In the Summer of Love, one young man discovers both love and heartbreak.
The wedding was unofficial, but in a certain sense, it was as real as
anything my preadolescent mind could conceive. The tree house that my
father and I had built over the course of the previous summer vacation
was large enough to provide an impromptu sanctuary for the festivities.
A sweet summer breeze whistled through the cracks of our far-from-expert
carpentry, and provided an eerie aria that served as a perfect
processional as my oldest friend Burt escorted Naomi down the narrow
aisle. The bride wore faded jeans, raggedly cut off at the knees; a
hand-me-down Led Zeppelin t-shirt tied up above her waist; and a
makeshift veil fashioned from the netting of a beekeeper’s face covering.
Her radiance rivaled the midday, early summer sun.
Robby was my best man. We had been best friends since the day he beat
the living tar out of a rabid bully who threatened to send me to the
hospital if I didn’t fork over the slug of quarters in my pocket. Robby
was suspended for a week. I visited him every day of his incarceration.
We had been inseparable ever since.
Robby handed me the costume-jewelry ring I had pilfered from my mother’s
dresser. He shot me a toothy grin, and whispered, “Where you guys goin’
on your honeymoon?”
I replied in a hushed tone. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Curly DuPree, fledgling hippie, and only son of the local Methodist
preacher, stood at the front of the tree house. As Naomi took my arm,
Curly stepped close and spoke with vibrant mirth. “Let’s pop the cork on
this thing, shall we?”
A flash fiction story from our Nibs literary short story line.