By Martin Piñol.
All aboard shouts the conductor to no one in particular since everyone has already boarded the three-car train headed to nowhere, or rather to the end of the line, which really isn’t a proper station just where the train stops, but not really the end of the line since we have to ride back because there is only one station and that means the end of the line is also the beginning of the line and it really feels like we went nowhere at all, this being one of those trains that takes you to a place and that place is a train station, but we are headed to a wedding, and the wedding will take place soon, as soon as we arrive, the wedding procession that must hurry because the wedding should start in a few minutes, but also doesn’t have to start in a few minutes since all the guests are on the same train, waiting patiently to depart the station as the conductor shouts all aboard, and it just now hits me that the wedding will happen when we get there and there is no need to worry, the tickets have been purchased, the people getting married are on the train, the weather is nice, hot, but not too hot for the season, maybe there could be a few more clouds, but people have hand fans, and the train will pick up and everyone will cool down with the momentum as soon as the conductor gets this train moving, doesn’t he know there’s a wedding to get to, but why should he care, he wasn’t invited, and now I’m worried not about being late, how can we be late with the wedding party onboard the train headed to the wedding though it hasn’t left the station yet, no I’m not worried about timing, I’m worried that we should have invited the conductor to the ceremony, what would my sister think, I wonder, she is the one getting married after all and has final say on the matter, and the more I consider offering an invitation we are already on our way, the train is moving, when did it start moving, the plumes of black smoke cough out of the engine, the conductor is no longer saying all aboard, instead he is saying things about the abandoned mines in the area, he has his speech and jokes down pat as we pass through a tunnel, then the train stops and my sister, the bride, departs, and her partner, the groom, departs, and the rest of us, the wedding party all going to the wedding depart the train which did not stop at a station, just seemed to stop and everyone knew to get off, headed towards the wedding down the hill, across the street, under the gazebo, though the guests will be in the sun which is rising with each step towards the wedding, and as quick as the train ride, the wedding is starting, is being started by my little brother, who is officiating, is nodding to the person to start playing the music so the wedding can start, and it is starting, everyone walking down and dispersing, standing in rows with my little brother at the center, and my sister, the bride, to one side, and her partner, the groom, on the other, and the rest of us in rows of chairs, fanning ourselves in the heat that wasn’t so hot, but is now getting quite hot as my little brother, the officiant, starts officiating, saying, no he is telling everyone how the two, the bride and the groom, met, he, my brother, says, no tells, the people in the rows, not the conductor (I never got around to inviting him), how the two, the bride and the groom, met, it goes something like they met while filming a movie, my sister, the bride, was attaching a prosthetic tail to the lobster costume of her partner, the groom, who she did not know at the time, but would come to know and would come to be engaged to and finally be wed to, but before the wedding she was mending a lobster costume for her future groom, and he, the would-be groom, was expected to wear the lobster costume for a dance number, the climax of the film, since he, the groom, had the monumental task of playing Fishmonger 3, and then my brother, the officiant, mentions the claws, and just then the heat, gosh the heat, is so hot, somewhere in the rows of people is our grandmother and now I am worrying not about being late to the wedding since the wedding is happening and we are all here in rows, nor about inviting the conductor to the wedding since the wedding is happening and we are all here in rows, I am worried about grandmother getting heatstroke, as my little brother talks on and on about claws and I start feeling like the heat is getting to me, and jeez this guy, my brother, the officiant, is obsessed with claws, claws this, claws that, he says dedication, and patience, and love, and devotion, and it can’t all be about claws, right, and suddenly the talk of claws goes away and my little brother is reading a poem I wrote for the occasion, the wedding we are sitting at, the poem having not a single reference to claws, and I see my hands and I’m sure they are claws now, stupid brother and all his claw talk has me seeing claws everywhere, my twin brother, not the officiant, has a claw head, our father has claw feet, I can see them both since they are in the front row and I am off to the side, and my little brother, the officiant, is saying with the power vested in me, and I can only think, what me, no you must mean you, because I am in one of the rows and not the officiant of this ceremony, standing between my sister, the bride, and her partner, the groom, and then he says they, the bride and groom, may kiss and I’m thinking can two claws kiss each other and just like that everyone is clapping with their claws, the ceremony part is over, my little brother has stopped speaking of claws, though truthfully he stopped a while ago, and we are suddenly taking photos, taking them quick so we can get indoors, get out of this heat, get some water, take a breath, say no more of claws, and the photos go by quite quick for a wedding, good job, photographer, I think, you are a real pro, I think, and when all is said and done we are crossing the street to a hotel none of us are staying at for the reception and my twin brother, not the officiant, says during the ceremony he felt like he was in a fever dream and all I can do is nod and say it’s probably just the heat, walking side by side with him, I am unsure if his fever dream has trickled into my head, but it couldn’t have, I’m hot, but not in a fever, and I am awake, worried this entire time about being late to the wedding, about inviting the conductor, about grandmother getting heatstroke, and that’s how I know it’s not a dream, because I don’t worry so much in dreams, only in reality, which I am sure this is, and not at all a fever dream since I am not feverish nor dreaming, my twin brother may be, but I am definitely not, and I have to stop, stop immediately, stop midstride, I stop and start, start to think what a lovely ceremony it was, what a lovely time everyone had, how wonderful it is to go to a wedding, especially when it is the wedding of one of your siblings, especially when it is officiated by your little brother, with the rest of your family and friends, where you have been invited to write a poem, and to see your twin brother and to walk side by side with him to the reception which will be lovely too, and too bad it all happened so fast, too bad we couldn’t go back to the beginning like the train does, and when will we see each other next, probably not for many months, maybe half a year, maybe more, but now is not the time to worry, you have worried enough today, I tell myself, I think this to myself as my twin brother, not the officiant, grabs my arm and pulls me out of the street before the car waiting patiently can honk for me to move and as he, my twin brother, does, pulls me, I look up to see the smoke on the top of the hill where the train is passing again, back to the station before returning back here, the process not at all like a wedding ceremony but something like a procession, and once the reception is done and everyone has danced, the train will stop and we will board and the conductor will say all aboard, even though everyone is already seated, the wedding party in reverse, but never to return to the start of the procession, no, we can’t go back but we can go backwards, and we begin to move as the conductor starts the same spiel all over again, though this time with less enthusiasm, and I consider taking his microphone, having him take a seat so I can tell him about the claws.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Martin Piñol is a librarian and coauthor of the chapbook Everything in the Speaking of It (Alley Cat Books, 2019). His work has appeared in Asymptote, The Los Angeles Review, and The Maine Review.
