Celebration
By Gene Aronowitz
The toasts were still reverberating. The satisfying first night of intimacy, although far from a new experience for the newly-weds, was still being savored.
The day-after-the-wedding breakfast was approaching its second hour. Mary and Sam, the bride and groom, sat alone at a table for two, surrounded by tables full of family and friends. The ingredients for do-it-yourself mimosas – bottles of Champagne and Triple Sec plus pitchers of orange juice – were continually refreshed.
Mary leaned over and whispered, “Go easy, will you.”
“What?”
“The mimosas. You’re on your fifth one.”
“It’s my fourth, but who gives a shit?”
“God, all my friends are here, and you’re getting …”
“Who cares? We’re here to celebrate. We haven’t even been married twenty-four hours, and you’re already ...”
Sam shook his head and started to refill his glass from the nearly empty bottle of Champagne and reached for another from the ice-filled silver bucket. Mary looked at him “Sam, please don’t.”
Sam glared at her while removing the foil that covered the bottle, giving the little wire ring six turns, and removed the wire cage holding the cork. He reached for his linen napkin and, with a flourish, gave it a quick flick downward to open it fully and placed it on top of the bottle. He tried twisting the cork applying upward pressure, pointing the bottle toward the ceiling. But the cork wouldn’t release. He tried again, then removed the napkin and looked down to examine what might be wrong, momentarily loosening his grip. The cork blew off, flew into his right eye, went through its pupil, lens, vitreous body, and macula, then crashed into the prefrontal cortex of his brain. His chair lurched backward, leaving Sam sitting on his back as if ready to give birth.
Mary jumped up, ran around the table, and saw the cavern where Sam’s right eye had been. Her scream drew everyone’s attention to her. Cooks ran out of the kitchen, in the back of the hall, still with knives in their hands. As Sara looked at his left eye, wide open but expressionless, she saw in it a lifetime of what might have been.
