It Happened To Me: I Was 15 And Coerced To Marry A 35-Year-Old Friend Of My Mom's
Child marriage is a cover for child rape and I am another reason ALL the Epstein files need to be released right now.
Well hello, new week,
I realize this intro will seem incongruous (maybe even insensitive) alongside the serious topic of the story below, so forgive that if you could. And here goes: I was out at a delicious Indian dinner last night (at Lore in Brooklyn - and if you want to know the fabulous company I was in, just ask me in the comments and I will happily name-drop away). So none of us were paying attention to the Grammys, nor would I ever think that I would care to pay attention to them anyway, but on the way home, I had texts from other friends that made me actually want to discuss elements of the event with you. We can certainly talk about Cher, Justin Bieber's boxers or what I think might be the most interesting for me to hear – your take on Chappell Roan’s outfit. (Also why do Vogue and other outlets I just searched only show pictures today where her breasts are basically covered with hair or fabric when what I saw last night was not that at all?) So let's talk about all that in the comments if you wouldn't mind.
In Good You-Sure-Are-An-Awesome-Group News: Since I last told you about losing subscribers after I gave info here about protesting ICE and calling senators, more of you shared that around with friends, and we ended up with more subscribers than we started with! Go, Good People, GO! Thank you all for your awesome support and for sticking with me. (Amazingly, I think some of you are the same people who kept passing Sassy magazine along and kept it alive after the wave of cancellations due to our “controversial” content back then! That is so so meaningful to me that we have that history and that we’re still together.)
Speaking of which, I wish on a star every night that I can find one. Often, I don't go into the wish knowing exactly what I'm going to wish for, but when I close my eyes, I see what comes to me in terms of what I want and the only rule is that if I can't actually envision it and feel myself being there in that situation that I'm wishing for, then I have to switch wishes because I have to be able to truly feel and see it to know that it is the right way for me to go. For example, I used to always wish for a baby brother for Charlotte, but I could never quite see it – and I think it was not meant to be. Long explanation.
Anyway: The night before last (not last night because that's when I was preoccupied with Chappell Roan's breasts, as we know), I went to make a wish and I found myself at 83 years old still in contact with all of you and still all helping each other out through all the new things that will be with us then. I thoroughly envisioned it. Thus you are cordially invited to join me here in 20 years and won't that be fun?!? I can't wait to see how all of your lives go also.
I love you all timelessly. Thank you so so much for being here.
Jane
PS You probably know about it already, but a sciencey friend was just talking to me about aphantasia, the syndrome where people cannot create a visual image in their own minds. It's fascinating to me because envisioning is such an important part of my enjoyment of reading and of remembering and, of course, wishing. Tell me more about it if you know anything and just: Let's talk about it all, as we always do!
PPS I haven’t even introduced today’s featured piece, but I think it really speaks for itself. I was reading Substack Notes and saw something from Dana that made me super intrigued to hear more about her story, so I asked her to write this for you and not only do I appreciate it so much, I truly appreciate how she ties it to the egregiousness of the delays in releasing the Epstein files. I hope her story and her opinion matter to you as much as they do to me. I am in awe of her. And I love you, once again!
By Dana Von Allmen
December, 1979. We awoke early Thursday morning to drive to Hugo, Oklahoma. Billy went to grab a cup of coffee from the pot he had brewed just outside in the adjacent shed. I jumped out of bed and quickly threw on my jeans and a flannel shirt while he was out of the camper.
“Whew, it’s chilly out there this morning. You want something?” he asked, stepping back inside and cradling his cup of coffee.
“No, I’m good,” I said, shaking my head as I sat on the edge of the bed. There was nowhere else to sit in the cramped camper. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty; my stomach was in knots, preoccupied with the day ahead.
Two hours later, we arrived at the Choctaw County Courthouse. I snugged my jacket tighter to shield me from the brisk cold as we crossed the parking lot. We entered the red-brick building and headed to the County Clerk’s window. We had been here before, so we knew the drill.
Billy was thirty-five years old, tall and lanky, with brown hair and a beard; he looked even taller with that straw ten-gallon cowboy hat on his head. He leaned over to speak to the woman in the window.
“Hello, um, we’re here to get married. We were told we had to wait three days after we applied for our marriage license on Monday. Her mother was with us then, and she signed her consent, so everything should be in order.” He slid the document into the metal tray at the bottom of the glass window. A middle-aged woman wearing gold-rimmed designer glasses looked at Billy first, then at me, standing at his side. We locked eyes for a moment, then she shook her head and tightened her jaw as she focused on the marriage license. She’d seen this before.
“Okay, I just need your ID, sir. Then you can have a seat over there.” She motioned to the plastic seats behind us in the waiting area. Billy handed her his driver’s license, and I pulled my birth certificate from my purse. It was the only ID I had at fifteen.
“You can keep that honey; we have a copy. You’ll need two witnesses for the ceremony. Did you bring anyone?”
“No, ma’am, um, we didn’t know we needed to,” Billy responded nervously.
“That’s okay. Carolyn and I can be your witnesses.” She stood and carried the document across the room to review with her supervisor.
“I realized the minister was blind. A convenient disability when marrying off child brides.”
A few minutes later, she led us down the hall to an empty courtroom and seated us in the front row of the visitors’ gallery, facing a huge, mahogany judges’ bench. I stared intently at the large, round clock above the desk, watching the second hand as it counted down the minutes until I was married.
The woman reentered the room, followed by her supervisor, who led an older gentleman by the arm to where we were seated. He wore jeans, black cowboy boots, and a blue plaid shirt with pearl buttons. He was bald, with a wispy ring of white hair encircling his head just above his large ears. He carried a worn, distressed leather Bible in his right hand. They walked over to us, and we stood as she introduced him. At that moment, Billy and I realized he was blind. A convenient disability when marrying off child brides.
“Hello, all. This is Mr. Dan Cooke, the minister who will perform your ceremony today. Carolyn and I will be your witnesses. Do you have any questions before we get started?” We both shook our heads. No questions.
“Okay, Dan, you’re on,” she said as she released her grip on his arm. The minister began reciting his marriage spiel. It was short and to the point. Then he spoke my name.
“Dana, do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, ‘til death do you part?”
My head hurt, and my pulse throbbed in my temples.
Jesus, what am I doing here? Am I really going through with this? But I don’t have a choice, I can’t go back to Mom! I just want to run away, but where would I go?
“I do,” I blurted out, before I could change my mind.
“If there is anyone here who objects to this union, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” I flashed a nervous glance at Carolyn, and our eyes locked again. Then she pursed her lips and looked away.
“By the power vested in me by the State of Oklahoma, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Billy bent over and gave me a quick kiss on the lips, and that was it. I was married.
TO READ WHAT HAPPENS NEXT AND TO SEE PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE OF DANA WITH HER 20-YEARS-OLDER HUSBAND, PLEASE SUBSCRIBE HERE. (THE REVENUE GOES TO DANA AND OTHER WRITERS FOR THEIR GREAT ONGOING WORK.) THANK YOU.
