Denominations by Ed Markowski

Me and Laurie was watching the Rockford Files and getting ready to watch

Wheel Of Fortune in room number nine at the Pelican Motel down in Biloxi,

Mississippi when we decided we was gonna shack, snack, and suckle legit

in the eyes and shackles of society, our families, and the Invisible Man up

where ? I cut the TV. Laurie blood hounds the Yellow Pages. I shaved. She

shouted, “ I found the place Wild Bill, so slap on some skin bracer, and

strap your ass in the saddle. “

We drives up highway forty – nine and stops at the Paramount Mission

Baptist Church in a no horse dust drop named Wiggins, population seven

hundred and twelve counting me, Laurie, and one on the way any day now

as the grand finale of that night last May when me and she was howling

in the galley of Bee Landry’s shrimp boat down in Happy Jack, Louisiana.

So, Laurie and me sits down with this hard shell Baptist preacher, and we

tells him we’s traveling down the right route these days. We tells him too,

that the right road started in the Yellow Pages and ended at the plywood

door of his church. We tells him that we no doubt is gonna ride that road,

surf that wave, and fly that sky across every cloud and seam of blue, till

we reaches the sanctified shores of that sun lit nation called Holy Matrimony

right here, right now, if you’ll marry us Mister Minister.

The hard sell Baptist looks us over, scribbles something on a desk calendar,

and says, “ Three – hundred dollars, and that includes a bouquet of beautiful

Snapdragons for the bride, and a boutonniere of Tiger Lilies for the groom

fresh from our congregation’s Glory Garden. Our organist’s fifty – five dollar

fee is also included. Fifty – five dollars might sound steep, but one night way

back and long before she was saved, our Miss Sally Duncan played piano at

Spooks Roadhouse in Jackson for the Troubadour from Tupelo when his regular

key man mixed the wrong pills with some sour mash. Well, there aren’t a whole

lot of us walking around who can tell our children, grandchildren, and great

grandchildren that a celebrity who played piano for the King of Kings, played

the organ at our weddings. Now, we must always walk with humility in the eyes

of our Lord, but the fact of the matter is, having Sally play automatically grants

you two at the very least, a lifetime of undeniable bragging rights that will never

be topped. Now, before we go to the Chapel, there’s one question you must

answer. If either of you answer incorrectly, you’ll both be free to continue living

in sin while reserving your eternal seats inside the pit at B. L. Zee bop's Original

Old South Bar-B-Que. “

Then, the hard shell Crabtist aims his long left index between my eyes. “ You

first, “ he says.

“ Deal the cards and pull the trigger Doctor Holliday. “

“ Do you believe in God? “

“ Kinda, Mister Minister. “

“ Kinda? What’s Kinda ? “

“ Kinda’s a type of intelligence that no man or woman can pin down. “

“ Go on.”

“ Educated people calls it an incomprehensible and nonsensical intelligence that

makes, moves, and removes galaxies, planets, mountains, men, mice, and microscopic

beings.”

“ Is that all you have to say about your Divine Father? “

“ Is that all ? I said too much. “

“ Too much ? “

“ I keep family secrets secret, Rev. “

Mister Minister sticks a fresh plug of Kodiak in his mouth. He looks me over again,

then he says, “ You’re on the road to hell son. “ So I says, “ Rev, I’ll be waiting for

you, and when you show Rev, the ale’s on my Anthony, the whiskey’s on my

Washington, and the hooch is on my Hamilton. “

The hard sell Zaptist points a black ink pen at Laurie. “ Are you prepared to marry

a man who you’ll be separated from for eternity ? Do you believe in God young lady,

or are you a member of the Kinda Congregation ? “

Laurie aims a tube of Cherry Burst lip gloss, and her cherry red lips at the Soul Bleacher.

“ I’m a member of the I don’t wanna know congregation, and I’m a member of the I don’t

give a shit congregation. But I’ll promise you this Mister Minister, when I prance into hell

I’ll ride you and Wild Bill for free for ever, and ever, and ever, and ever, forever amen. “

With two new splinters sprouting in his eyes, the Diamond Back Asptist says to us, “ Since

the beginning of time, everyone who shows up at my gate, and I mean everyone, forgets to

add the R in my name. No matter how hard I try, I can’t figure it out. I guess I’m not as all

knowing as everyone thinks I am . . .

So, please do me a small favor. After the ceremony, if you decide to pay the three – hundred
dollar fee with a check, please make it out to G O R D. “