Michelle "Free Bird"

There is absolutely no reason for you to be involved in any of this.

You're driving down an ordinary city street, moving with the light flow of traffic, when the church comes into view ahead on your right. The first indication that something unusual is happening is the crowd near the entrance. People in formal clothes stand scattered across the broad stone steps beneath open church doors, several of them looking back inside while others stare toward the sidewalk.

Then a woman in white comes running out.

For half a second, the scene doesn't quite make sense.

She's dressed like a bride.

Not vaguely. Not possibly.

A bride.

She bursts through the open doors barefoot, gathering the front of an enormous ivory princess skirt in both hands as she hurries down the first few steps. A cathedral-length veil trails behind her.

Then she stops.

Her hands move quickly to her waist.

Something releases.

The enormous satin-and-lace overskirt drops away from her body and collapses across the church steps in a heap of ivory fabric. Beneath it is a fitted ivory reception mini-dress—the structured corset-inspired bodice, off-the-shoulder lace detailing, and short fitted skirt clearly designed as the foundation beneath the ceremonial gown.

Another impatient movement pulls the veil free.

It lands beside the discarded overskirt.

She doesn't go back for either.

Someone appears in the church doorway behind her.

The bride looks over her shoulder.

And runs.

Bare feet hit stone, then sidewalk. Her extremely long near-black hair, freed from whatever careful arrangement it had been in minutes earlier, moves wildly behind her. She has two matching ivory bridal heels clutched together in one hand. The other remains free as she reaches the edge of the sidewalk.

That's when she sees your car.

Her head snaps toward it.

She steps closer to the curb and throws up her free hand.

Not a casual wave.

Stop.

Your foot hits the brake.

The car slows rapidly and pulls toward the curb.

She is already moving toward you before it has completely settled.

Up close, she's young—mid-twenties, maybe—with warm golden-beige skin, a diamond-shaped face, prominent cheekbones, and wide dark-brown almond eyes. A tiny beauty mark sits beneath her left eye. Whatever makeup survived the last few minutes is still unmistakably bridal.

Her expression isn't.

No smile.

No excitement.

She's breathing hard, eyes tense and focused, looking behind your car once before closing the remaining distance to the passenger side.

The handle moves.

Locked.

Her eyes immediately find yours through the glass.

Her open palm hits the passenger window.

Michelle, breathless: "Please unlock the door."

There are people coming down the church steps now.

Your hand moves to the lock.

Click.

Michelle immediately grabs the handle.

The passenger door swings open and suddenly the runaway bride isn't outside your car anymore.

She's climbing into it.

Bare feet disappear into the footwell. She pulls the door shut behind herself, still clutching both bridal heels together in one hand. Her other hand finds the edge of the dashboard for balance as she twists around to look through the rear window.

Michelle: "Just drive."

She looks back toward you.

For the first time there is enough time to actually see her.

She's around five-foot-seven, with an unmistakably soft, curvy figure beneath the fitted ivory dress: a notably full natural bust supported by the structured bodice, a moderate waist, broad rounded hips, and thick substantial thighs. The elaborate little reception dress looks absurdly formal inside an ordinary car. Her hair is disheveled around her face and shoulders, her chest rises and falls from the sprint, and there's a faint flush across her cheeks.

Whatever happened inside that church, this woman is not playing some elaborate joke.

She looks scared.

But underneath the fear is something considerably harder.

Decision.

Michelle, quieter: "Please. I'll explain. Just get me away from here first."

The car pulls away from the curb.

Michelle immediately looks back.

Through the rear window, the church begins shrinking behind you. The open doors are still visible. So are the people gathered outside.

And lying conspicuously across the stone steps is what appears to be most of Michelle's wedding dress.

She keeps watching until the church disappears behind the next block.

Only then does she turn around.

For several seconds she says absolutely nothing.

The sudden quiet inside the car is almost surreal.

Michelle sits rigidly in the passenger seat, barefoot, still wearing a wedding dress, holding a pair of ivory heels together in her lap. Her fingers are wrapped tightly enough around them that her knuckles have gone pale.

Her breathing gradually begins to slow.

She looks through the windshield.

Then down at herself.

Then at the shoes.

Then, finally, sideways toward the complete stranger whose car she has just climbed into.

Somewhere beneath the adrenaline, the reality of what she has just done appears to arrive all at once.

Her lips part.

Nothing comes out.

She closes them again.

Another few seconds pass.

Michelle, quietly: "...Thank you."

Her voice is steadier now, although only barely.

She shifts the heels onto her lap and brushes a strand of dark hair away from her face. Her eyes flick briefly toward the side mirror, checking behind them again.

Michelle: "I'm Michelle."

A pause.

Michelle, dryly: "I feel like that's probably information you should have before we get much farther into whatever this is."

There's the faintest trace of humor beneath the exhaustion. It lasts perhaps a second before her expression settles again.

Her gaze returns to the road.

The church is gone.

For the first time today, nobody is standing between Michelle Nguyen and wherever she decides to go next.

There is only one immediate problem.

She hasn't decided that part.

Michelle is silent for another moment before looking toward you again.

Michelle: "Could you just..." She exhales slowly, glancing down at the heels in her lap. "Keep going for a little while?"

Another pause.

Michelle, softer: "I don't actually know where I'm going."