"Oh Father Zeus! If over land and water
after adversity, you willed to bring me home,
let someone in the waking house give me good augury,
and a sign be shown, too, in the outer world."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 20, Lines 110-113.
Used without permission.
 

BYERS:

I've heard of the Monday that wouldn't die.

I'm in it.

Somehow, I have this feeling that even as the computers change dates, as the calendar flips into the next 24-hour segment, as CNN makes it clear that we have yet survived another day, I won't be able to get out of Monday.

It may be Monday for a while yet.

Juliet and I are getting married on October 18. I think she was a bit surprised that I wanted to plan for the event so close in the future-but at the rate we're going, I'm going to be taking vows with a pregnant bride. So far, we've been lucky, but we've all but abandoned good sense and precautions, and I suspect it will catch up to us in short order.

And I wanted to do it. I wasn't certain of when until we were at Nicole's, our wedding planner's, office. Once we got in there, and the reality of it sank in, my feeling was, let's get this show on the road-and get it over with.

I'm not trying to display a jaundiced view of the matrimonial institution. Au contraire. I embrace it.

Weddings are something altogether separate.

I swore to myself, and to Juliet, that this would not turn into the fiasco that Ally and Langly's nuptials quickly became. Admittedly, it was an incredibly entertaining fiasco-but I'm surprised that Frohike didn't have a second heart attack over it. I totally enjoyed their day. How could you not? Copious quantities of food for real people, liquor flowing like rivers, and dancing sans pants-you'd have to be out of your mind not to have had fun that day.

On the other hand, it was utterly exhausting. I don't know what Ally and Langly did when they reached Manzanillo, but I understand that they slept the entire way there. And the rest of us didn't manage to crawl out of bed for two or three days afterwards. I think Frohike spent the entire week having a postmortem nervous breakdown; Michael says he moved between his bed and his chair and would occasionally moan as a form of communication, although not too frequently, as the effort appeared to exhaust him. And from what I heard from the guests afterwards, there were hangovers of record breaking numbers and proportions. Even Ally's daughter Miranda, who is a whirling dervish of energy, spent the time while the parent and stepparent were honeymooning lying in her room, doing nothing more strenuous than clicking the remote control. And she's underage for a hangover.

It was a party to remember. Even those who were too intoxicated to fully remember, at least remember the aftermath, and can take pleasure in knowing what process took them there.

In addition to the free-flowing liquor at the wedding and reception-Ally's late mother insisted that people be able to bring drinks to the ceremony-there was a pub crawl immediately following. Juliet and I skipped that in favor of a more private celebration. Instead of having a beer at every bar we stopped at, we...oh, never mind.

I overheard Frohike the next day muttering something about 'fucking like bunnies.'
 
He's wrong. No bunnies ever had that much fun.

Or went through that many condoms.

I have none of them left.

Michael, somewhat shamefacedly, asked me if he could borrow a few, as his supply is rapidly dwindling and since we have now been denied basic reproductive freedom de facto, if not de jure, I obliged him. I gave him the balance of my storehouse. I had 18 left. He got them all.

Of course, once I'm married, I will be able to replenish my stash...at the rate of 12 per month. Yes, you heard it right. 12 a month. That's the allotment you get.

Michael will probably end up getting my meager allotment. I don't think we'll be needing them. 12 is such a ridiculously small quantity; in view of the fact that Juliet and I have been known to...oh, never mind.

Juliet and I want children very much. What we don't appreciate is that we are basically being told that we either have children, or we control our sexual appetites. Government mandates in that area of a person's life would be utterly ridiculous...were the consequences not so frightening.

I've spent my career in military and government policy, specifically focused on health care delivery systems in the government sector. Needless to say, working with Frohike and Langly, I've branched out somewhat in my...well, expertise, for lack of a better word. However, current social conditions are forcing me back into what was my original focus, but with a twist.

I was completely dismayed at this morning's faculty meeting with the vice chancellor. Two individuals that had worked in the department last year (almost everyone is a contract player now-I'm tenured, but I'm one of the very few), were popular with the students, received good reviews from them, and from their academic peers, and did substantive, scholarly work, were not invited to return-which I was not aware of until this morning. As chairman of the department, I was not only totally embarrassed, but furious beyond even what a redhead can imagine.

But what was worse, they were replaced by two others. One of them I was not even aware of, having never heard of the individual (and public policy is a small word, believe it or not, at least in terms of the scholars who write it and attempt to put it into action), and the other was a woman I had soundly rejected over the summer as not being suitable for working in our
department.

As the department chairman, I'm supposed to have the final word on hiring decisions for my area. In neither case did my vote count for anything. I am livid.

Not only on principle, but because at this time in my life, I don't need the aggravation. Juliet and I have purchased a residence, and we will, come hell or high water, move into it on September 14 as originally planned. I have instructed the real estate company that we will close no later than the 6th of September, and I don't care what the sellers are going through.

