Image by Salman Toor
Before he entered the rustic Catholic church, Jared Creighton checked to see if his father’s American flag tie clasp was straight then made sure his cuff links were visible under the sleeves of his linen sport jacket. Satisfied all was in order, he drew a deep breath and stepped inside the vestibule where he was met by an usher in a blue and gold kilt, thick white knee-socks, and shiny black brogues.
"Welcome," he said with a practiced smile. "Are you here to celebrate with the Murtaugh family or the Corrigans?"
Creighton hesitated.
"I take it you know both families."
"I do," he lied.
The usher then stepped back to allow him to enter the incense-filled church. "There are fewer people here for the Murtaughs so you may as well sit on their side of the aisle."
"All right."
There were less than half as many guests seated on the left side as there were on the right so he started to slip into one of the back pews when another usher, also in kilts, motioned for him to sit in one of the pews up front. Reluctantly he obliged and entered a pew that was nearly half full. He had barely sat down when a shaggy-haired guy in the pew ahead of him turned around and introduced himself as a second cousin of the groom's.
"Are you a relative of Danny's too?" he asked.
Creighton shook his head. "Just an acquaintance."
"From work?"
"No. I met him throwing darts one night."
"I didn't know he threw darts."
"Yep."
"I guess you learn something new every day."
"I guess so."
The amiable guy turned back around and stroked the back of the neck of the woman seated next to him.
Creighton had never met the groom in his life or the bride and didn't know a single person in the church because he was a hired guest. The father of the bride, through the agency "Blissful Nuptials," hired him and apparently several others to attend his daughter's wedding. He wanted the church for his only daughter packed and was willing to hire people to make that happen. And, as more and more guests filed into the church, it seemed as if he had succeeded.
Sliding farther and farther down the pew to make room for the late arrivals, Creighton wondered if the bride knew what her father did. He kind of doubted it, just figured she assumed all the strange faces were guests of the groom.
*
Creighton earned his living driving a taxi cab for his Uncle Milo who owned a fleet of eight black Impalas he called the "City Express." It was located at the north end of town but accepted fares from anywhere within the city limits. He had been with the company almost three months and figured after a year or so he would earn enough money to be able to enroll in the local community college full-time. At the moment all he was able to do was sign up for one class a term. Some day he hoped to become a teacher, probably at the high school level like his father.
A few months ago, after taking a passenger to the airport, he picked up another fare who had just flown in from Seattle. Right away, the woman asked if he would be interested in earning some extra money which took him by surprise.
He assumed she wanted him to drive some long distance somewhere and told her, "I'm not permitted to drive outside the city limits, ma'am."
"I don't want to go anywhere but home, driver."
"Oh, my mistake. I thought maybe that's what you had in mind."
"No, no, not at all. I work for this company that helps put on weddings and we are always looking to hire people as guests."
"I don't understand," he said, slipping into a faster lane.
"Some folks who are about to get hitched realize they aren't as popular as they thought they were so they ask us to find people to serve as guests for the occasion."
"I've never heard of such a thing."
"A wedding in a nearly empty church is embarrassing. I think you'd agree."
He stared at the woman in the rearview mirror, wondering if she was serious about hiring guests for a wedding.
"So are you interested in being hired? The pay is $200 a wedding."
"Sure," he said. "Why not?"
She handed him one of her business cards. "Just write your name and phone number on the back of it."
"All right."
"When the need arises, we'll give you a jingle."
"I look forward to it," he said, still not sure if she was on the level.
She was, though, because a week later he received a call to attend the wedding of two immigrants from Venezuela at a park on the east side of the river. And since then he was hired to be a guest at an average of three weddings a month during the spring and summer. Always he wore the same linen jacket, which he thought of as his nuptial uniform.
*
Creighton, as the youngest and newest driver for the City Express was assigned the oldest car to drive. He didn't mind, though, because he was so grateful to his uncle for giving him the opportunity. And, because he was eager to make a good impression, he was often the first driver to arrive at the garage in the morning, sometimes even before his uncle. He would then sweep out his vehicle and wash the windows and make sure the oil and brake fluids were at the correct level. He did whatever he could to get the car ready for another day on the road because he wanted to show his uncle he didn't make a mistake when he hired him.
