I wake up in my cell. sun screams through overcast skies and frosted windows. my head is heavy when I try to stand and steer myself the basket on my bike too full with supermarket goods in the rain on the ride home. I need to shower and a nurse to come unlock my bathroom door. plucking guitar through the walls from outside, soundcheck for my older brother's wedding. I am running late and dreaming.
the suit is hanging in the open closet over drawers locked with my power cords. they were too long to be safe for me to use inside. I dress before the paper-covered mirror, unable to remember where it came from what it costed how it looked when we tried it at the store. but none of this is important. I am still running late.
when I leave my room I cross through the safety doors between our dorm and the commons to realise I've forgotten my tie and the card that let's me back in. I call the nurse and return to do the same, forgetting my shoes next, my glasses, and soon it seems a large part of my brain. through the window I hear the gradual arrival of guests. excited chatter laughter an assortment of voices from childhoods nightmares fairytales of Christmas past. each time I return to my cell the crowd has grown. I imagine my older brother pacing as he does when he waits and stresses to exorcise anxiety. the thought only flusters me more as I forget my speech, my pants, how to leave the building. I don't want to let him down.
by time I break out of the ward the ceremony has begun. embarrassed, I hide behind a centaur manikin, glossy white on wheels I steer around the congregation to meet the other groomsmen by reception. my brothers look confused. their suits are black and I know I have not worn what I should have. I can't face anyone else, wrap my arms around the centaur's torso, lean my face into his waist. the choir sings and I realise I still have sirens chanting Berghain in my ears. on my knees one of my airpods falls into the stream. it comes out of the water black.
