The waning colored light shines through the large, stained glass windows of Tucson's St. Augustine cathedral. The incredibly white vestments of the priest appear to reflect the light with a seemingly ethereal quality as he stands in the center of the ornate, marble altar. Standing on either side of him are my cousin Bryan in his formal naval blue military attire and his dark haired bride Katherine in a long, flowing, silk white dress. From my position as a groomsman sitting in the front row I try to see if the little black bruise under Bryan's right eye is noticeable from the pews. Just barely, but that's only because I know where to look. The priest drones on in the background of my mind as I glance down on my right and notice the white bandage applied to my brother Francis' slightly swollen left hand. Amid the jumble of thoughts and emotions racking my brain I try to figure out how it all came to this.
The drama all started on that fateful night two days ago when the bride and her groom embarked on their simultaneous bachelor and bachelorette parties. The plan was simple. The guys and girls would all head off on a night of separate but paralleled drunken belligerence with the overall aim of racing to accomplish all of the scavenger hunt like goals written on a placard strung around the neck of our respective bachelor or bachelorette.
From the start, a sense of foreboding hung heavily in the muggy air as that night's approaching winter storm thundered in the distance like the surging frontline in some arid, war ravaged country.
Our first course of action was to head out to a small but well decorated pueblo-style house that belonged to Bryan's friend Mike Russo, who having recently come out of the closet spoke with a new found lisp and spiked his hair. Bryan's close friends soon arrived, beer bottle caps were opened with a satisfying 'snap', drinks were mixed, shots were thrown back in a flurry of hand motion and the ice was generally broken if not completely melted by the warm alcohol pumping through our veins in conjunction with the loud party music playing in the background. The aforementioned scavenger hunt placard was brought out as we waited for the party van to come and take us to the hottest night clubs and bars that downtown Tucson had to offer. These tasks, which were to be distributed as seen fit, included a virtual plethora of frivolous and superfluous assignments such as doing push ups on the bar, a little bit of solo dancing on a dance floor, taking a picture in the bathroom of the opposite sex.
The party van eventually came and the first of that night's freezing rains followed close behind. We loudly and slowly filed into the sliding side door of the van. First to enter, the alpha male, the oldest of the three Brink brothers, was Francis. He has always been the most similar to our fiery, Peruvian born mother in appearance, with his bright blue eyes, long 'Roman' nose and light brown hair, and in personality. As a former high school football star, not quite college football star and current law school student he was a great communicator with both his funny, easy going manner and his rather large fists. My impulsive brother has always been in possession of that great passion and fire for life that seems to be so common of all firstborns. Next into the door was my rather rotund Uncle Eddy, or Pancho as he more commonly goes by. Even with his thick old-fashioned glasses this guy is something of a legend in his own right. A real partier even at the age of forty-something, he used to play in a hard-rock band called 'Los Elephantes' and owned a Peruvian night club called Beat Speaks back in the eighties but was forced to retire at the age of twenty five due to drug vending charges. I smoked my first J with him when I turned eighteen (Your god damn right I got high) and he has always been our favorite Uncle to hang out with since he is basically a kid trapped in a middle-aged man's body. Next in line was my second oldest brother Chris who looks nothing like anyone in our family due to his very dark complexion and who is generally surrounded in mystery. He has always been a somewhat soft spoken, skinny young man but is coincidentally the smartest person in the family. The family myth is that the numerous incidents in which he has cracked his skull have given him an unusual boost in his brain development which eventually lead to his successful career as an accountant. His great intelligence and aptitude for inexpressiveness often gives my brother an aura of cold rational. And finally, the bachelor himself and my arch-nemesis, Bryan climbed up into the van. From what I am told, my cousin and I have always had issues. And by issues I am referring to the fact that he started kicking my ass when I was literally lying in the cradle trying to defend myself with my pudgy, worthless toddler arms. This aggressive nature seems to be an inherited personality trait of his father's family the Aumans. Stretching back to his grandfather's World War II days bombing the shit out of industrial Germany to his father's need to always wittily if not audibly assert himself in any sort of verbal dialogue it is really no wonder that the offspring of such a family would spend his youth playing all sorts of violent video games and eventually join the ROTC, only to be sent to Afghanistan a week after his marriage. Personally, I like to think of them as products of their desert environment, much like a prickly cactus if you will. But it is much too easy to sit back and point at their flaws and drawbacks. Perhaps the world needs such pessimists to help keep things balanced. And they weren't always all that bad. In fact, I would like to point out that Bryan actually saved my life on a hot summer day when I didn't see the tiger striped water moccasin curled up next to me as I played in my backyard in Miami. He also showed me a love of books and knowledge that still inspires me to this day.
