Those girls, the ones I used to sit in my 1998 red Chevy Blazer with, day dreaming and arguing about who would be who’s maid of honor, aren’t those girls for me anymore. They weren’t the maid of honor at my wedding, they weren’t bridesmaids at my wedding… in fact, they weren’t even there.
I’d write it in varying formats – print, cursive, block letters, fancy, messy and in any combination, only to scribble it out so hard that my pen rapidly tore holes in the lined notebook paper. Even though the names were scribbled beyond any hope of recognition, it couldn’t be risked, and that same lined paper found its way into the trash can next to my desk. Shredded and torn to little pieces.