Wedding Crashers

Convince Me

“What? How is going there the best revenge? Are you crazy?” I ask her, shaking my head. My voice raises to a level which I’ve never dared to reach before. My nostrils flaring. “Do you want to me to die of heart failure? Do you hate me so much? Don’t you know that asking me to go there is the same as you signing my death warrant?” I yell at her. People turn to glare at us.

“Shhhh, don’t make noise. I’m thinking”

I feel like laughing and crying at the same time. How can...how can going there be the best revenge? I stare at her, at her droopy blue eyes and at her opening her mouth as if to say something and then quickly closing it shut. She is just too drunk. That’s why she’s making such a ridiculous claim, I tell myself.

“What is there even to think about this? I’m going to sit at home and make voodoo dolls, that’s it.” I say with conviction. No way I’m going there, or to any places where wedding are held, for that matter. Just thinking about marriage or relationships make me want to puke. Maybe Grandma Libby was right when she said I’m probably destined to live my life as a lonely spinster, with a small pet cat in my front porch.

A waving of a hand catches my eye. It’s Carla. “Earth to Lydia” she says. I look back at her. Or more like glare at her. Her comment of how I should go to their wedding is still haunting my mind. I don’t think I can forgive her for that remark.

“What’s the point of making voodoo dolls when it’s not going to affect them at all?” 

“Well, number one: I can make myself feel better thinking that they will face a hard time. Number two: I’m at least doing something. Number three: Anything is better than going there”

“That is exactly where you’re wrong” Carla says, raising her chin. I frown.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really think voodoo dolls will make you feel happier? What if nothing bad happens to them? What if they are very happy? What if, instead, they get pregnant and ha-”

“Stop” I yell. Picturing my sister pregnant with his child is like slowly slipping a blade into me and cutting me piece by piece. The mental images are disturbing. “I don’t want to imagine that, Carla” I grit out. Water fills my eyes again. 

Realizing she said the wrong thing, she says, “I’m just saying, you know? Not that I hope for it to happen or anything. But seriously, what will you do if they are very happy? If they live without an ounce of regret?”

“I’ll kill myself” I say, and suddenly that seems like a brilliant idea. I’ve nothing to live for anyway, everything in my life is going wrong. I’ve lost my job, am on the verge of being kicked out of my apartment, my sister is marrying my boyfriend, my father...well...I have no idea whether he's dead or alive. Maybe I should...

“Hey!” Carla yells, bringing out of my dark thoughts. “Can you stop being so pathetic for a minute? I’ve got a brilliant idea”

“If that ‘brilliant idea’ of yours includes me going to their wedding, sorry, I’m out” I say and turn to get out. Carla’s hand quickly shoots behind me and takes a hold of my wrist. 

“Will you please hear me out for a minute? I swear I won’t force you or anything” She says and then mutters “God, you’re so difficult.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this, Carla” I say and I mean it. I came here to drink all of them away but now I’m drowning into all the bad things I wanted to forget. I try to jerk off my wrist but Carla surprisingly has a very strong hold.

"Two minutes" Carla bargains and pulls on my hand. My wrist begins to hurt from all her pulling. When I try to move again, the look on her eye stops me. The look that says 'I won't give up'. And I know better than to challenge that look. I have challenged her countless times and failed. And that's why I sigh and give in.