Page 2 of Bless This Hot Mess

Before long, the DJ’s voice echoed through the fairgrounds again, “And give it up for Ronald Martinez and hisNot Short Where It Countsroutine! Have you ever seen someone palm balls like that? Like catcher’s mitts! Or suction cups, schlooop! Immmpressive! And now, ladies and gentlemen of Greater Napanee, the moment you didn’t know you were waiting for! Our next act is truly something special, and I don’t say that lightly.”

The DJ’s voice boomed once again before pausing dramatically, sweeping his arm toward the small backstage area as though he were revealing a secret of cosmic importance, “We’ve got a pair of local talents who’ve been blessing our ears at church socials and chicken wing Wednesdays. They are an unstoppable duo, with the sweetly tragic harmonics of R&J. No, not the Bard’s star-crossed lovers. It’s Napanee’s own, Rebekkah and Japheth!”

The crowd clapped politely as the DJ leaned in close to the mic, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “Now, if you’ve never heard the names Rebekkah and Japheth before today, well you’re in for a treat. They’ve got more spirit than a Sunday choir and more denim than a rodeo. Give them a warm welcome my friends!”

Backstage, Japheth raised an eyebrow at Rebekkah, “It’s time.”

Rebekkah swallowed hard, squeezing Japheth’s hand. “Giddy-up and let God,” she whispered to him as they stepped onto the stage.

The fairground lights bathed them in a surreal glow as they took their positions, standing shoulder to shoulder in their matching denim outfits. As if they shared one mind and body, they simultaneously struck a dramatic pose on thesmall creaky stage. The footlights glimmered like stars in their eyes, and the audience’s applause faded into the distance as they awaited their music track to start.

But it didn’t.

The DJ cleared his throat nervously, “Hold on… folks, there seems to be a bit of a commotion at the judges’ table. Emma-Lou is… well, she’s running past the popcorn machine, and Rino Ferrari is hot on her heels…”

Rebekkah and Japheth exchanged wide-eyed glances, their stage smiles faltering. They squinted past the stage lights and into the distance, watching as Emma-Lou sprinted away from the judges’ table, her blonde curls bouncing in the breeze. Behind her, Rino (like the Italian Stallion he was) charged after her with the determination of a man who’d spent many an early morning running sprints at the high school track, wanting to prove, if only to himself, that he still had the right stuff. And indeed, he did.

The DJ continued his play-by-play commentary, “Jonas Smyth hasn’t left the table, but hold on… he’s writing something. Can I get a volunteer to run me up that note?”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as a volunteer handed the DJ a crumpled piece of paper. The DJ unfolded it slowly, his face falling as he read the message. “Folks, I’m… I’m sorry to announce that Emma-Lou’s parents have been pronounced… lost at sea.”

The audience gasped.

“Sweet Lord Jesus, watch over them,” the DJ continued in a hushed tone. “In light of this news, we’re canceling the remainder of today’s entertainment.”

The audience sat in stunned silence, save for a few awkward coughs and the distant squeal of kids on a fairground ride. The DJ, his voice now filled with solemnity,added, “At times like this, WWJD reminds us that there’s nothing we can do but bow our heads and pray.”

Rebekkah felt her stomach drop as the weight of the announcement settled over her. This was their chance,their moment, and now it was gone. Japheth clenched his jaw, his hands trembling at his sides.

As the stage lights dimmed, Japheth felt the weight of the moment sink in. Their (possible) moment of destiny was hijacked by tragedy. And just like that, their dreams felt as lost as Emma-Lou’s parents.

Rebekkah wasn’t sure what was worse: losing the talent show, or spending eternity smelling like fried chicken after a shift at Saddles ‘n’ Spurs.

The Saddles ‘n’ Spurs Fried Chicken drive-through speaker crackled to life. “Saddles ‘n’ Spurs. How can I put some giddy-up in your grill?”

From the driver’s seat of her rusted Oldsmobile, Rebekkah rolled her eyes. “Japheth? It’s me!”

“Rebekkah, we’ve talked about this,” Japheth’s voice came through the speaker, tinny and tired. “There’s nothing to say. We got a non-sign from God.”

Rebekkah shook her head, “Just because wedidn’twin doesn’t mean we didn’twin.”

“You’re talking in riddles again,” Japheth said, his voice resigned. “Look, I’ve got a line of customers behind you. Are you gonna order something or are you just here to remind me of our failures?”

With a knowing smirk, Rebekkah leaned toward the speaker, “How long did Jacob wait for Leah to become his wife?”

Japheth’s voice crackled back, “Bible trivia? That’s easy. Seven years.”

“And how much longer did Jacob put up with Leah before he finally got the wife he really wanted?”

A sigh echoed through the menu speaker. “He waited another seven years for Rachel. What’s your point?”

“So,” Rebekkah belaboured her tale, “what do you think that story’s trying to tell us?”

Another impatient honk blared from the car behind her, but she ignored it, her eyes fixed on the intercom.

“I don’t know,” Japheth replied after a thoughtful pause, “use Plenty of Fish, maybe? It’d be faster?”

Rebekkah chuckled, “Heworks in mysterious ways. Just because we put a deadline on a miracle doesn’t mean He’s gonna deliver on time. He’s not Domino’s, you know.”