His First Wife

“I don’t know, Aunt Luchie. He kept saying I was wrong and that I needed to trust him.”

“Always trust yourself first,” she said. “When you see something evil, you call it what it is. You ball up your fist and you fight the thing when you first see it. All this posing and prissing like you too good to fight to be treated right. That won’t get you anywhere.”

“And fighting has gotten you somewhere, Luchie?” my mother asked. “You don’t even have a husband to cheat on you.”

My mother was throwing big stones. Aunt Luchie had only one love of her entire life to speak of. A trumpet player named Red who never married her. He’d left her at the altar twice and finally she found out he had a family in France.

“Well, I don’t see a plethora of men walking around here,” Aunt Luchie said. “Unless, you count the fully married judge who seems to stay late after all your parties.”

Ms. Edith coughed loudly. My mother turned to her quickly and she went back to cutting her fruit.

“Will you two stop,” I said. They frowned at each other like little girls arguing over a teddy bear.

“You’re right, baby,” Aunt Luchie said finally. “Now what happened that led you here?”

“I went and saw him with her. At her house . . . and I was so angry . . . I slapped him . . .” My mother set her coffee mug hard on the table.

“You slapped him?” Aunt Luchie’s eyes widened as Ms. Edith picked up the fruit tray and came over to get a better listen.

“I know I shouldn’t have.... But I was just so angry.”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have hit him. I would’ve cut him if I was there.” We all laughed at Aunt Luchie, even my mother. Ms. Edith took the break to sit down at the table.

“Shoot, I’m proud of you,” she went on. “You stood up for yourself. There’s nothing to be ashamed of about that. Not in my book. Sometimes you have to scream in order for people to hear you . . . and sometimes if that doesn’t work, you have to start swinging.”

“Well, that would’ve been fine if the cops weren’t there,” I said.

“Cops?” Aunt Luchie’s eyes grew even wider.

My mother sank farther into her seat.

“Yeah, the cops were there. It was a mess. They saw me slap him, and they arrested me.”

“Arrested you?” Ms. Edith asked. My mother didn’t even bother to look at her. I guessed it was because she actually wanted to know how everything happened.

“Yeah, I went to jail.”

“I’ve been there. We had this sit-in downtown back in ’63 and I tell you, we all got locked up. Even my teacher.”

“Luchie!” my mother said.

“How was it there?” Ms. Edith asked.

“It was just a bunch of women,” I started and told them all about the odd friends I’d made in the big house.

“Well, what you gonna do now?” Aunt Luchie asked.

“Do?” I said. “I don’t know.... I just needed to get away from him right now . . . and then I guess I’ll need a divorce.”

It was the first time I’d said and thought the word. Was that what I was doing? Divorcing Jamison? Was this how it happened? I was getting a divorce.

“The bastard,” my mother said. “I knew it.”

“You knew what, Thirjane?” Aunt Luchie asked.

“That he was no good for my baby.” My mother looked over to me. “I always knew he was trash and that he’d cheat on you or steal or something like that. He’s no good. Never was good enough to even be with you.”

“Oh, Mother. I don’t want to hear that right now.”