Allen McGill

Ginny arrived late from the airport, but managed to find space in the third pew of St. Bartholomew’s RC church. She had hoped to meet her cousin’s fiancé before the ceremony, but there’d been a delay.

She finally got a look at the tall, handsome groom as he, the best man and the ushers entered from the sacristy and approached the center of the altar rail where the priest awaited them. Well, son of a bitch! she thought, catching her breath. Him! She couldn’t believe it! Could she pick ’em!

The wedding march began, but Ginny couldn’t concentrate on anything but the images that came to her mind of her recent trip to Acapulco. The sun, the sand, the hunky guys on the beach and the stud she’d snagged for nightly, hot, uninhibited sex the day after she’d arrived.

There were no silly promises of everlasting love, of course, but the steamy e-mails they’d exchanged in the course of the following month led Ginny to believe that the flame might be re-ignited at some later date.

Vivid flashes came to her of heightened moments in their lovemaking, the chaise on the patio by candlelight. She felt a definite warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature in the church.

She wondered what her cousin would think if she knew. Ginny would never tell her, of course, but had to chuckle. Slowly she undressed him in her mind as her cousin moved to stand close, a vision in virginal white.

Quick giggles broke forth from her as she envisioned him standing buck-naked at the altar rail in front of all these people. Her eruption of laughter caused a number of people to turn and frown. She fought to keep from sniggering out loud.

The only way to avoid further outbursts was to keep from watching the nuptials. She looked at the ceiling, at her hands, at the crucifix—anywhere but at the altar rail.

Finally, the ceremony was over and the happy couple began their life together with a long walk up the center aisle. Lace handkerchiefs were brought forth, oohs and aahs were voiced, and then the congregation followed the couple to file through the massive doors to the street, where the receiving line was staged.

Ginny took her time, but eventually stepped into the sunlight. She embraced her cousin, kissed the groom and, to the priest, said: “Hello, Father Dick, remember me?”


Originally from NYC, Allen (aljons[at] lives, writes, acts and directs theatre in Mexico. His published fiction, non-fiction, poetry, plays, etc., have appeared in print as well as on line: NY Times, The Writer, Newsday, MD, Flashquake, Herons Nest, Cenotaph, TempsLibres, Autumn Leaves, Poetic Voices, Bottle Rocket, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, many others.

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