We’re thrilled to have this fantastic guest essay by writer Kristin McGonigle, who’s featured in the new anthology Madonna & Me. The following is a special piece she wrote for a recent New York reading event, and we’ve got it exclusively here. Check out her other piece about the patron saint of sexy feminists in the book, which you can buy here.

I remember thinking, as I was walking to Dave and Laura’s place that night, that marriage seems like something I could give or take. It was a balmy fall night in 2008, and I headed to their place in Jersey City to meet their new baby. To me, I thought, marriage is like health insurance; I can successfully survive without it, but it seems like a responsible thing to get involved in at some point. I usually think about marriage when I have to do things like, walk alone at night in Jersey City or carry heavy things up the stairs in my fifth floor walk-up. Or when I really need health insurance.

What I do like about marriage, as it pertains to other people, is that it can often make your friends doubly excited to see you, just to have someone new in the house. When I got to Dave and Laura’s place, they were outside talking to a neighbor. Dave wore his tiny daughter in a Baby Bjorn, and because he is a considerably tall guy, it was kind of funny how high up she was. After I met her they introduced me to their neighbor, Amy.

“So, do you guys want to go see Madonna tonight?” Amy said, holding up an envelope. “I have two tickets, and I can’t use them. I have to get back to Sloan Kettering.”

I instantly assumed that Amy was a doctor or nurse, along with her role as a Madonna ticket-wielding angel from heaven. I looked at Dave and Laura, who were shockingly not eagerly grabbing at the envelope.

“Of course, we have to take them,” I said. “It’s Madonna.”

“I can’t go,” Laura said, “I’m nursing and I am still really uncomfortable. I just wouldn’t enjoy it.”

I looked at Dave, who along with being a dude, is a musician, and not exactly a fan of non-ironic pop music. I could understand his apprehension at first.

“If you can tell me how the hell to get there from here, I could go by myself,” I told them.

“I’ll go,” said Dave. “It will be interesting.”

“Dave,” I told him, “along with the birth of your daughter, this will be the most interesting thing to happen to you this year.”

“They are great seats,” Amy said, “put them to good use. Paul gave them to me for our anniversary.”

That’s when I realized she didn’t work at Sloan Kettering. Dave had a great affection for Paul and told a lot of stories about their nights out together in Jersey City. Paul was a great character. He had gotten sick really quickly, and his doctors were confounded about what was causing it. They realized he had a rare blood disease, and they putting forth their best eleventh hour fight. And Amy just handed over her anniversary present to us, unblinkingly, so she could go be with him.

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