At barely eighteen years old, we had run away to elope. Neither of us could return, as our parents would likely kill us both, yet our longtime friendship had secretly been much more -- much, much more than what most people in our former hometown would ever allow.
Four long days of driving had brought us to the other side of the country, to a place where no one knew us by name or by sight. All we had were the clothes on our backs and what was in the old beat-up station wagon my father had given me barely three weeks earlier. If we budgeted properly and continued to camp every night instead of using even the cheapest of hotels, we could possibly stretch our money for another two weeks before we were truly broke.
We found a secluded area in the mountains and parked the station wagon. Although the mountain air was cool, we still felt the heat of our families' search for us. But, somehow, it no longer mattered, for we had finally done what we had discussed for perhaps six months:
We were now husband and wife. The rings were admittedly somewhat cheap, but the love we shared was indeed priceless.
After several days on the run, we had become fairly good at setting up camp relatively quickly. As the sun set and the trees' shadows darkened the campsite, we ate a meager dinner and shared a bottle of water. Nothing was said, for we were looking upon each other in a new light, for as of about five hours earlier, we were spouses.
I still could not believe that someone so beautiful and pale as snow could love someone like me. Even without any makeup, just her smile was enough to draw me to her. Her internal radiance attracted me like a moth to a flame.
I just hoped that this attraction would not prove deadly.
