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teve and I were married on a sunny spring day at the Van Nuys County Courthouse, a non-descript concrete block ten stories high. I wore a sundress and carried pink flowers. He wore black jeans and a starched white shirt with a bolo tie. The inside of the courthouse was chopped up into small rooms with bright white walls and shiny formica floors. We passed opened doorways featuring rows of black plastic chairs where people waited, chatting happily or reading books and magazines. At the bank of elevators, I pressed the UP button. When the doors slowly opened, Steve quickly grabbed my hand. A group of people rushed out, an elderly couple, also holding hands, a tiny smiling woman, several police officers, a judge in his robes, and two men holding coffees. They swam around us