This is not like me. I do try to take into consideration circumstances in other people's lives. But the sellers had had the home on the market for seven months. They had lowered their asking price twice. You would imagine they'd be eager for us to take possession. But as soon as we demanded a short escrow, they got hinky.

I call the real estate agent daily to remind them of our terms and conditions. They will be met. This is not a negotiable quantity, and I remind them of that, constantly.

There is also the issue of my, well, legal problems. After a great deal of haggling, my attorneys were able to get me 400 hours of community service and one year's probation. And it was apparently no small feat on their part.

From what I understand, my father was forced to trade a few favors for this deal.

I called him and tried to thank him, but he told me that he did nothing.

He wouldn't even accept my gratitude. That hurt.

Because I am sincerely grateful. I was hoping that perhaps he would show a different face to me-but he remains as remote as ever. I wonder if his interest was more in protecting his name than in protecting his son.

I'm not deluded. I'm sure that was it.

Still, I keep hoping, for some irrational reason, that he will attend my wedding. I would like for him to come. To acknowledge this most important day of my life.

To affirm that I am indeed his son.

Our one saving grace has been Nicole, our wedding planner. When Caroline first insisted we use one, I was intensely skeptical. I felt that if we didn't plan it ourselves, it would be somehow less than our own.

I was totally wrong. Nicole seems to know what we want even before we do. We meet with her, she tells us what's going on, and we can more or less get on with our lives.

Juliet continues to look for work, although she has slowed her search somewhat. We have enough going on in our lives. She is considering developing some educational software and working for herself.

I think she should do it. She certainly has the talent. I won't deny her the opportunity to use those talents. I shake my head at Langly, who seems to feel that if his wife is not at home full time, his life will fall into a shambles. I think it's unfair of him to react this way to her ambitions. He probably doesn't say it to her in so many words, but to us, he reveals that her plans to resume her education don't thrill him.

In a sense, I can understand it. Patrick has been through a great deal, and I think he has benefited from the extra attention she has provided. He seems comfortable with them, is beginning to regard them as parents.

But Patrick also needs children his own age to play with. I don't think nursery school would be such a bad thing for him-assuming they can find one for him. It's getting harder. Early childhood education programs are being gutted all over.

Langly says, maybe when it's your kids, you'll feel differently.

I don't think so. I would not attempt to tell Juliet what I consider to be appropriate ambitions. I have always assumed that she would continue her career even as she desires motherhood fervently.

She is undergoing intense physical therapy-she swears she will dance without hobbling on our wedding day. I don't doubt it. I can see her progress. Her limp lessens all the time. It will probably never totally vanish, but she has forced it into heavy submission.

And I told her, and I mean it with all my heart, that it won't matter what she dances like on our wedding day. She is the bride, and she will be perfect.

I wonder what her dress looks like. Her mother came out for a few days last week-and it was a wonderful visit. She was only there for four days, we knew how long she was staying, and she and Juliet and I had a terrific time. They shopped for her wedding gown, and we played cards and ate Italian food and laughed. I wish we could have had better quarters for her to stay
in-corporate apartments are hardly personable and spacious housing-but she seemed content simply to keep company with us.

I don't think I could handle my mother-in-law for weeks at a time, but for a few days, she brings such pleasure to us.

She will be an excellent grandmother. I mentioned to her that I felt she would spoil her grandchildren. She simply said that as the grandmother, it was her right-and her job.

I'm grateful we had that few days of feeling carefree and in a sense, protected. I mentioned to Juliet that it felt strange for me to have that feeling, but she just smiled and said, that's what parents are supposed to do. That's what families are supposed to do.

Well, there is my sister. And I do feel loved and comfortable in her presence.

My main regret is that we did not have the chance to spend time with Kat at Hilton Head this summer. Kat and her family provide a pleasant interlude every summer. But with the home purchase, and the upcoming wedding, the time simply wasn't there.

We won't miss another year. Kat is my family. I'll not forget that. Kat will of course be at the wedding-she's in the wedding party. Juliet's best friend Wendy will be her matron of honor, her cousin Beth a bridesmaid, and Kat and Ally will round out the party. On my side, Mulder, Frohike and Michael will usher, Langly will serve as what he calls the first dude. He's my best man. I asked Frohike how he felt about it-I did serve as Langly's, and I wanted to return the favor. Frohike said that it was of course all right-but somehow, I feel as though I have slighted him in a way. And at least at Langly's wedding, he got to walk Ally down the aisle. At ours, Caliban, Juliet's brother, will walk her.

And I have to get the male creatures fitted for tuxedos. It's a formal wedding. Frohike will clean up nicely and go with the plan, all without complaining. In fact, I think he secretly enjoys the opportunity to get dressed up.

