His First Wife

“Please, the state don’t do nothing,” she said. “I’m tired of that shit—the lists and lines and folks that don’t care nothing about you. See, you ain’t got no money and the doctors and people with Section 8 know ’cause you working with the state. So they treat you like garbage. And ain’t nobody in the welfare gonna stop

them from doing it. Because they all got degrees and think they better than us. I ain’t stupid. I know fake shit when I see it. I got to make my own way.”

I couldn’t say anything. These were all things I’d heard before, but never from someone who was directly affected.

“So there’s no one who can help you?” I asked.

“Not no one I want to,” she said. “There’s my mother, but she got her own problems, and my child’s father—I don’t want nothing from him. That’s how I was locked up before, fooling with him turning me out in the street . . . and he knew I was pregnant. No, I can’t ask nobody for help. I think maybe it’s time I help myself. I know this money ain’t gonna be enough to get us by, but it’s enough for me to make sure my baby is born in a nice hospital and not get no skin rash before she come home. Then after she come, I got to work harder.”

“McKenzie,” a man called from the front of the store.

“Damn, he getting on my nerves,” she said, stomping her foot on the pavement. “I got to get back to work.”

“Okay,” I said, opening my wallet. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I didn’t have any cash to give her and I had a feeling she wouldn’t take it anyway. I pulled one of my old cards from when I used to work with Jamison and handed it to her. “You can contact me if you need to. I may, well, my husband might, have some work you can do for him.”

“Really?” She took the card and a smile blossomed on her face. The spaniel shook accordingly.

“Yeah, I can’t promise anything, but we may be able to help.” I hoped what I was saying sounded as sincere as it felt. I didn’t know how I would help McKenzie, but I wanted to.

She waved and turned, pushing the shopping carts along with her as I got into my cozy car and headed to my cozy house where everything was going to be exactly as it had been when I left it. I didn’t have to worry about anyone taking care of me. Even if Jamison left me and I didn’t work another day in my life, I didn’t have to worry about anything.

Driving home, I couldn’t help but think about how different things were for women like McKenzie. They’d made bad choices, but that didn’t mean that they should have to fend in the world completely alone. Someone should be there to assist them when they really needed help. Someone who cared and did it not as a career move, but because of the kindness in their hearts.

E-MAIL TRANSMISSION

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

DATE: 10/23/07

TIME: 7:34 PM

I don’t know how to respond to your letter. I wasn’t going to write back, but I do think certain things need to be answered. I don’t know what I said to make you think and believe some of what you wrote. I never said I didn’t love Kerry and I never said I was going to leave her. We do have our problems and I did share some of that with you. Marriage isn’t perfect and mine is hard sometimes, but just because I complained about it doesn’t mean I was leaving. I apologize if I ever gave you that impression. What happened between us happened and as I prepare for my son to be born, I have to move on. You have to move on too, Coreen. And after I read your e-mail like three times, I kind of think that maybe you should see someone to talk to them about what’s going on. Like a counselor. Don’t hate me for saying that. I know it’s a sore spot, but one person to another, I think that’s best.

Jamison

E-MAIL TRANSMISSION

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

DATE: 10/25/07

TIME: 4:14 AM

You know what, fuck you Jamison for everything you just wrote. I can’t believe you’re going to try to act like I meant nothing to you. So I was just some cheap fuck? Fuck you then. If that’s how it’s going to be, fuck you and fuck the world. I don’t need anybody anymore. I’m tired of caring for a bunch of people that don’t give a shit about me.

The Takeover

Kerry and I had been married for over seven years when I realized that not one night had gone by that I hadn’t shared a bed with my wife. We’d traveled, but always together, and because of our families, we’d spent some holidays in different houses, but we always met at night in our bed. And it wasn’t because we agreed to; it was just habit. I couldn’t sleep without Kerry close to me. My true rest ultimately seemed to lie in the knowledge that she was nearby.

And in those seven years, my wife hadn’t once bored me in bed, sent me to sleep on the couch or made me want to stay away from her. We’d had our problems just like the other couples I knew, and I did notice the other women who seemed to flock around me like pigeons since the day I’d gotten married, but I was happily sharing my bed with only one woman.

When Damien called and asked if I wanted to travel out of town with the fellas to an All-Star basketball weekend, I wanted to go, but I was sure it would be a stretch.

“Go,” Kerry said easily when I mentioned it. “I think it’ll be good.” She was laying in bed beside me, reading a book.