Every time I hear the Fleet Foxes, I think about sitting in the back of Richie's white hatchback that had a bumper sticker which read, "don't tow me, bro." It was bright yellow with thick, black font.
I think of how the sun felt on my face and tired eyes, body weak from the late night of drinking that just ended a few hours ago when the sun greeted the morning.
Madison's long, flowing hair would be blowing around the seat in front of me uncontrollably and it always looked beautiful and some what dangerous, the way something wild would appear.
She would glance back at me with Richie's aviators on, and they'd fall down her nose, her blue eyes peeking through outgrown bangs, smile brighter than the sunshine. And something about the way he'd look at her, and the way she would shyly stare out the window at the heat on the pavement, or the wind blowing through Gainesville's greenest, tallest trees, I could tell it was history in the making right before my eyes.
And I'd curl up under a towel, or blanket, or shirt Richie kept in his car- he was handy like that, always having the right thing at the right time. Always prepared. Always responsible and caring. I loved that about him and knew down to my core that he would be good for her, that they would be good for each other.
When she called me with the news, I cried. I knew they'd get married someday, I think everyone did. It was just a thing we all shared like common knowledge.
They were meant to be.
But that's not why I cried.
I cried because I was there. I cried because I watched them grow, not alone or apart, but together as two people would do trying to make things work.
And they did.
And it was so beautiful that it made me cry.
