The Closer I Get To You

Roland couldn't believe the absence of wind. It was as if God had decided at that moment that he and the rest of the fools gathered on this picturesque version of hell had no need for the relief a cool breeze would provide. He felt the final fabric of his suit adhere to his already moistened skin underneath, and his repugnance over the situation he was in increased tenfold.
         He allowed his gaze to wander across the crowd, most of whom showed up in their Versaces and Armanis and their Alexander McQueens. They also wore varying levels of dread over the heat that decided to settle around what should, by all accounts, be the happiest of occasions. A bead of sweat drifted from his glistening forehead into his right eye, and he would spend the next few minutes squinting the sting away. Why anyone would have an outdoor wedding in the middle of August, in New York City, in formal wear is beyond his understanding. He tried to brush away the ill-will he suddenly felt for the bride and groom.
         The crowd exploded to enthusiastic applause, stirring Roland from his reverie, and a familiar tune signaled the end of the ceremony. As soon as the new Mr. and Mrs. Wells disappeared inside their Bentley, their guests dispersed rapidly to the comfort of their own air-conditioned vehicles to make their way across town. Thankfully, Roland thought, the reception would be indoors. He took off his jacket, found his way out of the park and hailed a cab. He vowed to enjoy the twenty-minute climate-controlled ride in spite of the patchouli and Bollywood music.

"Whoa, check her out," Aric cooed, elbowing him in the ribs.
         Roland looked to where his overzealous friend was pointing and his eyes rested on a stunning redhead. He smiled. "I'd rather not."
         "Why not?"
         "'Cause that's my sister."
         "No way," said Aric, pretending to wipe drool from the corner of his mouth. "She's hot!"
         "If you say so," Roland said, as his sister looked in his direction. She smiled at him and gave him a playful wave, which he returned in kind.
         "I want to meet her," Aric said, straightening his tie. "Can you introduce me?"
         "Absolutely. But let me introduce you to her husband first," Roland said, pointing to a fellow at the bar who looked like a Giants linebacker. His brother-in-law acknowledged him with an upturned thumb from across the room.
         Aric gulped. "Movin' on."
         Roland chuckled. "Good choice." His phone rang and he raised it to view the display screen, which showed a number he easily recognized. He pressed a button to silence it and put it back in his jacket pocket.
         Aric arched his brows. "Let me guess..."
         "Yup."
         "Dude, when are you going to talk to her?"
         "None of your business."
         "Fine," Aric said. "Look, all I'm saying is that you're making too big of a deal about it."
         "She didn't cheat on you."
         Aric threw his arms in the air in mock surrender. "Buttin' out now."
         "Good man."
         "Listen, I'm getting myself a refill. You want another?"
         Roland looked at the glass in his hand, the melted ice nearly obscuring the fading evidence of the dark liquid it used to contain. He'd found solace in alcohol in the past few weeks. It offered a constancy amid the chaos. But he knew today had to be different, he needed his head to be clear. "I'm OK for now."
         "Suit yourself. Be right back," Aric said, and quickly vanished into the rabid crowd.
         Alaina's unmistakable laughter hovered over Frankie Goes To Hollywood and the gyrating mass of old and new money on the dance floor, and Roland immediately spotted her at the front of the room. She belonged there, of course, standing next to her new husband. Her smile still affected him as it always had, and he felt himself drawn to her. And he reminded himself that today he would tell her exactly how he felt about her. He would tell her how he should've been the one standing next to her at the front of the room, with his arms around her waist, and his chin resting playfully on her shoulder; that he should be the one giving her a sip of his champagne. Today he would admit to her that he messed things up in the past, that he missed his chance for full disclosure a few years ago, and that he'd regretted it ever since.
         Today, he would tell her all of this.
         His phone rang, and he clumsily fished it out of his jacket pocket. He stared at the display-- it was Carol again-- until the phone stopped ringing. He waited to see the voicemail icon appear on the top right hand of the screen before retuning his phone in his jacket pocket. He decided he would call her back later.
         Roberta Flack's and Donny Hathaway's voices sailed across the room as the new Mr. and Mr. Wells slow-danced to their theme song. Roland watched as his former lover couldn't take her eyes off her husband, and he felt a dull ache in his heart. He turned around and headed for the exit, empty glass still in hand.
         He barely heard his friend Aric ask him where he was going before stepping out into the warm afternoon sun.

It took a few minutes before his body temperature adjusted to the elements. He closed his eyes and allowed the humidity to manifest all over him. Before long, he would yet again be a sweaty mess. Summers in New York are truly unbearable. But he couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
         A small gust of wind suddenly blew through where Roland stood, and he relished in its refreshing touch. It went as quickly as it came.
         His phone rang again, and he didn't have to look at the display to know who it was. He took it out and pressed the answer button.
         "Hello?"



Written for 04/21 Prompt of "The Writer's Cramp" 
Prompt: It's starting to get warm here in the city. Spring is winding its way toward summer. Write a story or poem with heat as a key factor. All the other details are up to you.
Word Count: 1000