Mistah Mike

It wasn't the marriage my daddy dreamed about. The family didn't exactly give the bride away. It was more like they like they wadded up the memory of me, and threw me away. They stuffed the memory of me at the bottom of some dumpster where no one could ever find the evidence of me again. Not in that family.

It wasn't much of a marriage, really. It didn't last long, just long enough to change my name, and for the past to make its final break with me. Just time enough for my past life to turn me into a whisper, "Oh she was the one that ran off with that black man, right?" Tsk, Tsk! Such a scandal!

Oh, his family didn't exactly greet me with hearts and flowers, either, but by the time I met him they were pretty much through with him, anyway. Mistah Mike has a thug soul, a menace to society. I suspect that they might have said something like, "That white girl can go 'head and keep that one. Just so she keep his ass from my door!"

It only lasted a few months, but for those few months he was everything I wanted in a man; tall, slim and chocolate to the bone, and he was my lily-white suburban daddy's worst possible nightmare.

Mistah Mike and I burned up the sky for a few months, and then he was gone, and on and on, on to the next episode. Eleven months after nuptials, the marriage ended in sacred divorced-bliss. I keep trouble in mind, but I draw the line at jail trouble, so it just had to come to an end. Just as well, eleven months was just long enough, we never got down to that festering, hateful, angst-filled "my baby's daddy" stage of post-marital life.

I don't really believe in married life, really. I think it's some kind of Hollywood delusion, and like every Hollywood delusion, the movie ends after a few hours and everybody just goes home.

Mistah Mike and I didn't have a perfect marriage, by any measure, but we have a perfect divorce. Everything I lost in a husband, I gained in a special fuck buddy. Some stuff is everlasting.