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There was this whole
complicated legal agreement. What a pain. I had to promise not to tell
about the marriage until today. And even now, all I can do is say “a Beatle”
or “the Beatle”, not which one. Cripe.
I can tell you though it was all pretty exciting when it happened. I mean, I
went from laying on the eyeliner in the girls’ bathroom at Roosevelt High
School and showing off a ring wrapped in angora PRETENDING it was from “a
Beatle” to actually marrying the guy. A girl’s dream, no kidding.
At first, I can tell you, it was incredibly cool. Of all the girls in the
world, “a Beatle” picked ME! I wanted to believe I was something special
(who doesn’t?) but to be honest I never really did believe it. But the night
we met after the concert in “a city,” there was a look in his eye when he
saw me standing there (yeah, that was me), I could see it, for real. And
suddenly I felt like I went from Ann Marie the plumber’s daughter to, like,
Princess Ann Marie, except cooler. The way he looked at me—I don’t know—I
just felt like I was different, like I mattered. A Beatle married me, for
godsake.
Funny though. You’d think that would make you the happiest girl alive. Thing
is, it didn’t. After a while, things just kinda went downhill. I mean, he
never vacuumed ONCE, stuff like that. Plus you wouldn’t believe how much he
talked about his hair, but when I wanted to talk about mine he wasn’t at all
interested. Long story short, we ended up getting a divorce after a pretty
short time, and by then I didn’t even want the money he said I could have. I
just felt kinda empty and, well, not worth it.
Ah well, so many years ago. Anyway, I got a nice old guy for a hubby now. He
never really looks at me the way “the Beatle” did that night. Never has,
really. But we been together a long time now. Sometimes when I’m putting on
my eyeliner I look hard in the mirror for what “the Beatle” saw and try to
get that girl to come out. I kinda smile and say, “Hey, where’d you go
anyway?” But no answer. All I ever see now is Ann Marie.
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