Page 71 of The Beachgoers
twenty-five
— Then —
10 Years Ago
The Speech
THE TABLES IN THE RECEPTION hall go quiet.
When it happens, the hush is noticeable. Moments ago, as the father of the bride gave his speech at the head table, some guests were still settling in their seats. And whispered this or that. Looked around for familiar faces. Gave a wave here and there. Everyone warmly applauded, too, when the father of the bride welcomed them all, then passed the microphone to the next speaker.
To the man in the wheelchair.
So the contrast is stark—from a hum of energy to silence.
It’s obvious why. Everyone knows. Or if they didn’t know, they can see it now. See that some sad tragedy struck not too long ago. You can’t miss it—looking at the man in that wheelchair. He’s in his late twenties, maybe, and his face is tired. Still, he wears a perfectly fitted black tuxedo. His boutonniere is pinned just so. His wavy dark hair hits his jacket collar; a shadow of whiskers covers his jaw. There’s a fresh raised scar there, too. It’s pink, with faint stitch marks still crossing it.
But it’s when the man sets the microphone in his lap and moves his wheelchair back to better face the bride and groom that everyone sees more. Sees how that black tuxedo’s left-leg fabric had been cut short and hemmed to accommodate the man’s recently amputated leg. His below-the-knee, bandaged stump is prone on an amputee board attached to the wheelchair.
The man picks up the microphone then. “I’m Jason Barlow,” he says, looking out at the guest tables. “And am honored to be Kyle’s best man today.”
Jason’s voice is clear and strong. His words, sure. His stories let on that he knows Kyle well. He talks of their very first meeting when Kyle was captain of a ship, and Jason was a soldier. Jason and his brother managed to bomb Kyle’s boat that day. They jumped out of tall grasses and boldly unleashed a barrage of grenades on it. Even so, Kyle was a fighter, too, and kept his ship from going down.
Jason looks over at Kyle seated at the head table. “That’s the type of comradeship we’ve always had—the kind that lets you challenge each other.” He salutes Kyle now. “And be heroes together. Because that first wartime meeting? It happened when we were kids—only nine years old. I was playing out myfather’swar stories that day. It’s something I did back then with my brother. Turned the Stony Point marsh and the path to Little Beach into the jungles of Vietnam. Jungles that my father knew well. He toldmethose war stories—hisstories—which became my strongest education, growing up.”
As Jason talks into the mic, an older man dressed in a black suit comes up behind him and clasps his shoulder. The man’s hair is graying at the temples. His posture is straight. His face, though also tired, is proud.
Jason, without looking up, grabs that hand and holds on for a long second before the man backs away. “Thanks, Dad,” Jason tells him.
Just like that, the floor is Jason’s again.
And he takes it.
He talks more of his lifelong friendship with Kyle. Of their Friday night fishing-on-the-rocks escapades. Of shooting pool in The Sand Bar. And of how he couldn’t ask for a better friend through the years. A more loyal pal.
“But nobody’s that perfect,” Jason adds, shaking his head. “And so, Kyle, don’teverforget something. It’ll keep you humble. Keep you grateful. Always remember this. Today, you married a good woman—and the sea has lost one of its finest fish. Lauren has a heart of gold, a tough soul, and will take your rough edges and get them spit-shined, pronto. Because, bro? You’ve got a few of those, too.”
As if to prove him right, Lauren leans over and straightens Kyle’s bow tie, then leaves a kiss on his cheek.
“I was going to say you’reluckyto have her, Kyle. But I know you both,” Jason continues from his wheelchair, “and count Lauren among my closest friends, too. So today? Today I’m more inclined to say you’rebothlucky—to have each other. To hold the other up. To keep the other going.” Jason pauses, watching the bride and groom sit silent. “To find your way through life’s jungles, together. Because there’s nothing like having a comrade nearby when you face the uncertain. Believe me, I know,” Jason says—to the guests now. “Because just weeks ago, I was in really critical condition, fresh out of major surgery. And it was Kyle who sat with me in my hospital room when I didn’t know how I’d ever getoutof that bed. Didn’t know how I’d ever cross a room. If I evershouldwake up again. But Ididwake up, and there would be Kyle—sitting in a chair, elbows on his knees, head dropped. Waiting for me. Waiting to shoot the shit. To tell me what fish were biting. To fill me in on my brother’s funeral. Or repeat what he heard a passing doctor say.”
Jason nods at Kyle, who’s leaning into Lauren while watching Jason give his best man speech. It’s at this moment that the two men both tear up. You can’t miss it, the way Jason shifts the microphone to his other hand and swipes at his eyes before continuing.
“Let me just say this. It’s because of my father, of his battles in ’Nam that he shared with me, that I know what a comrade is. That I know how a comrade never leaves you to die on the field. A comrade holds you up. Gives you a swallow of water. A drag of a smoke. Hope.” Again, Jason turns to Kyle and Lauren. “And I know that… Kyle? You’re that guy. A true comrade—in every sense of the word, man. And Lauren?”
Jason goes quiet for a long second. What it all does, his manner, his way, is this: Suddenly no one in the room seems to see his crippling injury. They don’t watch him with sympathy now. Or pity even. Or concern. Instead, they lean forward. They listen, and give random whistles, and sudden handclaps. It’s as if they’re right in the trencheswithhim.
“Lauren,” Jason says again, motioning for her to come to him.
She does. Her smile is genuine, her eyes moist as she stands in her gown and takes those few steps. The closer she gets, the faster she walks—that white gown sweeping out behind her. Finally, she stops beside him and crouches. And takes his hand.
“A year ago when Kyle proposed to you?” Jason asks. “He did the right thing.”
Lauren says nothing. She only nods.
“And a few hours ago, walking down that church aisle after everything… well,” Jason says, his voice low as he hesitates. “So did you.”
Lauren hugs him then, and when Kyle saunters over and claps Jason on the shoulder, they hug, too. A few quiet words are said with gratitude, as the bride and groom lean low to Jason Barlow. Words only he can hear.
Wheeling slightly back to the head table, Jason picks up his wineglass. “To my good friends, Kyle and Lauren,” he says into the mic as he raises his glass high.
