Write On!

Honeymoon Horror

In Uncategorized on March 1, 2012 at 9:17 pm

by Jennifer Gregory

Vows behind them, all that lay ahead was hope for their future and a wild unharnessed confidence in good things to come. This was, after all, a honeymoon. They were, after all, madly in love. It had happened so swiftly, online chats, then texting, meeting eventually, kissing at long last. Time to meet the families. Time for a ring. Time for a wedding. Time to settle down. It was time.

So Savannah and Will and each of their everythings collided on this day to profess a love and then get the heck out of town. It was a small ceremony with loud family, dusty baseboards and lukewarm food. His truck had been decorated, bubbles drifted all around their heads, they drove away. Will could hardly tell his eager foot to ease up on the gas, nor keep his eager hands from his new bride’s lap. For mercies sake she was pretty! Savannah documented the moment. She could hear the whine of the muffler fade, the chant of family and friends fall off like silk upon shoulders. Ahh, they were naked to the sky, mister and missus! As the dust cleared behind them and the car gathered distance up under its tires,  their nerves set in just a smidge. He grabbed her hand and told her he loved her, she squeezed back and said the same and they pretended they had never felt anything but excitement all the while a honest lurching deep inside screamed, “You don’t know this guy!” “You don’t know this girl!”

Finally settled and resolved to the things honeymooners resolve to they slept peacefully that night in the B&B. She on the left side and he on the right and he wondered would she be okay with the tv on at bedtime. Of course she would. And she would be. They awoke the next day in the bed and breakfast starving. Making it down to the dining room it came up in a group conversation that a small parade would occur at 2 pm that day to which Savannah squeezed Will’s hand and said, “Sounds fun, we should go honey.” She was trying the word honey out today just to see how it felt. Will, his thick stubby hands touching her shoulder said, “Sure darling, whatever my beautiful wife wants.” He always called her darling, he called everybody that.

It was about 1:30 when they found themselves walking down the little main street with colas and candy bars readying themselves for a parade. There was quite a crowd and they found a spot on the corner of the concrete to sit and wait. For Savannah it was a new experience, something to tell her mother about, since most  of the honey moon was not proper to discuss. For Will, well, she had wanted to come and why not? They could hear the marching band, young pimply teenagers warming slobbery lips on shiny brass and it sounded like it. There was the roar of old car engines. Frrrmmmm. Hrrmmm.  The ground vibrated and Savannah was slightly more excited than she realized. There were small children running all over and southern mamma’s talking rapidly, “You hear about Janine, Robby stop that. Leave your brother alone. Yeah, she’s pregnant again. Robby honey, stop it! Now! You sit down and don’t move till I tell you. Number five! She swears it’s an oopsey doopsey baby.”

Will gathered Savannah in his arms and held onto her the way only newlyweds can. She let her fluffy blonde hair rest on his chest, leaning into the warmth of her forever, quite satisfied. She peered down the road and saw a line of horses coming and then heard the cars engines rev up.

Will looked down and saw the line of little cars headed their way and something inside of him tensed up. Savannah was pointing and laughing until the parade stretched out a little more and there was the distinct sound of a sharp horn and distant laughter. She stopped speaking and pointing, she just froze. This, he thought, this, she thought, had not been on the questionnaire. He had never had to admit it. She had never had to admit it. As the parade progressed so did their panic. His throat was getting dry and he was sweating through his shirt. Savannah shook but he didn’t notice. The little cars advanced getting closer and throwing candy. In them were five little people. Their large foreheads, distinct facial features and happy smiles charming the crowd. Just behind were the clowns, Honk. Honk. Large shoes and bright stripes and big red frowns sauntering down the street one by one, crisscrossing to each side of the crowd randomly.

Hot tears welled up in Savannah’s eyes. Her heart was beating rapidly and that scooped out feeling she got just before a panic attack began to take hold. She took a frantic sip of her coke trying to distract, divert, anything but face the macabre faces of those dad-burn clowns! She hated clowns! And then the tears came, soft and hot, her body shaking as they walked by. She swatted frantically at one that was trying to pander to the crowd near her as he tossed some trinkets to the children. The little cars weaved around the clowns and Will took off behind the alley to empty his stomach. One little person was one thing, five more than he could take.

Coulrophobia. Birchophobia. These types of words had not been on their questionnaire. Will began to laugh uncontrollably his round chest vibrating the bed, shaking it softly. Savannah began to giggle like a little child, wiping at her runny mascara. They finally glanced at each other. They lay in bed at 3:30 in the afternoon, clammy messes, passion replaced by panic and then an aftershock of hysteria and humiliation. Bold confidence in fate replaced with a rock solid faith in irony and acceptance.


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