. There were hotel rooms, blank places of no attachment, where they threw their possessions down for the day and then set off once more.
The rehersal was short and simple. Brian and Bart, his best man, walked down the isle, then the bridesmaids, then Lisa and Homer. The marriage vows were breezed through. At the actual wedding, the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Eucharist would be performed as well, but they didn't require the couple's memorization and practice. After the rehearsal, the families and their friends went to eat at Luigi's. Homer took the men to Moe's for a few drinks afterwards.
Brian sat at the bar, eyes travelling distractedly from the television screen to a spot above Homer's bald cue ball head. He hefted his tankard and took a small, obliging sip. He truly hated Duff, but, as it was all Moe had, save the brine from the pickled eggs, he had ordered one to be social.
"You know Homer, I like this place," he half-lied. He truly hated Moe's Tavern; it was, as even Moe had admitted, a crap-hole. The people in it, however, made it pleasant. There was a tragic nobility, a heart-breaking sadness to the poor blue-collar schmoes who trudged down to Moe's to drown their woes in biting poison. "The dankness somehow grows on you after a while."
"You know, Brian, I have something for you," Homer said, producing a small black box from his pocket.
"Really?"
"My father gave me these on the day I married Marge. They brought me good luck. I couldn't have asked for a better marriage. We don't have many traditions in our family, but I'd be happy if you kept this one alive."
"I'd be happy-" he began. Homer opened the box, revealing matching bride and groom pig plastic cufflinks, "To…wear those…things."
"Aww," Homer said, pulling Brian into a one-sided hug.
That night, Brian sat up late. Try as he might, and as tired as he felt, sleep could not find him. To think…Lisa will be with me from now on…by my side. How many thoughts does a man think between dusk and dawn on the night of his marriage? Brian sat down on his bed, and took out a mother-of-pearl pipe that he'd been given that Christmas. He pinched some tobacco in, then lit it, and puffed on it, deep in thought. One thought that kept coming to mind was children. Children! Bart and Jessica's first is three months along now…for all I know…no, I know that one time wasn't it. But still, tomorrow night… His thoughts of burdens and responsibilities in the distant future were eclipsed by a promise in the near future. He had 'slipped up' but once with Lisa, but he had enjoyed their love immensely, and knew that she had as well. But then…our love has been so pure before this. It was everything but sex. What was it Victorians strived for? To fall in love without sex, whereas modern man aims for sex without love or commitment. Will this ruin it? Will it stop being long talks, intellectual musings? Will we be just like stupid, horny teenagers?
Sometime after two a.m., Brian dozed off. He woke to the sound of the morning train. He sighed, and crossed himself, and prayed for the strength to face the day.