The party van pulled up to the first bar of the night, a little joint called the Diamond Back. Unfortunately for my 19 year old ass there exists a certain group of mothers against drunk driving who succeeded in passing the Minimum Drink Age Act back in 1984 and pretty much ruined the party for everyone. Said law states that citizens of this nation under the age of 21 are not allowed to consume alcohol… legally. This law also denies supposed 'minors' the privilege of frequenting certain drinking establishments designated as 21 and up. But there are ways around this. In this particular case, Bryan just let me use his driver's license, as he bears the closest resemblance to my mug, and just used his military identification. So we walked up to the door and the hulking, bald bouncer demanded to see my I.D. As I reached into my wallet I could practically feel his small, beady eyes scanning my features and it became pretty obvious he wouldn't let me in when he started scowling at the obvious contrast between Bryan's picture and my face. But just to test me he asked, "So Mr. Auman, would you mind giving me your date of birth?"
"Umm, yeah," I gulped as I looked around myself hesitantly as if the answer would be stenciled on the red brick faade of the bar. His eyes slowly narrowed to mere slits as I thoughtfully and nervously answered, "March.. uhh… nine… teenth?" Well, it goes to say that you should definitely memorize the specifics of an I.D. before you attempt to use it. It came as no surprise when the attempt was rejected and the I.D. was confiscated. Fortunately, my attorney was at hand. Francis's sense of people skills was apparently unhindered by the alcohol as he magically had the I.D. returned within minutes. All I could mumble was a pathetic "I'm sorry, I'm embarrassed". But Bryan, Chris, Francis and Pancho took me aside as we left for a little pep talk. Realizing that I probably needed some coaching before I tried to get into another bar they lay it on Swingers style, "Listen Edward, I don't want you to be the guy in the PG-13 movie everyone's really hoping makes it happen. I want you to be like the guy in the rated R movie, you know, the guy you're not sure whether or not you like yet. You're not sure where he's coming from. Okay?"
When we arrived at the bright, neon entrance of a bar called The Wildcat House I confidently strutted up to the bouncer and swung out my fake as I stared him down. When asked for an alternative form of identification I coolly pulled out one of Bryan's credit cards. Soon the party was running at full steam again and the Soco and lime shots were flowing like wine.
All around a smoky haze permeated the dimly lit wooden bar as intermittent beams of light flashed from the dance floor.
Chris finally hit the point, with the help of our awesome Uncle Pancho, where he stopped thinking and started drinking. As is the case with most introverts, he has a habit of becoming the life of the party when he has a Jack and Coke in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. These two have been known to get down when they start to binge drink. The most infamous of times being when they got wasted at a dirty, little bar in Peru's Andean city of Cuzco and broke at least six glasses from doing their "Cheers!" way to hard. Meanwhile Bryan and his buddies got started on their to-do list by running in the ladies room with a camera, getting people to buy shots for him and exchanging articles of clothing with strangers as I drunkenly attempted to lay some game on the girls at the bar. Francis was talking amiably with two girls when his drunken lizard brain was jarred by some guy bumping into him, making him spill his gin and tonic on the wooden floor. Well, one thing lead to another and before we knew it the party was crashing down around us as we were forced to leave, dragging my brother along with us through the fine drizzle before the shit-talking match turned into an all-out battle royal like the one in the beginning of Trainspotting.
After several more hours of carousing the city's bars and drinking in the sweet energy of the party atmosphere we decided to meet with the bachelorette party at a little Mexican fast food place called Nikos. The scavenger hunt tasks were tallied up and the girls, who had been way more goal oriented, unsurprisingly ended up way ahead of us. By this time the rain was pouring outside. Among Katherine's entourage was my cousin and Bryan's older sister Maria. She has always been the oldest of us children and she has always taken full advantage of that fact by playfully picking on us younger kids. Seeing as how she was drunk at the time didn't help matters either. Francis was already in a pretty bad mood by the time that we got to Nikos but we had been safe because none of us were really challenging his ego. But the dark haired, Latina-looking queen of the family was in the mood for some fun. She had always messed with him since they were kids and she wasn't going to let the little fact that they were respectively 28 and 26 get in the way. It started with little things like messing up his long, gelled back hair and turning his collar inside out. As we sat eating I could tell from the telltale frown creasing his forehead that the man would only take so much abuse before he would snap. Meanwhile I just laughed along with everyone else as I enjoyed my tasty quesadilla con carne. The breaking point came as we were leaving. Francis was taking his time enjoying his meal but everyone was ready to leave so Maria literally took the situation in her hands and threw his spicy chili enchilada into the trash can. "Damn", I said, "That's f**ked up." In Francis's belligerent state that was tantamount to a declaration of war.
