I got to get us married, he said.

But how was the goddamn question. Couldnt go to the courthouse. No, that option
was out. One look at her vacant, unknowing eyes and the magistrate would figure
rightly something was wrong. He remembered a place on the other side of the river,
down in the defunct riverside town of SoulPort. It had been years ago, but he
recalled a small chapel over there, a shack really, where drunks or just plain stupid
folk could get themselves hitched fast as a dog can stop running and lick its butt.
He sat there and picked through her jewelry box, wondering if he had already pawned
her old wedding ring. He found a pair of onyx earrings which he thought she should
wear, and then, with some surprise, an antique looking ring.
What is this it? he asked her. I aint never seen this before.
She was sitting on the bed looking down at her hands. She did not move or otherwise
answer him. It was a strange ring that looked like Christs headband of thorns, them
dirty gold strands wrapped about some brown looking stone, not right appropriate but
it would have to do.

I gave my wife the largest diamond that could be found in the Quad Cities, he told
her, hell maybe nothing so big could be found in Chicago then neither. Before they
began making diamonds, that is, making them fake diamonds. Real diamonds are
supposed to be forever you know, he said, staring into the jewelry box as if peering at
the edge of some unfelt chamber in his mind. Too bad love aint, he said closing he
box with a loud snap.
She jerked violently with the sound, sitting as she was on the edge of the bed, the
slippers about to fall off from her purplish feet which did not quite touch the
carpeted floor.
Sorry, he said, I forget sometimes.
He then dressed her up in a clean cotton sundress, white with blue flowers, a dress he
remembered she had worn to a friends wedding a few years ago. She loved getting
gussied up cuz then she knew they were going somewhere. She was happiest
whenever they left the house and went for a drive. And so on this Saturday they was
going for a real drive, across the bridge that spanned the Mississippi and then
descended in a snakes tail into SoulPort.
It had been decades since he had come this far. The Mississippi had overflowed its
levies one spring a while back and submerged much of this lowland, and after ten
years still no support had appeared to build the town back up. But this was SoulPort
and most people on the other side of the river, to be honest, werent too happy that
the town but a couple streets and a few dozen buildings hadnt washed off into
the Mississippi altogether. A few of the brick homes were still standing, but they were
2

ramshackle and boarded over, grass grew nipple high around the porches, windows
had been busted and a darkness like dried blood caked the empty interiors. Mostly
though it was but gravel lots on which abandoned cars and broken air conditioners
had been left for the taking, and arid fields where no trees or shrubs of any size had
found desire to take root.
One of the few signs of human life was the trailer park the Army Corps felt obliged to
put in to house the blockheads who insisted on staying here, yet those tin boxes were
already catawampus and stained with dirt the rain has splashed halfway up their
sides. Some kids loitered like birds over road kill on the gravel streets and an elderly
man stood with his elbows resting on a swayed balcony fashioned out of two by fours,
looking out at the great nothing.
As he drove slowly down the potted road, he finally came across one of the old nude
dancing establishments, or perhaps it was a new one, although the name Dorothys
rang a familiar bell from out of those old times. The town of SoulPort back in those
days had been ass to butt with a number of these titty bars, by some crooked zoning
arrangement this was the towns main source of revenue and employment, the gals of
course and the guys outside trying to hawk passersby, handing out cards that offered
free admission until you read the small print at the bottom of the card that said you
had to buy four drinks at ten bucks a piece. The building was not new, but the adobe
sides looked to have recently received a coat of firehouse red paint and a sign on the
roof the length of the front of the building spelled out Dorothys name in equally bold
red letters. There were several cars and pick-up trucks parked outside. Quite a

