Tulip

~

from

the short novel

Road’s Cannon

~

     Back at the church, inside on an altar step, stood Tulip’s two minute husband ~ alone, sad eyed, and wearing an expensive rented tuxedo, gold lace on the collar of a baby blue coat and down the sides of the satin fine black slacks.

     He was married now.  He had boat tickets in his pocket for the honeymoon.  He and Tulip were going to go to Catalina Island ~ with its lusty clean beaches ~ and make lusty leg twisting love all night long in a wide bed fit for royalty, in an out of sight and too expensive hotel ~ also fit for royalty.  It was his own money ~ and he was eager to spend it on the most beautiful damsel, his love, this universe had ever forged.  And she was kidnapped.

     Some how, he’d equaled her dreams.  Some how, she had, in turn, equaled his dreams.  Some how, he and her had been ripped away from each other ~ on their wedding day!

     “My name’s Rip Lincoln,” he mumbled to himself and to what ever was left of God.  “And my ship’s sinkin’.”

     His eyes grew red.  He blinked.  His arms hung motionless at his side.  He had not expected to be a two minute husband.

     As if suddenly waking from a dream, he looked around himself.  He was fearfully alone.  People were dashing about, even talking to him.  The priest was a real fool, trying to take his arm.  But he, Rip Lincoln, was alone.

     “Don’t touch me,” he said to the flabby cheeked priest ~ almost deadly.

     People ~ some even his good friends ~ were staring at him.  He hardly cared.  He turned around, gazed up at the replica of crucified Jesus Christ and His shot off toe.  Half the toe was still there, more than half.  He stepped up closer to the altar, examined the toe closer, found that the bullet had really only trimmed the toe nail ~ some what sloppily.  On the altar was the chalice ~ and there was red wine in it.  Rip Lincoln picked up the chalice, examined its engravings, and drank all the wine.  It was tasteless.  He set the empty chalice down gently ~ walked behind stage.

     In the priest’s little dressing room, on a dresser, were two carefully rolled marijuana joints, gifts from a friend, for him and Tulip after the wedding.  He sniffed back his tears, picked up one joint, lit it with his lighter, another wedding gift.  With the joint ‘tween his lips, he inhaled deeply ~ his eyes closed.  It was good pot.  The heavy load in his head lost a few anchors, floated a little ~ which provided a better view.

     He thought about how four years earlier Tulip had dropped Road, chosen him instead.  Obviously Road had never accepted her choice ~ or her free will.

     I’ve got to get her back, thought blond-haired Rip Lincoln, no longer misty, as he inhaled deeply upon the joint ‘tween his lips.

     And I’m going to get her back!

~

Road’s Cannon

~

photo

Mila Kunis

~

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