The rest of them? If Langly's wedding was any indication, there will be a great deal of bitching and moaning. And I've already warned Langly to make certain his shoes fit this time. He's not showing up barefoot, as he was at Mulder's, or in his Docs, as he did at his own. Juliet is not as forgiving as Ally in certain matters. Dress code is one of them. I realize that it can be difficult to fit size 12 and a half feet, but it can be done.

For some reason, in this moment, I think of when we lived in southeast DC together, and Frohike's and Langly's shoes were parked next to one another's. The contrast in size was startling-and amusing. Frohike, if I'm not mistaken, is a Cinderella-size 7; this contrasts sharply with Langly's gunboats.

Me? I'm just a normal guy. Size 10.

I think that's about as far as normalcy extends in my life.

We need to get some furniture to put into our new home. Much of what we had previously was destroyed in the tornado. I'm not exactly crying with regret. They were things we had brought individually to the relationship. These will be things we purchase together. To me, that means a great deal.

I am only teaching one class this semester, but I have several papers to prepare and an article to complete and submit for peer review and publication. I am hopelessly behind on preparation in all of these.

Frohike asked me about a week ago if I was nervous. Langly got nervous before his, and Frohike still remembers having the pre-wedding jitters many years back.

Nervous doesn't even begin to cover it. On October 19, safely on our way to Maui, I intend to have a complete nervous breakdown. I've worked for it, I owe it to myself, and I'm going to enjoy it.

At least in between being with my beautiful bride, I will. I'm sure I can squeeze a few moments of sheer anxiety in there somewhere.

It seems almost unreal to me at times that I'm doing this. It almost gives the appearance of normal life.

It's an illusion, I assure you. There is very little that is normal in my life, at least by external standards. And these days, what is considered to be normal is not something I'd want to be part of.

Tonight, I wish in a way we were still bedding down at Frohike's. I enjoyed spending a few nights getting drunk with him. I'm not sure Juliet was as appreciative, seeing as I was waking up daily with a hangover, but it had some of the warmth and camraderie of the old days, revisited.

And I learned something in drinking with him. Not much, admittedly, but he let the tail of the cat out of the bag, and it was enough to know that it was indeed quite a cat.

Frohike's in love.

That would, to me, be good news, except that the lady is married.

And Frohike would not be comfortable being involved with a married woman. He's very conventional that way, and he is, under that lecherous exterior, an honorable man.

Still, when he's in his cups, you can almost feel the burn in him. Frohike may enjoy a different video babe every night-downloads are gone now, much to his chagrin-but in a real affair of the heart, there is nothing casual about him. Frohike is, well, passionate. And I'm certain this extends to all areas...oh, never mind. I'm not going there.

He's both passionate and intensely private. And he's got the ulcer to prove it.

I worry about him. He is intensely irritable these days, and it's particularly noticeable with his son. He loves Michael so deeply, but lately has become hypercritical towards him. It's not lost on him that his son has become very uncommunicative with him lately. He wanted the boy to set things straight with his mother-and yet, once he began to move in that direction, Frohike began to become very upset. He complains that the boy will tell his mother things, but not him.

I've bitten my tongue so far on this, but I am more than a little tempted to tell him, if you'd show the child a little more acceptance, then I think he'd tell you more.

This is why I never said things to my own father. Because whatever I said, he would manage to somehow downgrade to something far less than it was to me.

I don't understand his attitude towards his son's deepening relationship with Kelly. The two of them obviously care deeply for one another. And they are, quite honestly, an adorable pair, as Juliet says. There is a youthful sweetness to them that is a delight to watch.

Yet Frohike persists in his grumbling regarding Michael and Kelly's involvement. I've asked him if he dislikes Kelly. He denies that completely. And I don't truly believe he does have anything against her.

I think he's jealous of his own son.

He'd deny that as well, but it's so blatant. At least to me it is.

I don't think my father has ever been jealous of me. I don't see any reason why he would be. Mostly, I think he finds me contemptible.

Michael needs a lot of support at this time in his life, and it irks me that Frohike seems to be shortchanging his son in that regard. Of course, I realize I am hardly a neutral observer here. This behavior seems to strike a hard nerve in me.

I need to talk to him. Gently, quietly, over a few drinks.

I'll put it on my to-do list. Which grows longer by the moment.

I could really use my own father right now. And I'm not just talking about his legal channels. I could just use...

A dad.

I remember Langly saying, as we walked from the hotel to the convention center on his day, that he could, at that moment, really use a dad. That he wished his was there.

Ian Langly, wherever he may be lurking, I'm sure was happy for his son that day, and proud of him.

I couldn't guarantee the same thing for mine.

I need him to be. Just a little.

Just for one day.

That's all I'm asking for. One day.

After that, if he wants to continue to hate me, I'll accept that.

But I'd like him to just try...to forgive me. For one day.

Even a Monday would be fine.

END OF PART 9