Before he went to work at the Express, he had looked for weeks for steady employment without success and began to wonder if anyone would ever give him a job. He knew why it was so difficult to find work because he had only recently been released from a drug recovery program and was not considered responsible. His uncle he knew was very reluctant to offer him a job and only did because his youngest sister, Creighton's mother, asked for his help. But he made it clear to the young man there would be no second chances at his business.
"You don't stay clean you don't stay here."
For two and a half years, he had been addicted to heroin and living in various parks around the city. He had become someone he didn't recognize who did things he couldn't believe.
The summer before he was to enter college, he suffered a nasty fall while rock climbing at the beach and seriously injured his back. He took bottles and bottles of painkillers, which only mildly helped, then at the suggestion of another climber he started to snort heroin. Smack provided much more relief than any of the analgesics he took but, still not satisfied, he began to inject the drug. And then, for a while anyway, the pain in his back disappeared and he felt as strong as he did before his fall. Also, he seemed full of confidence, certain he could achieve whatever he wanted. Usually pretty tense about anything he attempted, he had never experienced such self-assurance. Soon all these positive feelings dissipated, however, until he injected more smack into his body. It was then he realized he was no longer in control of the drug but it was in control of him. As another junkie told him once, "Smack goes from being just a part of your life to becoming your life." All he ever thought about was getting enough money to buy more smack.
He probably never would have stopped shooting heroin if a security guard hadn't caught him breaking into a car parked at the train station. He was turned over to the police and at his trial was ordered to enter a recovery program. That was six and a half months ago, and since his release he had been clean though he had been tempted more than a few times to purchase more smack to relieve the persistent pain in his back. So far, he had resisted the temptation but he didn't know for how long he would remain clean. He wished he did but he just didn't.
Probably the most exhilarating feeling he had ever experienced was when, after struggling to find a vein through all the scar tissue in his left arm, there appeared the "flash," blood in the syringe, which mean he had finally found a vein. It was comparable to the sense of achievement he enjoyed after making his way up a particularly challenging rock.
*
It was a slow night. The few fares Creighton picked up only wanted to be driven a few blocks. He usually didn't work the night shift but another driver was ill and his uncle asked him to take his place. He agreed but reluctantly because there were so many more temptations at night. He knew all the doorways and storefronts and abandoned buildings where drugs were sold and he dreaded to drive by them because he was afraid he might stop and make a purchase.
Around ten-thirty, on a corner in front of a massage parlor, a short, stocky man in a suede jacket flagged him down with a piercing whistle and he pulled up in front of him.
"Where to?" he asked, after the man climbed into the back seat.
"You know where the Excelsior Hotel is?"
"Yep."
"That's where I'm staying."
Switching on the meter, he pulled away from the curb.
"I'm a guest there."
"So you said."
"I can't count the number of times I've been a guest there."
Creighton didn't reply, concentrating on passing a municipal bus that had only a couple of passengers aboard.
"You know, driver, I was thinking the other night when I checked in that all of us are guests in a sense. I mean, on the planet we're all guests, here today and gone tomorrow."
He looked at the man in the rearview mirror who suddenly appeared to be crying but he didn't attempt to console him because he had enough problems of his own.
*
"Morning, Jared," Orville, one of the veteran drivers, mumbled as he entered the garage with a cigarette drooping from his lower lip.
"Good morning."
"I wanted to ask you something."
"What's that?"
"This coming Saturday my boy is playing in an important baseball game and I was wondering if you could take my shift?"
"Oh, I can't," he answered quickly. "I've got plans this Saturday."
"You do?"
"I promised this guy who lives in my apartment house that I'd help him move into another apartment."
"I guess you can't break promises."
"I'd help you if I could but I just can't. Not this time."
"I understand."
There was no one he was helping to move this Saturday. He lied because this Saturday he was hired to attend another wedding. And he didn't want to disclose this peculiar job to anyone at the Express because he was sure they would laugh at him and he hated to be laughed at by anyone for any reason. So many times, when he was out on the street, squatting in some dark doorway, he heard the laughter of others who saw him and always he cringed in embarrassment. He didn't want to feel that way ever again.
*
The wedding was held downtown at the old Emerald Church. Over a hundred years old, the non-denominational church was a popular venue not only for weddings but also concerts and lectures and auctions. It was a semi-traditional Korean wedding so Creighton was told to be sure to bring a white envelope with at least a five dollar bill sealed inside it as a gift for the bride and groom. A huge wicker basket full of white envelopes sat on a table next to the tray of votive candles, and as soon as he entered the church he went over to it and placed his envelope on the stack.
