TEN MONTHS LATER, JUNE 5th
Michael's alarm woke him out of a strange dream. He slumber had taken him back to when he was a teenager. In fact, it was 1979. He was back on his high school football team, the Knights. It was the night he lost his virginity in fact. It was with Doris McDonald in the back of his old car. It had been the night of the big game. He had scored the winning touchdown and advanced the school to state. Doris, who had felt prior, that it was wrong to have before marriage, lost her inhibitions that night. It was a combination of pride for the Knights and tepid Pißwassers shouted, "Do me, do me." And like the teenager he was, he did, well that was an order wasn't it. The dream then fast forwarded to when he got home that night. It was late. His dad, drunk as a skunk, had stayed up that night, furiously awaiting his son. When the trailer's door, opened Horace Townley jumped up from his seat. His dad was not the template for his appearance, but rather, Jimmy's later. The hair that had not receded blazed red with some of the roots hinting at gray. Horace Andrew Townley was a menace to the trailer park, and to the town. He was so well known that he had seen, several times, the inside of each of the five cells in the jail. He knew each nook and cranny. The sheriff says that Horace had the town record for arrests, beating out Gerald Kidd from way back in 1877. Michael could not say he was surprised by that.
"Where the fuck you been boy?" the older man said.
"I was out dad," Michael said trembling, in a voice that sounded just like Jimmy's.
"Out where, you stupid fuck" He said getting angrier.
"With some friends," Mike was now quivering violently with fear.
"You had better start telling the goddamn truth," Horace said as he broke the bottle on the floor, "or so help me." Horace got up in a split second and was now in his son's, his only son's, face.
"I… I was out with Doris and we made whoopee," Michael said.
"You mean to tell me, you got some tail, boy?"
"Yessir," Michael's words slammed together; he was petrified.
"Well, why didn't you say that? Let me get you a beer." Horace said as his features softened into exceeding approval. Horace opened the distance between father and son as he went to the kitchen to retrieve a fresh beer. "Boy, did you wear a rubber?
"Yessir," still scared beyond belief.
"Good, don't want no unwanted motherfuckers around do we?"
"No sir," he was less frightened.
"Damn straight," Horace said emerging with two beers in his hand. "This is for you, boy," extending his hand to take the brown bottle.
"Thank you sir," Michael said grasping it, knuckles white. His head would throb the next morning, but his dad insisted that he stayed home from the school the next day. Horace invited some prostitutes.
That's when he woke up to the beep beep beep. It was early and the sun was rising. He forgot for a second why he had to get up so early. "They're getting married today." He spoke with, as expected, the bass that came with awaking, more so when it was early. Amanda, who was already awake, but lying down only nodded as she got up. It was six in the morning and she didn't want to move, much less attend a ceremony in uncomfortable clothes. She rose as the alarm persisted in its call to wakefulness. She reached over the pale, muscular mass that was her husband and silenced it. Michael started to move as the sun which rose early, in the begging of June started to hit where his open eyes would have been. He saw nothing but white as he moved his head trying to avoid the harsh, glaring radiance.
A knock was heard at the door, but the person did not want entry. "Ma, Pop, it's time to wake up for this wedding." It was Jim's voice that reverberated into the room.
"Alright, alright, we're up," Amanda shouted back, her normal voice having been returned by slumber.
Michael now swung his legs out of bed, causing his feet to make a thud on the floor, that, had it been made any lower in the dwelling would have woken Mrs. Devereux, the old, no, archaic heiress of the Maxwell-Livingston real estate agency, but had only served to wake the tired Tracey De Santa, who had needed to wake up because she was invited to the nuptials, that started at ten in the morning across the West River, which had, over the last few months, frozen and thawed. "Fuck," was all she mumbled. She looked over at the alarm clock. 6:11.
They all showered, ate, and dressed. Michael wore a tuxedo that he bought from the Perseus down in the Exchange. He owned the tux because he was often on the LC red carpets. He had directed two independent films in the last year. Both of them won Hussy Awards. Jim also wore a tuxedo purchased from Perseus, because he'd starred in the first film. The girls decided to get there dresses from somewhere on Columbus. They were exquisite, expensive dresses, but Michael didn't care about money anymore. Money wasn't an object.
