And In the Darkness Bind Them

A while back, on one of their weekend programs, NPR was soliciting short-short fiction pieces. The one time I participated, the guidelines were fairly basic: One character in the story has to tell a joke and one character has to cry. The following is what I came up with.

 They had retreated to the honeymoon suite, extracted themselves from their formal-wear, and collapsed in a lifeless stupor on the bed.  They wouldn’t have had the energy to do anything if they’d wanted to.

Everyone had told her what a beautiful wedding it had been.  “Perfect” was the word they most often used.  And of course she smiled and nodded and agreed that everything had gone off without a hitch, exactly as planned.

But still she couldn’t get over his little impromptu amendment to their vows – the vows they had written together and worked on and reworked and polished to perfection.  And there, in the middle of the ceremony, surrounded by all their friends and family, associates and co-workers and distant cousins, in front of everyone who had ever been anyone in their lives, he put the ring on her finger with the words, “One Ring to rule them all, and in the darkness bind them”.

 “Why did you do that?” she asked him.

 “It was funny,” he said.

“You should have told me.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You should have warned me.”

“It would have spoiled the surprise.”

“So instead you spoiled our wedding.”

“I didn’t spoil it,” he said.  “It was a great wedding.  Everyone had a great time.”

She wanted to tell him that was beside the point, but didn’t know how to say it without it sounding like she was being petty and selfish. 

Instead she asked him, “Anyway, what does it even mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“That ‘One Ring to rule them all…’?”

“It’s from Lord of the Rings…”

“I know that,” she snapped.  “What does it mean?  In our wedding ceremony, what does it mean?”

“Nothing.  It was a joke.”

“So why make it part of our wedding if it doesn’t mean anything?”

“Because,” he said with an exasperated sigh, “it’s an ironic commentary on gender roles in the modern marital institution.”

“Well maybe I didn’t want ironic commentary to be part of my wedding.”

“Well maybe I did want ironic commentary to be part of our wedding.”

“That’s why you have a blog, for all your ironic commentating needs.”

He shrugged noncommittally and lay quietly, examining the plain gold band on his finger.

“So my sister would be Gollum, then,” she mused.  “Did you see the way she went after the bouquet?  Practically tackled your cousin for it.  ‘We wants it!  We needs it!  Give it to usss!’”  she giggled.

He shook his head.  “But she’s never actually had the ring herself.  She’s going after some imaginary idea of what it means, what she thinks it could do for her.  She’s more like Boromir.  Or Sauruman.” 

She stared at him, watching him twist the ring on his hand, wondering if he was still joking.

“What does that make us?” she asked.

He shrugged.  They had allowed the metaphor to go too far, leading to thoughts of their future together.  A life prolonged, extended beyond its natural course until it faded into shadow, tired of life but unable to die, held completely in the thrall of a simple bit of plain jewelry.

A small sound escaped from somewhere in the back of his throat.  He rolled over, settling in for sleep and turning his back on his wife.

“Hey,” she said.  “Hey, are you crying?”

“No,” he lied, and shoved his face in the pillows.