Random Dude
The priest saw him first, as he faced the congregation during the litany, the homily and the vows. The bride and groom saw him during the vows, from the corner of their eyes as they glanced out toward their family and friends, and beyond toward the back pews. The readers saw him during the scripture passages, knowing they should make eye contact with the congregation now and then, although instead of those properly gathered, the readers’ eyes were inevitably drawn beyond, to the solitary figure in the back. The photographer saw him, or more accurately his camera did, as it captured an indistinct shape at the edge of the frame as the photographer centered on the bride and groom. And the congregation saw him, as they peered back over their shoulders in irritation, knowing they should instead be looking forward at the happy couple, the throng of the bridal party and pastel explosion of flowers, but instead their attention was drawn to him when he first began to snore.
The two ushers in the back—the groom’s twenty-year-old brother and the bride’s nine-year-old nephew—saw him from the moment he entered the sanctuary, and throughout the ceremony. He had slipped inside through one of the corner doors and up the side aisle, just a few minutes into the ceremony, and slid into a pew. Joe, the older usher, watched him first with curiosity, then with rising amusement until he decided it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. The younger usher leaned in and whispered his alarm but Joe shook the boy off, murmuring that everything would be fine. Joe watched as the man slumped in the pew, at first trying to focus on the ceremony, straining to see as if his vision was hazy, before he gave up and closed his eyes, his head still upright. Joe continued to watch him even as the priest, from the other end of the sanctuary, glared toward the usher, clearly striving to get Joe’s attention and prod him into action. Joe pretended not to notice, and smiled as the man’s head lolled back to rest on the top of the pew, his face pointed upward and eyes tightly shut. Some, seeing the man from a distance, might have imagined the man was in fervent prayer, beseeching the heavens for guidance or forgiveness, but Joe, standing so much closer, knew otherwise, and fought to suppress a grin as he watched the man ease into deep sleep.
When the snoring started Joe laughed, from the absurdity of the situation but also from the lingering hangover from the rehearsal dinner and long nightcap of the previous evening, the fatigue keeping him rooted in place. He was content just to watch, with one eye kept to the front of the sanctuary for any sudden movement toward him, and flitting back to the sleeping man again and again. But the nine-year-old usher, Billy, had neither a hangover nor a sleepless night hindering him, and after a few minutes he abruptly peeled away from Joe, who lunged but couldn’t reach the boy to hold him back. Already beyond the moment when following after him might have still prevented a scene, Joe continued to stand, his hands clasped behind him, no longer relaxed but instead tense.
As Joe watched, Billy silently slid forward two rows and then down the pew, and hesitantly prodded the man with just the tips of his fingers, as if afraid to touch him. “Dude?” Joe heard him whisper, “dude?” Joe tensed further, hoping the boy’s words couldn’t be heard from the front as he realized he had blown his only responsibility of the day. He had to seat the guests, of course, but didn’t he also have to maintain order, like an usher at a hockey game or a bouncer at a bar? That’s what the head usher should do. “Dude,” Billy’s voice rose, “you can’t sleep here.” Surely he could now be heard throughout the sanctuary, by everyone. “This is a wedding.” The man opened his eyes and stared back at Billy, nodded and rose, slipping away as quickly as he came. Billy made his way back to the rear, resumed his position and gave one angry glare at Joe before restoring his benign gaze toward the ceremony, where the blessing had just concluded. Head usher, Joe had thought of himself until now, but no longer.