crowd for an afternoon, he thought. He then saw the smaller sign propped up in one
of the darkened windows that said: Free hot dogs all day long and he knew this
was the same place as before.
Terrible wieners, he said to her with a smile, but when horses are wishes even us
beggars can ride now cant we? He laughed and pulled at the rim of his hat.
A hundred yards further, the Marriage Shack was sitting by its lonesome in a field of
chipped stone and dead grass, perhaps it had been picked up and moved here as it
was set on cement blocks without any mortar; it looked abandoned, painted yellow
and purple now, different colors than he remembered and a large sign surrounded by
rows of light bulbs, which were not lit up during the day. He parked in an adjacent
dirt lot and walked to the front door of the shack. Hanging from a nail was a hand
drawn sign that said: Back in one hour. The sign looked worn and dirty, as if it had
hung there forever. Out of curiosity he flipped it over, the other side read: Back
tomorrow. For the hell of it, he knocked on the front door. As he waited for an
answer, he looked back at her sitting in the passenger seat of the car. She appeared
to have fallen asleep, her head bent forward and her face towards her lap.
He thought he saw the curtains move inside the door window, but as he waited for
that apparition to reappear, he decided that could have been his own reflection he
saw. He studied a metallic telephone key pad next to the door. He pressed the call
button, listened to the sound of a phone ringing a few times until a womans recorded
voice answered: Welcome to the Marriage Shack. If you have an
appointment, press 1. If you need to make an appointment, press 2. If you

want more information, please visit our web site at www dot marriageshack
dot com. If you want to speak to Tinkerbelle, press 0.
He pressed two.
Thank you for your interest in creating your magic moment at the Marriage
Shack. At this time we are not accepting any appointments. Please visit our
web site at He pressed the button to hang up. He quickly dialed again: Welcome
to the
He pressed zero.
Hi, this is Tinkerbelle. Sorry I am not here to take your call. Please leave me
your name and number and I will get back to you as soon as I can. Bing!
Hi, he said, we are both here, outside this here your Marriage Shack and we wants to
get married, I guess. Not real sure what to do but we are ready if you are. I dont
have a phone number to give you so we will just wait out here I suppose. The sign
here on the door says youll be back in an hour. I hope that is somewhat accurate.
He pressed the button to hang up. He thought about calling again and what were
the other options? he thought maybe he should have left the woman his name, but
hell, they were the only ones out here so to hell with that.
He walked around the small clapboard shanty, trying to catch of glimpse of someone
or something, but each window had an inner shade drawn. An outside water spigot
was leaking and a muddy patch of ground had evolved on which he slipped and nearly
fell, one of his boots then besotted with mud. Swearing under his breath, he tried to
5

clean it off the best he could in some tufts of dry grass. He had dressed up for the
occasion, wearing his tan pants with the blue stitching around the back pockets and
halfway down the legs. He had a yellow shirt embroidered with red and purple thread
on beneath his brown suede jacket, a blue handkerchief in the front chest pocket. He
had lost all sense of what looked good, for years he had depended on her for that,
and so while he thought he looked downright fancy, he now had to look at other
peoples eyes for an indication if he had made some dressing mistake. But there
werent no one here to tell him nothing. On his head he had his black Stetson, he had
to slit its band with a razor and fix it with electrical tape so that it would fit his head
which this year had grown too large to stretch his hats any further. Even so and even
though the mud had besmeared his beloved calf skin Luccheses, he knew he looked
pretty darn good at each end of him, top and bottom at least. No telling what he
looked like in between, but he really didnt give a flying fuck, he mumbled to himself.
For no reason he could figure, he suddenly felt compelled to reach in his pocket to
make sure he had the ring, struggled against some anxiety before locating it, then
headed back to the car. Not until he sat down did he realize she was gone.
What in the hell? He looked in back, he leaned up into the windshield and anxiously
scanned the flat ground in front of him. He opened the door and jumped out looking
over the car then turned in circles not believing she could have gotten up and
wandered off like this. And where how could she have shuffled her way out of his
sight so quickly? Then in the field halfway back towards Dorothys, he saw, on the
ground, the white crocheted shawl he had placed over her stooping shoulders which
he thought looked pretty darn good with the blue and white cotton dress she had on.

