I started running out the door with my dress unbuttoned. I bolted as far away from my childhood house in this perfect little town.
“Stay away from her,” they said. He was chaos, he was revelry, but I loved him. I did. As my tendrils fell from my woven braid, I recalled what I said to my father as he drilled the worst into us. Quite possibly the most cliched quote on earth, but it was the only thing I could think of.
“But daddy, I love him!” And then, of course, there was my closing statement as I was walking out the door. I couldn’t help myself; I just wanted to play with them a little.
“I’m having his baby.” Their faces turned white as ghosts. Good. When they asked me if I meant it, I replied with “No, I’m not. But you should see your faces.” before shutting the door in their faces since they slammed the door on my whole world.
All those judgemental creeps who say they want what’s best for me had convened down at the city hall to discuss this. Scandal does funny things to pride but brings lovers closer. That’s why, now, I’m telling him to floor it through the fences and that those vipers dressed in empath’s clothing probably spend their afternoons sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I’ll never see. But I’ll tell you something right now: I’d rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning. My good name is mine alone to disgrace.
We came back when the heat died down, went to my parents and they came around. Now I’m dancing in my dress in the sun and even my daddy loves him. Time gives some perspective. All those Sarahs and Hannahs can’t come to the wedding and they ain’t gotta pray for me and my wild boy and all this wild joy. All the wine moms are still holding out but fuck them. It’s over. And oh my god, you should see your faces.