The De Santas were ready and all piled into the car. For some reason, they had chosen to get married in Broker, on the beach. Sure, beach weddings were nice, but Firefly wasn't most people's idea of romantic. They'd said they didn't want to stray to far from home. "Florida still woulda been nice," Michael grunted as he started his vehicle, a Cognoscenti.
"Well that's what they wanted," Amanda reasoned, "I just don't want to get stuck with any hypodermic needles."
"That beach cannot be that dirty," Tracey protested, "Of course, I've never taken the time to go out there."
James piped in, "I can assure you that it is. Bad experience."
"Well don't worry. They got a permit for a certain part of the beach and yesterday, they hired a cleaning firm to remove all the debris. So, no needles and no raw sewage, at least not today," Michael said as he neared the Broker Bridge.
"I'm surprised they wanted a minister to do this," Amanda honestly remarked.
"Why?" Michael's brow furrowed as he asked.
"Well, because City Hall was an option," said she.
"That's true, but they wanted to be on the beach. It brings back good memories for the both of them."
"I think it's sweet," Tracey added.
"Do you know where they're going for the honeymoon?" asked Jimmy.
"Nope, but they did say that they would move out west someplace." Mike replied.
"So long as it's not the Mid-west," Amanda sighed
Quoth Michael, "Amen."
"It can't be too bad out there. They just get a bad wrap because of this countries long history of sectionalism," Tracey said airily, imperiously.
"We know you're in school Tracey," Jimmy whined.
"Whatever, I'm just saying that we should not dare to talk about our great country like that!" exclaimed she, with enough vehemence to power the city for a day.
Amanda turned, haltingly at first, to face her daughter in the rear driver's side seat, "Since when, were you such a patriot?"
"Samantha Muldoon is inspirational," was the girl's simple answer.
Michael chuckled, "If only Trev had heard you say that."
"What?" inquired the bewildered bleach blonde.
"You're 'uncle" he stressed that word out of sarcasm, "would explode if he knew you actually liked that fake pop country singer."
"Here, here," Jimmy added.
"We just won't tell him now, will we?" Amanda said, as the car pulled up to the beach.
It was about ten o'clock. The people to be wed were there both of them sweating bullets. One was pacing in one of the tents. The other was actually twiddling thumbs in anticipation and nervousness. They, both being old fashion, decided not to see each other before the wedding. The Reverend Sanford glanced down at his watch and went to each of the tents, telling the occupants therein to 'prepare' themselves. All of the invited were starting to sweat when both of the people emerged. No one was to be given away so they each walked down the aisle. They were both dressed in the finest clothes that could be envisioned. The minister smiled at the couple and at the assembled.
"Dearly beloved, we gathered here in the sight of God and witnesses to behold the greatest thing the Lord bestowed upon us, the gift of love. These two people have come here to show that they love each other to each other, and to you and the rest of the world. They have come of their own free will to pledge this and to be united by the Holy Ghost in Matrimony. You have all come to witness, celebrate and share in their happiness. May I have the rings?"
Jimmy gave the reverend the rings
"Do you, Franklin Clinton," said the clergyman as the ring was slipped onto the black man's finger, "take Patrick McReary to be your lawfully wedding husband to cherish, serve and protect him as long as you shall live,"
"I do." Franklin said smiling, cheekily.
"Do you, Patrick Reginald McReary take Franklin Clinton, as you lawfully wedded husband to cherish serve and protect him as long as you both shall live."\
"I do," Packie said
"With consent and mutual love you have been bonded 'til do you part. By the power vested in me by God and the State of Liberty, I pronounce you married. Franklin, Patrick you may kiss your husband. Their lips approached each other. They were centimeters away from gleeful osculation.
