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I was at a point in life where nothing made sense anymore, and I just couldn't get it right. I wanted freedom on every level, and I wanted to be held tightly. I wanted to run away, and I needed someone strong enough to hold me still. I wanted to bolt, to disappear someplace where no one knows me, to change my name and deny that I ever existed, and I needed someone who could give me a good enough reason to stay and take one more step.

My best friend, Grace, really knew me. She was my ride-or-die gal-pal, and I knew I could count on her. We have been to hell and back together so many times, we should have frequent flyer miles.

She had spent many nights trading dreams and secrets with me, and hers were very similar to my own. I'd wondered if we were sisters separated at birth. We'd talked each other off more ledges than I could count. Men would come and go, but sisterhood was forever.

One week prior, a terrible accident occurred. She got her finger caught in a little gold ring, and I would have showed up with the jaws of life, had I thought it would save her. In her current state of mind, she would have turned me away. Soon, I would lose her to the marital contract and the mommyhood, and I just wanted to cry.

She'd asked me earnestly, "Please, Kalista, will you be my maid of honor?" Her eyes pleaded with me to understand and support her decision. I was bitter-angry and devastated, but I agreed. Yes, I regret it, but what the hell else could I do, run out on my best friend? Believe me, I was tempted.

I wanted to shake her and scream, "Wake up! This goes against everything you have ever confided in every stupid-drunk, late-night discussion we've ever had! Wake the fuck up!" But her eyes pleaded with me for an understanding I didn't possess, so I agreed to watch her walk down the aisle and throw her life away.

I dug fingernails into my palms, and agreed to not say "I object," and I agreed to wear the hideous dress with the poofy sleeves, and to be complicit in her horrible, misguided, ill-informed, and all ‘round awful decision, and I had zero idea how I was going to pull it off.

I sat on a barstool, seething, and trying to find words which would cut through her haze, and reach her on a deep down, profound level, thinking, there has to be a way to save her. I stared into the distance, seeing nothing, and praying for divine guidance.

"Miss, may I buy you a drink?"

I didn't hear him.

"Miss?"

My thoughts were dogging Grace's footsteps, and I focused solely on how best to help her see the light.

He snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Are you okay?"

No, I'm not okay! I'm losing my sister to one of your kind! Men! How dare you? Damn all of you to hell!

"Yes, I'm fine," I lied.

"I'd like to buy you a drink," he said, taking a seat. "What are you having?"

Bitterness, rage, despair, fury, anguish. I'll take a double shot of tequila with a cyanide shooter, please, and keep them coming until I'm facedown on the bar.

"I'll have a Long Island Iced Tea."

"This storm is raging outside. What brings you out on a night like this?"

Murderous intent. I couldn't be alone and unsupervised with my own thoughts. I'm afraid I'll turn my feelings into felonies.

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