Prolog to the Epilogue

There were three hundred people there. I maybe knew twenty-five of them as they were old friends and family. The rest were well-wishers, business associates, along with the family and friends of the bride.
Her name was Adrienne
Adrienne Gebhardts.
And for at least an hour she was Adrienne Gebhardts O’Callaghan.
Married, officially, for fifty-five minutes.
At least the ink got to dry on the certificate.
Some of the food was consumed.
Two wine bottles were smashed to the floor—one by myself in anger.
The other fell off the table when I grabbed the first one.
Perhaps I should have taken a drink. Maybe a large slug…before chucking to the middle of the reception hall floor.

I’m still paying for the damages to the floor.
It was marble.
Shining, polished and ancient marble adorned the floor. There was an actual eight-piece band made up of former band members of groups I had no idea about.
There first song was pretty good.
What I heard of it, that is, before the house fell.

I want to say that I. had. It. All.
Or, I should say, We. Had. It. All.
And some of us had more so.
 

I grew up in a small town in Northern Mississippi.
Do you know where Memphis, Tennessee is?
Okay, go 76 miles to the East.

You’re now in Tupelo. You left the city where Elvis died to where he was a kid.

Now, head south another 70 miles or so.
Go past the antebellum homes of Aberdeen
Snake your way through unmarked roads, across bridges only Bobbie Gentry would notice, and finally arrive in the village of Caledonia.

Population: varies.
Biggest employer: The school.
There was one stop light…and it flashed yellow in all four directions.
I lived near downtown…which meant I could walk to the grocery store, Killebrews, for some gum or a glass bottle of soda.

We had a video store.
We had a diary barn.
We also had strange events like when a group of skinheads got lost and through they could hang out while waiting for Triple A.

They didn’t stay long.
The Lowndes Country PD shook my hand with helping to clean up the town.
I had blood on my shirt from the fight, but they still shook my hand.

I wasn’t the big man on campus nor was I the class clown. No, I was a sophomore on the baseball team who idolized the upperclassmen—the ones who were the big cheeses and the ones who the laughs. I admit, I tutored most of them in every other class and they, in turn, helped me on the diamond during the spring.

I played ball every year. I didn’t ride the pine; I was in the field. I could play any outfield position and the coach confided in me during my senior year that I could play with the Mississippi State University Bulldogs. A scout was going to be at one of our games, so I needed to be clear and level-headed. Thus, I declined to go to prom as I spent all of my time either on homework or on the diamond.

I regret not going to Prom my senior year. No one asked me as I made it apparent that I was too busy. Or maybe no one asked me because, well, no one asked me. Perhaps I should have slowed down and listened to reason; because it came up and broke my leg on that one game when the scout was in the stands.
I attended MSU, not to leave with a ticket to the major league, But to be an engineer.