The Sixth Wedding
J writes back: But what did you think of the songs ?
To his surprise, V replies immediately. I think it’s clear who your favorite was. It was sweet to see you inspired by such sweetness .
J ventures, Is it the kind of song you’d want to hear again? Or perhaps you have other requests ?
V volleys, A private performance ?
J looks at the Brooklyn storefronts around him, their eyes closed for the evening.
How long ago did V leave the venue? He curses himself for not paying more attention to the crowd.
..and is disturbed that he didn’t notice her.
He doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice.
Could she be hiding in a doorway, watching him text?
Yes , he replies. A very intimate performance .
A month ago, this wouldn’t have felt like a risk. But now it does. Flirtation is always a wave between two people, and it used to be that he knew its rhythms with V. Now he feels unsure about when it’s going to crest.
He’s even more unsure after getting V’s response: I see .
Surely, he thinks, there will be more.
He waits.
And waits.
Okay, so it’s his turn. He types, I happen to have my guitar with me, so am available now for an engagement .
The three dots appear and stay for a while. Is she typing something lengthy, or merely rewriting the same sentence over and over?
Finally, more words arrive:
It’s not that I forgot what it was like to see you perform.
..but I don’t think I was prepared for how it would feel to be standing there, watching.
I was sure you didn’t know I was there, because I was sure if you saw me, I’d see the change.
I would see your awareness. I liked getting to see you without me in the room.
But I also missed being in the room, because it made me realize how much you share it with me when I’m there .
A group of boisterous late-night teenagers passes J as he reads.
One of them jostles his arm, but he barely notices.
His oblivious-ness makes some of the teens laugh.
Only their laughter makes him look up, and when he looks up, the teen who jostled him stops laughing and shoots him a look that says, Oh, dude, you’re going through some deep shit, aren’t you ?
J types, Where are you right now? Are you still in Brooklyn ?
She replies, I’m in transit. Though that statement will still apply when I get home .
Would you like me to follow ?
I would like you to follow. And I wouldn’t like you to follow. I feel both things at once. I don’t know how to decide between them. Or if I should decide anything right now .
I would like to be there with you .
I hope I don’t sound presumptuous if I say I know that. I know what you want. I don’t take that for granted. Or maybe I do. I don’t know what’s fair anymore. To you, to me, to us. I imagine you’ve picked up on that .
That may have come across at lunch .
Yes, sorry about that .
I’m sorry too .
For what ?
I don’t know, J types. Then he knows he has to do better, so he adds, For coming here, I guess. For putting you on the spot. The not-knowing was growing too invasive, too persistent. I had to do something to know for sure what was happening .
V replies, But there’s only one answer you want... and I don’t know that I can give it to you. Not without it being a lie .
A lie ?
I’m not saying it would be a lie to answer that I want to be with you. I’m saying it would be a lie to give any answer, to say I know what I want right now .
So there’s hope .
You’re putting me on the spot again. I don’t know how to answer that without either getting your hopes up or knocking them down .
Now it’s J who types I see, without realizing it’s an echo of V’s earlier remark.
There’s another pause. J has almost reached the subway. He needs to know what to do, where to go.
What was the line in the Skye song about being a kid ? V asks.
Instead of typing it out, J hits the microphone button and sends it as a voice message.
You know how kids wait to cry
Until they have permission
A safe haven
Where it’s alright
V must listen to it a couple of times, because it’s a full minute before she writes anything back.
Yes, those lines. I wasn’t expecting them, especially after the first song. They really hit me .
J responds, I can definitely include the song in our private performance. I won’t even make you wait until the encore. I’m at the subway station now...where should I go ?
Another pause. J looks at the electronic board beyond the turnstiles and sees the next train is arriving in three minutes.
V texts, I think you should go back to where you’re staying. Can we rain check the private concert ?
But it’s not raining .
I’m the rain in this scenario .
Got it .
Let’s talk tomorrow .