The limo ride from Nikos back to the Auman's house was a blur as the rain poured outside the tinted windows. When we finally arrived we groggily went into the back room that we had been staying in for the last week to go to sleep. I think I went to the bathroom but when I came into the room all was dark. As the wind and rain howled outside to the pounding bass of the thunder and lightning I ambled over to the bed I been using only to find Bryan and Katherine already lying down. I said, "Hey Bryan, that's my bed man." To which he firmly retorted that I should f**k off or something along those lines but as I turned away to walk over to the couch on the other side of the room to make a bed he muttered "f**kin pussy" under his breath. The sound of venom in his voice was insidious enough but what really struck me was the question of why he said it. One thing is to simply have your balls busted which is normal for guys but I still can't completely understand the nature of his loathing. And so now I feel like I'm eleven years old again as I stand there frowning with a gnawing pain in my chest. "He's just a bully," I think to myself. But I can stand physical pain better than this emotional poison that kills the spirit and pollutes the mind. Maybe it was the meek manner in which I turned the other cheek and just walked over to the couch on the other side of the room or the fact that he needed some physical release for his pent up frustration. But my attorney was at hand again, ready to defend me. He immediately stood up and called him out, snarling, "What did you just say?"
Bryan, feeling somewhat threatened stood up too and said "What? What are you talking about?"
Francis got right in his face and said, "You know what the f**k I'm talking about Bryan."
Confusion ensued as the two shadows of the combatants instinctively and drunkenly began to shove and grapple. I lay on the couch too surprised and drunk to think while Chris painfully moaned, "What the f**k guys!"
Then Francis the south paw whipped up that quick left and a sick little thud resounded throughout the room as Bryan tried to get a hold of Francis' arms in a military wrestling technique. Katherine gave a little scream and the lights were suddenly turned on as the parents rushed into the room to break up the fight. Eventually, one thing lead to another as family discussions turned into arguments and "our side" of the family moved out of the Auman's residence and into a crappy motel for the duration of the visit.
And so here I am, two days later sitting in my tailored tux as I take in the sights of the vast cathedral while the priest pronounces Bryan and Katherine Auman " man and wife." The church is filled with smiling faces and flashing cameras as the wedding music plays and the couple walk down the center aisle toward the waiting Rolls Royce and a good hour of posing for pictures.
Everything after that is pretty much standard textbook wedding ceremony. We eat a lot of good food with French names, drink even more champagne, listen with earnest anticipation to the words of the speechmakers and congratulate Katherine on the success of her wedding. But what came after all of the fanfare and etiquette had died down and the majority of the older guests had retired for the night is what really matters. Because even though we smiled genteelly for the pictures and laughed at the jokes in the speeches, we all felt that there was indeed an aura of weirdness between us after that rainy night. Something left unsaid and undone that we needed to get out of the way before we could move on as a whole family and not just as disparate entities. That it is, until we were the only ones on the shining parquet dance floor with the shimmering disco ball and flashing disco lights. By this time our cheeks are flushed red and our eyes are livid with the champagne and strong drink. It's right at this moment that Pancho walks up to the nerdy looking DJ and requests that 1970's disco jam "Do a Little Dance" by KC and The Sunshine Band. All of a sudden that insatiable sound hits our bodies and everyone 'gets down' as the song goes. Pancho tries to do a full 180 degree spin but falls hard on his ass as we all erupt in laughter and bust a move. And then it's like we're all little kids again. We play Kemps and Monopoly until three in the morning. Watch Star Wars as we play with our plastic action figures. Swim in the cool blue water of the pool and play epic basketball games outside in the hot summer sun for months on end. And eventually have our own private meetings about our parents' tragic divorces and family problems.
This moment in my life is when I realize that the bullet hasn't penetrated the bullet proof vest that is our deep-rooted bond formed growing up together during those bittersweet years that we call our youth. This is apparently some nameless force that no amount of drama or controversy will ever be able to undo until we too are all old one day and our little kids play together on those hot summer days until the sun goes down.
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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