As I entered the City Hall building during a light rain mixed with a not so light wind, my hair, which may have passed for style, returned to its natural state of chaos.
Everything was terrible. Especially my dress that I let my soon to be mother-in-law pick out for me. It was backless, and I was very skinny and did not have the breasts to hold it up. It looked and felt as though it could slip off my shoulders at any moment. That might have saved the entire night.
Instead, wet leaves that someone had tracked in lined the hallway and the stairs up to the room we were married in.
The building was so old.
Something borrowed was the cigarette I smoked by the front doors while I contemplated making a run for it.
It was all very much cliche that way.
Runaway bride.
Teenage parents rushed into a wedding before the bride was showing.
Scott's mother, Tammy, was very demanding and ran the whole circus. It was very important to her. Probably more important than it was to us.
I didn't have to do anything but fake a smile.
"There's always divorce" I kept joking to my friends.
Heather suggested I go to college and showed me how I could get more funds by being married.
It was all a perfect picture of convenience.
Scott was quiet back then. More laid back and agreeable to things. I like to remember him that way. Getting older is a terrible thing. I guess we are all someone else at eighteen. Still having a child's eyes and a vision filled with wonder. Still had a receding hairline too early in life.
The reception offered nothing better. We held it in the basement, which used to be the garage for the fire department. Nothing was worse than garage doors behind the married couple's table.
The pulled pork sandwiches were burnt, the music was awful, and the iced tea was, well, it was iced tea.
I did not know the custom of "The Dollar Dance" until my mother-in-law announced it. Everyone would get to dance with me but would have to pin a dollar on my dress to do so. She had everything ready by the time the music started. She held the pins as the line of men and women formed around me. It was only an hour into the reception and the men had already taken their tuxedos off and were in regular clothes.
I knew it was a fundraiser kind of thing. Something that would give us a few more dollars to start our life. Well, at least start our night. Still, it felt cheap to me. At first, it embarrassed me. The first man to step forward was an older gentleman by the name of Barefoot Bob. He was a fixture in the town scene. A son who came back from war and now made a name selling marijuana. Of course, he did not like shoes. At the most, he would wear a pair of flip-flops like the ones he had on. Bob pinned a dollar just above my right breast and grabbed the small of my back and my hand firmly. It was as though he had just bought me. He led and looked into my eyes for his few seconds of fame. He never once stepped on my dress.
They spun me around to the arms of another man. Another dollar. Another dance. Then again, and again, they passed me around. Even the women declared ownership of my body and my time. I gave them everything. Including the mind I had then.
