I didn't dream like other little girls, about a wedding with a white dress and a Prince Charming, and living happily ever after. I didn't dream about ivory linen lacing the balustrade of the church’s staircase, or fresh flowers filling its foyer. Danny didn't propose. Instead, together, we decided to get married. I wanted to get married in the pastor's office; with just Danny, my daughter Porshai, a witness, and me. But it wasn’t to be. Our Pastor said that our families and members of the church would want to share in our special moment. People packed the sanctuary. Frightened, I stood downstairs in the church basement. I was anxious about walking down the center aisle, with people staring at me saying, "Why is he marrying her?" I shouldn't be married. The custom-made wedding dress couldn't hide the words that cursed me: big lips, black, a wide nose, and ugly. I was overwhelmed by my thoughts and emotions. Everything happening was uncomfortable. I cried when a mother handed me a bouquet of flowers to carry. The organ began to play. I panicked and ran up the wrong set of steps, causing me to mysteriously enter the sanctuary from the side. People were perplexed. I stood next to Danny. The ceremony began. We exchanged vows. "You may now kiss the bride." But I didn’t allow it. For me, there’s just something about public affection. So instead Danny and I joined hands, exited the sanctuary, and started on our journey.