I never wanted to marry. When I was a kid, I was well-versed in the different marriage laws of different states. In Hawaii, you could marry a pineapple. In other states, you could marry a goat. That’s all I wanted as a kid. I wanted a pineapple wedding. It was just the person I didn’t want there. I didn’t want to have to be a wife to a husband. To be bound together for life seemed like a fate worse than death. I wanted this pineapple wedding quite badly, but what I wanted more was to live with my best friend. We had made plans on how to decorate, where we’d be, and what jobs we’d have—we had our whole adult lives planned out as mere fifth graders. My pineapple wedding was a part of that life.
This desire stayed with me through my transition to high school. I have memories of walking the track in gym class with my friend and telling her all about this pineapple wedding. She seemed confused as to why I wanted a wedding with no marriage, and I simply couldn’t describe it. Why would I want to spend my whole life with a man? It was just a little before I realized I liked women.
I dated a woman for the very first time during my sophomore year of high school. The smell of hair dye still reminds me of her. She was the first person I tangled limbs with, in the most innocent way possible. She was also the first person that made me realize that maybe I didn’t want a pineapple wedding. I simply didn’t want to marry a man.
Since then, I’ve had a few more relationships and come to terms with my identity as a lesbian. It’s a label that I’ve wrestled with a lot over the years. It’s been revived and killed over and over again, but at this point in my life, it’s a term I hold tenderly and near to my heart. My dreams of a pineapple wedding are still on standby for when I lose hope of love after heartbreak once again. Until then, the wedding I dream of will have a woman by my side and cubed pineapple as a snack.
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