Some days it seemed like everyone was falling.
Girls from Catholic school, girls from public school, girls from high school, girls from middle school. Girls from any school.
Even my old friend Annmarie let a man with a girlfriend sweet-talk her. She quit school as soon as she discovered she was pregnant, enrolled in the Young Mother’s Program, and began talking of nothing but her new life. Even when she miscarried, she still wanted her new life, and pleaded with Father Shea to marry her.
“Marriage is an important decision,” he said. “Not something rushed into.”
Annmarie pleaded with the man who had known her since she was a child.
“I won’t do it,” he said. “I have no faith that this will be good for you.”
She straightened her back, pushed fists onto her hips, but the priest would not change his mind.
After he said no, Annmarie married her man at the town hall in Irondequoit, wore stiff white lace at about the same time the rest of us were taking final exams. Annmarie had her reception at the Ponderosa where she worked, knowing it was tacky even as she did it. But she didn’t have the money to match her dreams. Just a white dress and a boss that provided an employee discount and free drinks.