I’ve been listening to a lot of This American Life lately (Sara turned me on to it and it is the perfect thing to listen to while knitting, which I think makes me about 30,000 years old, but I digress) and the other day I heard a particularly awesome episode titled “Frenemies.” Though the whole show was great, the best part was contributor David Rakoff’s poem about an uncomfortable wedding toast. In it, a man named Nathan is invited to the wedding of his exgirlfriend and his former best friend, who (inexplicably) asked him to give a toast. It’s funny and touching and clever and cute. But the best part is at the end—it’s a surprisingly philosophical way of looking at wounds and anger and forgiveness (complete with some brilliant rhymes). Seriously, go listen to it—or read it, since I found the text and decided to post it here (after the jump! as they say)…
Nathan, at one of the outlying tables,
his feet tangled up in the disc jockey’s cables,
surveyed the room as unseen as a ghost,
while he mulled over what he might say for his toast.
That the couple had asked him for this benediction,
seemed at odds with them parking him here by the kitchen.
That he’d shown up at all was still a surprise,
and not just to him, it was there in the eyes
of the guests who had seen a mirage and drew near,
and then covered their shock with a ‘Nathan, you’re here?’
And then silence, they’d nothing to say beyond that.
A few of the braver souls lingered to chat.
They all knew – it was neither a secret nor mystery –
that he and the couple had quite an odd history.
Their bonds were a tangle of friendship and sex,
Josh, his best pal once, and Patty, his ex.
For a while he could barely go out in the city,
without being a punchline, or object of pity.
‘Poor Nathan’ had virtually become his new name,
And so he showed up just to show he was game,
though his invite was late, a forgotten addendum
for Nate there could be no more clear referendum,
that he need but endure through this evening and then
he would likely not see Josh and Patty again.
Josh’s sister was speaking, a princess in peach.
Nathan dug in his pocket to study his speech.
He’d poured over Bartlett’s for couplets to filch,
he stayed up till three, still came up with zilch.
Except for instructions he’d underscored twice.
Just two words in length, and those words were: ‘Be nice.’
Too often, he thought, our emotions betray us,
and reason departs once we’re up on the dais.
He’d witnessed uncomfortable moments
where others had lost their way quickly,
where sisters and brothers had gotten too prickly,
and peppered their babbling
with stories of benders,or lesbian dabbling,
or spot-on impressions of mothers-in-law,
which true, Nathan thought, always garnered guffaws,
But the price seemed too high, with the laughs seldom cloaking
hostility masquerading as joking.
No, he’d swallow his rage and he’d bank all his fire.
He knew that in his case the bar was set higher.
Folks were just waiting for him to erupt,
they’d be hungry for blood even though they had supped.
They’d want tears or some other unsightly reaction,
and Nathan would not give them that satisfaction.
Though Patty a harlot and Josh was a lout,
At least Nathan knew what he’d not talk about.
I won’t wish them divorce, that they wither and sicken,
or tonight that they choke on their salmon or chicken.
I won’t mention that time when the cottage lost power,
in that storm on the cape and they left for an hour.
And they thought it was just the cleverest ruse,
to pretend it took that long to switch out the fuse.
Or that time Josh advised me with so much insistence,
that I should grant Patty a little more distance,
that the worst I could do was to hamper and crowd her,
that if Patty felt stifled, she’d just take a powder,
that a plant needs its space just as much as its water,
and I shouldn’t give Patty that ring that I bought her,
which in retrospect only elicits a ‘Gosh,
I hardly deserved a friend like you, Josh’.
No, I won’t spill those beans, or make myself foolish,
To satisfy appetites venal and ghoulish.
I will not be the blot on this hellish affair.
And with that Nathan pushed out and rose from his chair.
And just by the tapping of knife against crystal,
All eyes turned his way, like he’d fired off a pistol.
‘Hmm, Joshua, Patricia, dear family and friends,
a few words, if you will, before everything ends.
You’ve promised to honor, to love and obey,
We’ve quaffed our champagne and been cleansed by sorbet,
All in endorsement of your hers and hisdom,
So now let me add my two cents worth of wisdom.
I was racking my brain, sitting here at this table,
Until I remembered this suitable fable,
That gets at a truth, though it may well distort us.
So here with the Tale of the Scorpion and Tortoise.
The Scorpion was hamstrung, his tail all aquiver.
Just how would he manage to get cross the river?
‘Why, the water’s so deep’ he observed with a sigh,
which pricked at the ears of a tortoise nearby.
‘Well, why don’t you swim?’ asked the slow-moving fellow,
‘Unless you’re afraid, I mean what are you, yellow?’
‘It isn’t a matter of fear or of whim’, said the scorpion,
‘But that I don’t know how to swim’
‘Ah, forgive me, I didn’t mean to be glib when
I said that, I figured you were an amphibian’
‘No offense taken’ the Scorpion replied,
‘But how bout you help me to reach the far side?
You swim like a dream, and you have what I lack,
what say you take me across on your back?’
‘I’m really not sure that’s the best thing to do’,
said the Tortoise,’now that I see that it’s you.
You’ve a less than ideal reputation preceding,
there’s talk of your victims all poisoned and bleeding.
You’re the Scorpion, and how can I say this, but well,
I just don’t feel safe with you riding my shell.’
The Scorpion replied, ‘What would killing you prove?
We’d both drown, so tell me, how would that behoove
me, to basically die at my very own hand,
when all I desire is to be on dry land.’
The Tortoise considered the Scorpion’s defense.
When he gave it some thought it made perfect sense.
The niggling voice in his mind he ignored,
and he swam to the bank and called out, ‘Climb aboard’.
But just a few moments from when they set sail,
the Scorpion lashed out with his venomous tail.
The Tortoise, too late, understood that he’d blundered,
when he felt his flesh stabbed and his carapace sundered.
As he fought for life he said, ‘Tell me why
you have done this, for now we will surely both die?’
‘I don’t know!’, cried the Scorpion, ‘you never should trust
a creature like me, because poison I must.
I’d claim some remorse or at least some compunction,
but I just can’t help it, my form is my function!
You thought I’d behave like my cousin the crab,
but unlike him, it is but my nature to stab.
The Tortoise expired with one final quiver,
and then both of them sank, swallowed up by the river.
The Tortoise was wrong to ignore all his doubts,
because in the end friends, our natures will out.
Nathan paused, cleared his throat, took a sip of his drink,
He needed these extra few seconds to think.
The room had gone frosty, the tension was growing,
folks wondered precisely where Nathan was going.
The prospects of skirting fiasco seemed dim,
but what he said next surprised even him.
‘So, what can we learn from their watery ends?
Is there some lesson on how to be friends?
I think what it means is that central to living
a life that is good, is a life that’s forgiving.
We’re creatures of contact. Regardless of whether
we kiss or we wound,still we must come together.
Though it may spell destruction, we still ask for more,
since it beats staying dry, but so lonely on shore.
So we make ourselves open, while knowing full well
it’s essentially saying,’Please, come pierce my shell’
Silence doesn’t paint the depth of quiet in that room.
There was no clinking stemwear toasting to the bride & groom.
You could have heard a petal as it landed on the floor.
And in that stillness Nathan turned, and walked right out the door.