"Thank you," a young man said as Creighton stepped away from the basket.
"You're welcome."
He assumed the young man was the groom because he wore a blue silk hanbok, the traditional outfit for Korean grooms. And on the other side of the church, talking with a portly man in a white sport jacket, was a young woman he assumed was the bride because she had on a purple hanbok. The first thing he noticed about her, though, were the red dots on her cheeks. Immediately he wondered if she had contracted the measles but could not believe she would go ahead with the wedding while afflicted with such an infectious disease. Out of concern he asked one of the ushers if the bride was ill.
"Oh, no, sir," he said with a grin. "The dots are painted on her cheeks to ward off evil spirits."
"I see."
"It's an old custom but I don't know how effective it is in this day and age."
Neither do I, he thought, as he sat down in one of the back pews.
He knew it was rude of him but he scarcely paid attention to the wedding ceremony because all he could think about was the only other time he was inside the Emerald Church. It was quite a while ago. He was in parochial school, a member of the boys' choir, which the director referred to as "Schola." It was Christmas time and, along with another boys’ choir, they were invited to perform several traditional holiday hymns one frigid Saturday evening. His parents and his grandmother were in the audience. They were so proud of him then, thought he might even enter the seminary someday. Probably they were never prouder, he thought, digging his fingernails into his thighs. He just wished he hadn't let them down as he had so many others who knew him.
*
There were five cabs waiting in the taxi stand outside the Armitage Hotel. Creighton, who was fourth in line, didn't know any of the drivers because they all worked for different carriage services. One, however, approached Creighton, who was standing outside his cab, and asked for a cigarette and he gave him one.
"I hope I don't have any fares tonight like the one I had last night."
Creighton arched his eyebrows. "Things didn't go well, did they?"
"That's an understatement," the driver said, after lighting the cigarette. "I picked up this guy who said he got tired of waiting for a bus and he asked me to drive him to his apartment on the other side of the river. No problem. I'd gone only a couple of blocks when the guy spotted a McDonald's and said he wanted to get something to eat so I pulled into the drive-through lane. The voice on the intercom asked what he wanted to order and he said fries, a cheeseburger, and, to my shock, a Bloody Mary."
"Seriously?"
He raised his right hand as if to make a pledge. "You better believe it. The cashier told him McDonald's doesn't serve alcohol but he demanded that he wanted a Bloody Mary and wouldn't leave until he was served one."
"So what did you do?"
"I got out of my cab and ordered him to get out but he wouldn't budge so I asked the cashier to call the police and waited I don't know how long for a squad car to arrive and the cops then had to drag the guy out of the back seat."
"I bet he wasn't too pleased."
"Not hardly," the driver chuckled. "He was screaming like a banshee."
"I bet."
"When I picked him up, I didn't realize he was so drunk otherwise I might've refused the fare."
Creighton, smiling, doubted that because it was rare for drivers to refuse a fare. Although, when it was his turn to get a fare outside the hotel moments later, he almost considered refusing to take it because the couple wanted to go to a bar in Old Town. That was an area of the city he tried to avoid because it was where he used to frequent when he was using smack. There was always such a temptation to pull over there and make a purchase so he would just as soon never be anywhere close to that area.
"You know where Cleary's Bar and Grill is, driver?" the man asked as Creighton started to pull away from the queue.
"I do."
"That's where we want to go," his companion chimed in with a faint giggle.
Creighton was somewhat relieved because the retro Irish bar was just on the edge of Old Town so he didn't have to enter the dreadful place.
"You want me to wait?" he asked, after he stopped in front of the bar which had a coal black front door.
"No, driver," the woman snickered. "We don't know how long we'll be here. Maybe until closing time."
Promptly he pulled away and turned right at the corner and was surprised to see that the street at the next block was closed for repairs.
"Damn."
That meant he had to enter Old Town or else drive several blocks out of his way.
"Damn."
Against his better judgment, he backed up, drove past Cleary's, and headed into Old Town which, as usual, was as dark as an underground cave. The few streetlights there seldom were in operation. Warily he passed one abandoned business after another, passed several burning oil drums with shadows gathered around them. He couldn't count the number of nights he had held his hands over such fires. Just as he was about to make a left turn, something banged against the right side of his cab.
"Damn."
He assumed some junkie with nothing better to do threw a rock or a bottle and, at once, he stopped and got out and saw a fist-sized dent just above the back left tire.