Please .
Goodnight .
Goodnight .
PS—I really did like the sky song .
Thank you .
When J gets back to the apartment, he doesn’t want to feel lonely, so he checks his Instagram.
It is not particularly surprising to learn that Skye and Detroit’s friends document every single moment they experience and then tag it within an inch of its life.
There are hundreds of photos of J at the fake wedding, especially during the group kiss.
J sighs and feels old.
He dodges all the comments and sees there are a few direct messages in his inbox.
Some are from fans, cheering his “experimentation.” Two are from people he knows—one a guitarist who he often gets a drink with when he’s in New York, and one a woman named Tara, with whom he has a less straightforward relationship.
Roughly a dozen years ago, J met Tara at a party (possibly Julia’s?) and then made plans to go on a date with her the following night.
The next afternoon, J was walking through the city and realized they hadn’t pinned down the particulars of where and when they’d meet.
The good news was that he’d written her number down on a piece of paper, and he still had the piece of paper in his jacket pocket.
The bad news was that his phone was dead.
The search for a way to call her inspired a song called “Increasingly Obsolete,” which has since proven to be a popular obscurity for listeners willing to dig deep enough to find it:
I’m calling from the last payphone in New York
After looking for quarters on the ground
I don’t have much time, I’ll cut it short
Since you’re probably hearing more static than sound
At the end of the song, whatever connection they’ve had is thrown into the junkyard of obsolescence, like so many E.T . Atari games and Garfield phones.
I’ve emptied my pockets for nickels and dimes.
All my hope has been put in the slot.
But just when I think I’ve reached you, a voice cuts in
And says the connection’s been lost
Tara had been amused to receive a collect call, but the date itself hadn’t really transcended amusement.
J honestly can’t remember whether they kissed or not.
He would have forgotten her entirely, except for the song.
And she might have forgotten him entirely.
..except for the song. At some point on the date, he must have mentioned the payphone idea, because when the song first came out, he heard from her again.
She emailed to ask if, ha ha, the song was about her.
J didn’t have the heart to make the distinction that the song was about a circumstance that arose because of her, but it wasn’t particularly about her.
So he (generously, he thought) told her that the song wouldn’t have existed without her, and in her account it became her song.
A few weeks later, she emailed again to say she was going to be at one of his shows.
(In Boston, maybe?) At that show, he dedicated the song to her.
That cemented it. In her mind, she was his orange-feeding Suzanne, his envisioned Johanna, his Emily whenever he may find her or his Emma forever ago.
Now she is messaging to say she’s seen he’s in New York City—which, small world, is where she’s living now!
And not just that! She’s getting married next weekend, and she knows he likes to play at weddings.
It’s short notice, but doesn’t it all seem so serendipitous?
How can she resist asking if he’d be willing to play her song as part of the ceremony? Wouldn’t that be amazing ?!?!?!
It is now late at night after a long, emotionally twisted day, which means the best course of action (always) is to get some sleep and figure it out in the morning.
But, paradoxically, one of the side effects of it being late at night after a long, emotionally twisted day is that best course of action is profoundly illegible to the mind’s eye. So other courses are taken instead.
That’s wonderful! J types. I’ll be there!
(The best course of action at this hour never ever involves two consecutive exclamation marks.)
J feels a brief satisfaction from giving a person he owes nothing something she wants.
Then, five minutes later, he wonders what the hell he’s doing and gets angry with himself.
Five minutes after that, he turns philosophical, wondering if there is, in fact, a difference between a moment of weakness and a moment of generosity.
What he doesn’t admit to himself—not while he’s philosophical, not while he’s brushing his teeth, not while he’s trying to make a pleasing sleeping arrangement with the available pillows—is that by saying yes to this wedding, he’s given himself at least one more week in New York.
And that has nothing to do with Tara or generosity.
Whether it has anything to do with weakness...that is still to be determined. So he will stay in New York longer to determine it.