He hurried across the gravel strewn ground, stopped to pick up her shawl, then
ambled, best he could on his disease-bowed and wobbling legs, across the parking lot,
snagging his coat on the side mirror of a patrons truck, but he did not stop to inspect
the damage. He climbed up to the porch and pulled open the screen door just as two
men, roofers from their tar-spotted boots, lumbered out, drunk on ten dollar rum and
cokes. He held the door open and was ready to yank them both through the opening
so that he could get through, when they suddenly lurched forward as if being pushed
from behind and he was able to swagger past them into the stale smelling, musicfilled darkness.
Inside he could see nothing at all and then realized he was standing before a heavy
black curtain, when to his right a female voice said: ten dollars please. He turned
towards the voice, but all he could see were the white lips aglow in the black light of
her booth.
Huh? he said, thinking, where was that greasy guy with the coupons when you needed
him?
Ten dollars, she repeated, her lips did not close but hung open like a floating smoke
ring that was begging to be swiped out of existence. He began hunting through his
wallet, but money did not glow under black light.
He paused to ask, And what about ladies, how much for them?
Well you dont seem like no lady, the hanging lips of the woman in the darkness said,
but if you can prove you is, then you gets in free.

Shit, he said as if this was all the proof he was looking for, now he knew she was
inside this establishment, and he gave the girl a bill. What did I jes give you maam?
he asked after a few seconds when she didnt offer up any change.
It was a five, her lips said with a quiver that told him she was lying, you still owe me
five.
Now, for Christs he started to say but he put his frustration aside when he heard
the stage announcer call out the next girl: Lets all welcome Contina, the
contortionist from Constantinipple. He tossed her another bill, whatever it was, and
lunged past the curtain despite the girls shrill protests that he needed to have his
hand stamped. He stumbled into an unlit area where he fell upon black tables and
cheap folding chairs. He held himself up on one of those chairs so he could gain some
perspective over the situation. At the bar along the stage were five or six men
holding their drinks like little spittoons to catch their drools as they gawked up at
Continas furless and expressionless pudendum which disappeared and reappeared like
a shy anatomy lesson from behind the pole. One of the men at the bar turned and
looked at him, tapped his drinking buddy on the shoulder and they both turned his
way and shared a laugh. He could feel the blood swell behind his eyes, but he
couldnt allow those mongrels to distract him. There was a bar on the other side of
the room, where a lone bartender leaned forward, his forearms on the counter,
feigning to watch Contina but he knew at least one of the bartenders eyes was
following him. The rest of the room beyond the stage was draped in darkness. He
stumbled towards a large white object setting in the periphery, only to find it was a

piece of furniture covered with a white sheet. The bouncer came up behind him and
tapped him on the arm. He twisted around to meet the mans face, he could see him
mouthing something he could not understand above the music, above the hissing that
now filled his ears. He pushed past the bouncer and headed back to the stage, his
arms felt long and heavy at his sides, his legs knocked each table as he passed,
spilling several drinks that must have belonged to people who had fled his approach.
He could feel his head grow larger with rage, his back curved up on his anger and he
knew he was hissing at the men from the bar who now stood up as if to confront him.
From behind, the bouncer grabbed his arm and shouted something in his ear, he spun
around and knocked the large man backward, he set chairs flying in each direction as
he crabbed his way across the floor. Contina snatched up her tasseled bra from off the
stage and exited on her high heels, her ass jiggling like a sack of angry bees. He
could hear the announcer shouting, security to the stage!
I am looking for my wife! he shouted back over his shoulder but realized no one would
understand him, no one could understand a word he was saying because his jaw had
grown too large to move and his face was now swollen and bloated not just with the
folly of this moment, but with the anger of all his sins and stupidity, the totality of his
hubris. He felt the hands grab at his shoulders but with his long ape-like swings he
knocked the insignificant beings back into the darkness. He bullied a path through
the tables and chairs, pulled down a curtain but that revealed nothing but stacks of
more chairs. He fell across the stage, the music still playing, gathered himself again
and lurched towards the commodes. Girls shrieked and slammed shut the door to the
womens bathroom. He banged on it, shouting, is my wife in there? One of the

