The Squeaky Wheel – Excerpt 1

Rainbows — 1999

Rainbows float in bubbles over the heads of the wedding guests and out over the white streaked turquoise ocean, which looks like precious marble. The sea is sky-blue at the next beach — then indigo with Kokohead volcano beyond. The water at each beach in Hawaii is a different shade of blue. Past the guests and bubbles sit two regal Asian women with shoulder length hair wearing white muumuus and playing Elvis’ Can’t Help Falling in Love on the harp and flute. The guests are armed with disposable cameras and bubbles. As the guests arrive a Polaroid is taken of them and the picture glued into a book where guests jot down regards for the betrothed. The table at the entrance to the huge backyard is covered in stuffed bunnies. The preacher beside me wears a polyester pale-blue suit. He is tall, bald and looks like he just stepped out of the Ozarks. He tells those gathered he has been asked to interpret the ceremony using American Sign Language. I see my sister-in-law, Shelli, raise her hands and twist them — American Sign Language for applause. My best-person, my sister Dawn, is beside me. She has prepared a speech. Dawn has Down syndrome. The smell of the lawn, the ocean and plumerias waft past us. Down the grassy aisle march the five cutest little brown girls ever. Each looks like she was drawn for Hallmark. They wear the cutest pink dresses ever. Each carries a large stuffed bunny. Now my bride Amy exits the house wearing a haku lei made by a law school classmate. Amy’s long black hair cascades down the front of her bridal gown. I fight tears. She is a gift from God. The guests stand and smile. In lieu of a bouquet of flowers, Amy carries a pink stuffed pink bunny. It is the year of the rabbit. I wear new black cowboy boots. Actually the boots are entirely made from petroleum products, which makes them synthetic-boy boots. These are complemented by black trousers, a white shirt with Superman cufflinks and a black and blue paisley tuxedo vest. My father has just removed my tres-cool tortoiseshell sunglasses. My red hair shines from under the Chinese bob hat I wear. The hat is a black silk cross between a yarmulke and a Muslim’s hat. My momentarily wife has placed a red circle with the Chinese kanji for happiness on the center of the hat’s band. I’m sure I look like Hop Sing the Chinese cook from Bonanza, but friends tell me I look like the emperor. The only possible thing that can take away from this idyllic picture is the wheelchair under my ass.