"Who threw it?" he shouted, kicking some shattered glass with the toe of his right hiking boot. "Who the hell threw it?"
He waited for an answer, even though he knew he wouldn't receive one, and started to get back in the cab when he heard what sounded like a muffled cry. Briefly he held his breath and heard it again somewhere off to his right. Still, he wasn't sure but started walking in that direction and, gradually, the crying became more pronounced. He wondered if a dog was struck by a car or maybe whoever threw something at the cab had also thrown some object at a dog. As he picked up the pace, he looked from side to side, concerned someone might step out of the shadows and hurl a rock or a bottle at him. Then, as he turned another corner, he noticed a large cardboard box on the step of a charity house he used to have meals at when he hung out in Old Town. The door was locked shut and the windows shuttered. He heard it had closed a few months ago because of a lack of funds. Curious, he walked over to the box and, to his amazement, saw a baby wrapped in a striped dish towel squirming inside it. Pinned to the towel was a note: "I am Heather and I need a home."
"Damn."
There was a police station in Old Town, as he knew from having spent a few nights in one of its holding cells, so he picked up the box, walked back to his cab, and drove to the station. The baby was still squalling when he set the box down in front of the desk sergeant who did not seem particularly surprised which he thought was pretty strange.
"I gather the baby's not yours," she said blandly.
"No, ma'am. I found it on the doorstep of the old Calvary Mission House."
She stared at the infant for a moment. "It's hard to believe anyone in their right mind would put a baby in a box and leave it out in the cold."
He nodded in agreement but he could partly understand why someone going through a difficult time would resort to doing such a thing in the hope of the child getting a better and more stable life. Strangers things have happened he reckoned.
*
The next day, after completing his shift, Creighton considered returning to Old Town to see if he could find the parents of the abandoned child. There were probably people there he still knew and they might have an idea who were the parents. Maybe it was worth a try. And he was about halfway there when he suddenly made a left turn and headed back to his apartment house. The chance of finding them was slim and, besides, it was too much of a risk for him to go back there he believed.
Quickly he looked up at the rearview mirror, imagining all the temptations that awaited him there, and pressed his foot down on the accelerator pedal.
*
When he arrived at the Greek Orthodox church, Creighton was surprised to see a swarm of guests standing outside the main entrance. Immediately he looked at his watch, wondering if he was early, but actually it was a few minutes past the appointed time for the wedding to start. After he parked his car, he joined the crowd and asked an elderly man with a shoebrush-sized mustache why everyone was standing outside the church.
He smiled. "This must be the first time you've attended a Greek wedding."
"It is."
"I've been to so many I've got rice marks on my face."
Creighton also smiled.
"In our tradition, the bride walks with her father and other family members and friends to the doors of the church where the groom waits for her. He then kisses her father's hand as a sign of respect and then the bride and groom proceed into the church together, followed by the rest of the guests."
And, just minutes later, that was exactly what happened and he followed the elderly man into the church and, as usual, sat in one of the back pews which he shared with several young girls. They seemed particularly interested in the shoes of the bride, straining to get a clear view of them, which he thought was rather curious.
"What's so important about the bride's shoes?" he finally asked one of the girls.
"You don't know?" she said, surprised.
"No."
"Greek brides write the names of their single friends on the bottom of their shoes and whichever names rub off by the end of the service are the ones most likely to get married next."
"I've heard of tossing a bouquet but I've never heard of that custom."
"It's pretty common at Greek weddings."
Soon after the ceremony began, the priest placed wreaths on both the bride and groom's head. They were not made from olive branches but from gold made to resemble branches and were tied together with a white ribbon. The young couple stared at one another so intensely that it was as if they were unaware anyone else was in the church. He had never seen two people so much in love. When the priest invited them to seal their union with a kiss, they did and embraced for well over a minute while several guests stamped their feet in approval.
Later, at the reception in the basement of the church, a couple of circle dances were performed, first just by the women, then by the men. Then the bride and groom took the floor and danced alone to the Van Morrison song "Someone Like You" while many of the guests tossed dollar bills at their feet. Creighton also joined in the celebration and took a couple of wadded bills out of his pocket and threw them in the direction of the newlyweds. As he watched them dance, their cheeks pressed against one another, he was certain two people so fond of one another would never dream of ever abandoning a child. He just wished he was as certain about himself so he suspected that all he would ever be at a wedding was a guest.