Based on a True Story
Based on a True Story I was married in the backseat of a Honda CR-V. There were no rings, priests, or paper, but the hash browns we exchanged from Chick-fil-A felt symbolic enough. It was also my 23rd birthday. The sky was mesmerizing: a melted popsicle of pink, orange, and purple that cast a golden hue over everything. I felt like a child. Ridiculously happy. I guess that’s why I remember it so fondly. Like childhood, it was a time of innocence, sparkly lipgloss, and fairytales. “We’re already married,” he said, and that was that. The day we met was almost the same. We split a pizza in the back of his car, and that was all it took to know we would mean something to each other. I drove home along the shore of Daytona Beach and thought, “I am either going to marry this man or he is going to break my heart to pieces.” What a shame it was both. We planned our future in South Carolina with my head on his chest, smelling his Nautica cologne from the little bottle shaped like a ...