women laughed and he set his shoulder into the door which opened wide enough for
him to see a screaming ocean of naked arms and tits before it closed again. Most of
the men at the bar had fled, but the bouncer and two others stood ready as he turned
back toward the entrance. He saw their stance, the glare in their eyes, they were
probably twenty, maybe even thirty years younger than him, one had a bottle in his
hand. He grabbed a chair and held it above his head like a tree branch and set forth
after the young men, his face stretched like a baboon in a wild unremitting scream.
He was suddenly outside and blinded by a sea of white. It took several seconds for his
eyes to adjust to the afternoon sun. He looked down and saw the drops of blood on
his pants. The palms of his hands were blackened by some substance that he wiped
across his shirt. His jacket was torn and hung half off his shoulder. He was panting,
he felt his knees beginning to buckle, he was going to faint, he was going to fall face
first into the dirt, fall in the middle of the day like a drunk, like the pathetic, pitiful
disgusting drunk that he was, even though he hadnt had a drop in more than twenty
years. His hands dropped to his knees and he let his head hang as low as it could go.
Then he heard a voice. He stopped breathing, listened and heard it again. Is this
your wife? the girl shouted through the ringing in his ears. His head was down
between his knees as if he was about to barf, he didnt have the strength to
straighten up, so he strained to look behind him. There in the fuzzy, contorted
distance was the white lipped girl standing next to an ancient looking woman in a
blue and white cotton dress.

10

Oh my god! he cried out in a harsh wheeze. He unhinged his corrupt spine, turned
and slowly staggered towards the two women, as if unsure this vision would remain
before him when the blood rushed away from his head. As he got closer, the girl who
took his money stepped away and disappeared back inside the club, leaving the older
woman standing there alone, the wind blowing her dress, her hands straight at her
sides, her face to the ground, looking as if she were mightily ashamed of something.
One of her onyx earrings was missing and there was a handmade path of dirt on her
bare shoulder. My God! he thought, what had he done? Had something happened to
her? Had he hit someone? Killed someone? He looked again down at the blood stains
on his pants. Hell no, not enough blood to have killed someone. But he had almost
lost her, that much was for sure, he had looked away for just a moment, just that one
moment, and that was enough to lose her, maybe my god, forever. He stood there
looking at her downcast face and not knowing what else to do, simply stood there
looking at her some more for who knows how long, not allowing her to leave from his
sight.
Sometime later an old vintage Volkswagen beetle drove into the parking lot next to
the Marriage Shack. The car door creaked opened and an impossibly large woman
emerged. Her emergence was indeed an act of logical defiance as not only was she
too large to have fit into the small car to begin with, but she was dressed in a
billowing silver gown that exploded into shape when she stood up. After closing her
car door, she fixed a tiara on her overflowing mane of red hair and began walking like
the queen of rainclouds towards the Marriage Shack.

11

Excuse me miss, he said leaving the spot on which he had stood for he didnt know
how long, are you who you call Tinkerbelle?
And you must be the lucky man who she then noticed the stains on his pants, the
filth on his shirt, the torn jacket. He had also achieved a stroke of mud across the
side of his nose by this point. The words still froze to her lips, she looked past him at
the woman who seemed to be hung by her neck in the middle of the field, her head
hanging down and the rest of her unmoving, only her dress being tossed softly by the
wind, then she resumed you must be the guy who left me a message about a
marriage ceremony?
That was in fact me, he said, and you see weve been waiting for you.
And is that your intended over yonder? Tinkerbelle asked.
Indeed yes, indeed that is her, he said pointing as if one could mistake his wife-tobe from the absolute nothing else in that field so what do you say, can we do this?
I suppose so, Tinkerbelle said as she turned and continued walking towards the purple
and yellow shack, we need to sign some papers first, gotta feed the government so
they say, and then we can she stopped and looked back over at the hung woman
maybe you can get her (she almost said down) and the two of you can come inside.
Tinkerbelle was not a minister or clergy of any kind. She called herself a
ceremonialist. She was not only large, but plump, each of her features were all
plumped up and pleasantly obese, from her cheeks to her fingers. Her joints met like
links of perfectly plump sausages. He thought he might be able to pull her apart and

