A funny thing happens when a mother’s nest empties; after the tears subside, and the loneliness fades, the cleansing period begins and those newly-free mothers box up years of their children’s beautiful memories and dump it on our doorsteps for us to store in our much-too-small homes.
For some reason, I was under the impression that my mom was keeping my old dance costumes, cheerleading jacket, report cards, and finger paintings for her benefit…you know, to reminisce over once I was gone.
A few weeks ago, I was on the receiving end of one of these purges. Normally, the tower of boxes would’ve been met with annoyance since I’ve run out of space and have taken to storing things in my guest bathtub, but this time there was a treasure among the dusty relics that was so magnificent it made me forget about my lack of space. There, among all of my old stuff, was the first book I ever wrote, when I was five years old.
So today I’d like to share with you the book that came before Empty Arms, before my unpublished novel, The Ardent One, and before the dozens of abandoned stories I’ve accumulated over the years. This is the book that started it all, the book that reminds me that I was born to write, and confirms that I’ve always been and always will be a sucker for a good love story.
Ladies and gentleman, I present to you: The Boy and Girl Got Married