BACK TO THE PRESENT, SEPTEMBER 6th
That's when Franklin opened his eyes. The light came in to his eyes and the pain came into his head. It wasn't the next year on a beach in Broker. It was here and now. He was in his bed. It was about nine in the morning and he had the hangover to end all hangovers. There was body right next to him. He didn't remember inviting a girl up to his place last night. Shit, he didn't remember last night at all. He was surprised he had such a vivid dream. How could he have a dream so detailed, so complete? He was out of his body. He surmised that the things he dreamt about Michael in his childhood were from all those conversations over beers in either of their houses or in some now nameless bar. But, why was he marrying a man, on the beach. He was straight as an arrow. Yup, straight and narrow. He wanted to marry Tanisha on a beach not Patrick fucking McReary of Dukes, Liberty City. Tanisha was gone but that didn't mean that he'd started to like those of the same sex. What the fuck?
"Ah, shit. That was one fuck of a dream. Me kissing Packie," he scoffed, ignoring the fact that even the utterance made his morning erection twitch. "How much did I drink last night?" Franklin said, grabbing his temples.
That solicited a groan from a mass of human warmth beside him, beneath the covers.
"Huh," said he, as he moved the blanket that covered the mysterious guest. He moved it to reveal a naked white man. It was Packie. "Shit, shit, shit! What the fuck?!" He shouted as he got out of bed, unaware that he was nude.
"Huh who's making all that noise," said the Irishman as he opened his eyes to find a naked man in his vision. "Oh shit," he said sitting up. He regretted that instantly as a throb resounded in the recesses of his skull.
"What did we do last night?" Packie asked looking at Franklin, in the eye at first but gazing lower after a few seconds.
"Shit, I don't know, but by the looks of it we both had too much to drink last night," Franklin looked at Patrick's eyes and self-consciously raised the bed sheet to cover himself. He thought he saw a cute pout on the other's face once his manhood was hidden.
"Wait a second, Franklin" he thought, "cute pout. You don't think that this guy is cute. You don't think any guy is cute. You're not gay. It just happened when you were drunk. You fucked this hot guy when you were drunk that's all. Wait, hot guy." Audibly, "Well he is good looking."
"What!?" asked a hysterical Patrick. Inwardly, "He think that I'm good looking, crooked nose and all."
"Well it's just that, well, we did it, we ought to see where this goes," F said, in his most rational voice. He said that without even thinking. That whole "I'm straight as an arrow. Straight and narrow." shit seemed to go flying straight out of the window and land on the cold hard sidewalk.
"What!?" same tone as before. Inwardly, "He thinks he's gonna have the upper hand. You wish."
"Calm down let's just get dressed."
"Okay," the Irishman replied.
Packie called downstairs and called Kate. Boy, was he embarrassed. He was calling his little sister to bring him clothes after a sexual escapade. She not having over-indulged, remembered clearly the events of last night. She remembered when they left to 'catch up' over some beers. She knew it would be more than catching up. They seemed to have some history. She always knew her brother was different. She took the elevator up, left the clothes at the threshold of the door, and proceeded downstairs with a smile. Niko greeted her downstairs.
"You owe me twenty dollars." He said, "Pay up,"
"I knew he was different, but not this kind of different," she said taking two ten dollar bills out of her wallet.
"Well, I did. One night we got drunk and that's what he wanted."
"I guess your just attractive to all McRearys," she said reaching up for a kiss
"I guess so," as they locked lips.
After pulling apart,"Well I guess we all have to settle down after a while," Niko said squeezing his wife.
At that very instant, Wade was leaving, of his own free will, from Trevor's filthy hotel room with a heavy, brown suitcase full of clothes he purchased in the city, and in his pocket a plane ticket for Blackwater, West Elizabeth. He was going home. He was going to start again. Trevor was within the dirty room sobbing into a 'd lost everything, his taste for meth, his toughness, and the only thing that brought him joy, Wade. The door was shut and the footsteps faded into silence.
Firstly, thank you all for reading with a special thanks to those who reveiwed (positively or otherwise). To those who've asked yes there will be a sequel. In fact there will be a prequel as well to describe how both Kate and Roman are still alive. The sequel may deal with how Packie and Frankie will handle what's happened, or more accurately put, what the did. Until then, I invite all of you to read Aiden Pearce in the Polar Vortex, which will also wrap up soon.
'Til we see each other again, remember to remember to remember.
-Wherenwhy