12

eat her. It was not an unpleasant thought. There was a prettiness to her that no man
would deny. She offered her services as a laywoman and it was her way of giving
something to people. She loved to help strangers.
Then what do you need all these documents and money for? he asked.
Well, you both is going to be 100% married when Im done with you, she said, that is
what you wanted now isnt it? Or is this just a renewal of your vows?
Yes, I mean no, he said looking at his wife to be, then looking down and noticing
the puddle at her feet, a puddle that was increasing in size as it found the lower
points of the floor with its golden fingers. Floods return to SoulPort, he imagined the
newspapers saying, which caused him to laugh all of a sudden. He held back and
looked up at Tinkerbelle, but the ceremonialist had not noticed anything this is our
first time, for the two of us anyway, the first time the two of us
You have a ring? Tinkerbelle interrupted.
Yes, of course, he said. She watched him fish in his pocket, the struggling expression
on his face perhaps as ugly as she had seen in a man.
We got rings in case you dont, she said, you can buy or just rent one if you like.
I done got one, he said, and finally after some effort produced the ring.
Ill take that, she said. She held it up and looked it over. This is one strange ass
wedding ring, she said, is that an insect in this here stone?
Cant rightly say, he said.

13

So, you got yours?

No, he said, my fingers, well lets just say the rings they make that fit my fingers are
better called a fence. When Tinkerbelle looked down at the fingers he was
referencing, he could tell by her expression that she had never seen hands that big.
Well then, are you ready to get married dear? Tinkerbelle asked his wife-to-be.
He nearly froze. Ok, this was where it was all going to break down. He knew this
would happen. After finally getting up the courage to do this, despite losing her in the
titty bar, despite getting splattered with blood from who knows how and who knows
whose broken skull, despite standing like some aimless dope for an hour in some dusty
shit field, after getting all the way to the point when they were standing in front of
an obese fairy possessed with the power of matrimony -- it was all going to fall apart
right here, now, when his wife-to-be would reveal that she was a woman here against
her will, for she a woman who had no will, no awareness of this event, and so who
knows what would happen, maybe Tinkerbelle, being a woman and all, would see this
as a disgrace and a form of violence meted upon women, and she would call the cops,
have him taken away, and the police they would see the blood, the torn clothing, they
would ask whose car is that, where had the rings and jewelry come from, the
questions would be endless and they would all be bad, it would all go from bad to
worse, all the way to outright damning.
Then to his amazement, his wife-to-be looked up, looked at Tinkerbelle, then looked
at him and nodded. A smile actually seemed to come to her lips. It was a goddamn
miracle.

14

The golden puddle on the floor was flowing now under Tinkerbelles feet. He tried
not to look. As the ceremonialist spoke her ceremonial bit, his wife-to-be suddenly
took on a look of grave consternation, she looked at the lady in the billowing silver
costume and right in midsentence asked her: Why are you saying all this? She then
looked at her husband-to-be decked out as he was in torn clothes splattered with
blood and grime and she asked: So why is she saying all this? The ceremonialist was a
little put off, but she was a professional after all and she had a job to do. She
continued. But this seemed to anger his wife-to-be and this time she shouted: Why
are you saying all this! The ceremonialist raised her voice in turn and continued as if
she were now performing an exorcism and the only way to complete this task was to
talk through the distractions, to shout over the disruptions, to ignore the revolting
language, the attempts of your subject to derail you. Why am I here? his wife-to-be
yelled so loud one could hear something heavy fall in the other room, a chair or a
table perhaps in the waiting room, and the someone who had tumbled from this
furniture then appeared at the doorway, looking in with expression of fear, fear that
no one needed to shine on to this already fearful day.
Like a judge handing down a guilty sentence, Tinkerbelle quickly shouted: I now
pronounce you as one. Here, put the ring on her finger.
He hung the ring on her finger, which immediately slipped off and fell to the floor
disappearing into the pool of urine.
Were married? he asked to keep Tinkerbelle from noticing the mishap.
Youre married, she said, you may kiss the bride. If you wish.

15

He quickly smooched her cheek. His wife looked at him with an expression of
violation and farted.
Tinkerbelle then rapidly told him that he would receive the marriage certificate in
the mail. In the meantime, here is your receipt, and she said as she removed from
her computer a CD which she folded into a plastic case then handed to him here is
the video of your lovely wedding here at the Marriage Shack in case you want to share
this with your loved ones. And here are some of my cards in case anyone asks or
could use my services. I dont just do weddings. Funerals too. Pet burials. Ancestral
wakes.
He wanted to leave Tinkerbelle a nice tip, but looking through his billfold, he must
have given the white-lipped girl at the titty bar his larger bills.
As they drove back towards home, he suddenly felt tired. He swore he could fall
asleep right at this very moment, but when he saw the sign, Leaving SoulPort, he was
suddenly revived by the realization that he was married! This was his wife!
My wife! he felt like shouting.
He could never had imagined how joyful itd feel being married again. This caught
him completely by surprise. There was something vital in this ceremony that he had
never known in his two previous go-arounds. For the first time, he thought, he felt
what others must call pure bliss.
She was quiet and peaceful, looking out the window as the fields passed by. He
remembers how she once said, long ago, how she wanted to go on a trip, a road trip

16

where they could see as much of the country as they could, she wanted to see the
houses and the barns, the mountains and the rivers, before it was too late. And a
sadness suddenly darkened his mind, as life got in the way of life and he never did
plan that trip, and now of course, it was too late. As quickly as this melancholy came
upon him, it was erased by the promise he had kept for her, the one performed today.
No matter it took place in a shack with her standing in her own piss. Hed done it.
And so, he said in nearly a whisper, I only have one more promise to keep for you.
And then, in that moment, as if something in her was still listening and hearing this
from him, awoke, rose up wielding a nearly divine power of transformation: the
westerly sun titled favorably to cast her face in a glow so that from behind those sags
and folds suddenly radiated the image of the woman he had met six years ago. They
were both already in the evening hours of their lives when they first me, but on that
night they danced to zydeco, stepping and twirling, hands and hips growing bolder,
ever more acquainted as the night progresses, until they both were sweating
comfortably and knowingly in each others sweat. He was too tired to even smile, but
he was afraid to stop, afraid to show any sign of age, while at the same time he was
trying ever so hard to keep things proper despite the ample opportunities to gain
familiarity. That was when she stopped, pulled his hands around her sweating back,
looked up into his eyes and softly scolded him for trying too hard to be a gentleman.
He looked back at her, perplexed.
Sorry, she playfully admonished, but I just dont have time for you to be so prim and
goddamn proper.

17

Whatever goodness was flowing through him as they drove home from SoulPort had
assuaged his many aches and pains, he felt human, happy. Billowing clouds that could
have been cast by their ceremonialist to line the evening of their wedding day tagged
the sky, and from those shapes hints and forms of other memories bloomed in his
mind. The cruise they took to the Caribbean, so that she could see the ocean for the
first time. How could I ever forget this, she told him as they set sail into a sunset one
evening. The garden she kept in the spring and summer months, the plants and
flowers that gradually lost their names but not her love. The family photo books that
were originally brought out maybe once a year, but lately had become a daily ritual
between them, as more and more faces grew blank and and her expression hollow.
And then the last time she grabbed him all of a sudden and hugged him close,
pulling back to look into his eyes, her smile, the whispered I love you yes, there
was a last time for even that, an unknowing but definitive goodbye.
How odd he thought, for the umpteenth time, that he should have bones that couldnt
stop growing, a skull that crowds his brain such that his memories could never leave,
while she had an affliction that cast her memories off like dandelion seed in the
summer wind. At least she dont know how ugly Ive become, he would say. But the
joke, while often repeated, meant nothing, for the thought offered no sustainable
mercy, rendered no desirable truth.
They drove onto the bridge to cross back over the Mississippi. He gripped the steering
wheel with both hands as he accelerated the car and his stomach rose in a faint
sensation of flight as they quickly climbed over the land and water below. The river,

18

spangled by the setting sun, seemed to welcome them back as they crossed its mighty
girth and he wondered was this the time to keep that final promise? Was there a
reason to wait? This promise was the last vestige of the past that they had fully
shared, it was torn from a look in her eyes that he would never see again, it had been
shaped by her lips when they were still capable of an angry but directed love. He
never believed he would be able to do this, carry out this promise, alone, and so he
braced for a miracle and glanced over at her, looking for another sign.
Youre a strong woman, a mighty strong woman, he said, so find it in you somehow to
jus just tell me. The palms of his hands were sweating, rain gathered in his eyes as
he marked the rails that splintered the rivers molten gaze.
Tell me dear that I am not too late this time, he said, that we can do this here
together. He blinked hard and looked up into the infinite welcome of the sky.
Please tell me, he whispered, now that we are finally one.

THE END

19