His First Wife

by Grace Octavia

  By the time the mayor’s ball was supposed to start, I was completely mad. Dog mad. Burn-down-a-house mad. Get-arrested mad.

  Furious, I was about to leave, but then I decided to go and knock on his door one more time. Maybe he’d fallen down. Maybe he’d hit his head. Either way, when I got to him, I’d kill him. I got out of the car and walked to his door and knocked and knocked, but still, I could hear music, but there was no answer. This only made me more mad, and when I decided to walk back to the car I was so mad that I’d decided to break up with Jamison. If he couldn’t understand, sacrifice for me, we couldn’t be together. I’d sacrificed so much for him, and he couldn’t even come to a party? He couldn’t even tell me? He just stood me up? This was a first, and I was sure it was going to be a last.

  When I walked out of the gate, I turned to my car and saw that it was covered with some little round things. As I got closer, I realized that they were purple flower petals. Rose petals. They were everywhere—on the roof, the windows, the hood.

  I looked inside the car and there was a bouquet of purple roses in the passenger seat.

  I was smiling. I remember that. I was smiling and opening the door.

  I picked up a little gold card that was on top of the car and read it.

  Do you feel this yet? it read.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find Damien standing behind me, wearing a black suit with a gold tie and white gloves. He had a stern look on his face.

  “Damien? What are you doing here? What are you wearing? Are you going to the ball too?”

  “I’m here to escort you to your destination,” he replied, extending his arm.

  “To the ball?” I was intrigued, yet confused. “Where’s Jamison?”

  He simply winked suggestively and signaled for me to take his arm. He turned and walked away from Jamison’s apartment, toward a small cabana area in the apartment complex where they had a pool.

  “Where’s Jamison?” I asked but Damien was silent. As we neared the pool area, entering a small garden of trees and bushes that were intricately set up around it, I could hear what sounded like humming.

  When we turned toward the walkway that led toward the pool, two lines of Jamison’s fraternity brothers stood facing each other, dressed in the same suits as Damien. They were holding candles and now I could make out that they were humming my favorite Stevie Wonder song, “Isn’t She Lovely?”

  “What’s going on?” I asked to no one in particular. My eyes widened as I saw that the trees had been decorated with white lights and I saw that dozens of pictures of Jamison and me were hanging from gold ribbons.

  “You will have to walk the rest of the way alone,” Damien said, turning to me. “But before you decide to go any farther, please read this note.” He handed me a piece of parchment paper that was rolled up like a scroll and walked away.

  I was already crying before I opened the letter. The mayor’s ball was far from my memory, and my mysterious surprise was taking my breath away.

  Kerry Ann:

  Sometimes, when I’m alone, I think of you. I become lonely and sad, yearning for the next time we’ll be together. But then, like a magician, I create you in my mind. I build you up—from your tiny round toes to the soft brown hair that grows around your navel. From the sweet scent of the insides of your palms to the back of your neck. From the calming sound of your voice when you say hello to the passion I feel when I kiss you. The point is that I have memorized every inch of you in my mind, from top to bottom. I do believe, Kerry Ann, from the depths of my soul, that you were made for me. I love you with everything that I am, was, and ever will be. You make me want to be the best man I can, and while the memory of you is good, I have decided that I don’t want to spend another minute having to be a magician and recall you in my mind. I want you here always by my side forever.

  Jamison

  I could hardly read the last two lines. The tears had clouded my eyes and my heart was beating so fast. I looked up from the paper and the guys raised their candles high so I could walk down the path toward the pool.

  As they continued to hum the song, one sang the words a little slower, as my father used to do when I was young. It was like a dream.

  At the end of the path, I saw the pool shining with lights and color. It was beautiful. Purple rose petals drifted in the water, around floating tea lights. A small wooden walkway that I’d never seen before had been built on top of the water, down the center of the pool, and right in the middle of the bridge was Jamison, standing dressed in white.

  The men stopped humming and the soloist sang the chorus alone as I walked down the plank toward Jamison. I couldn’t believe he’d done all of this for me. I knew the man who wrote those words in the letter. I knew him well, and I loved him so much. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and show him that I was worth that kind of love, that I could receive it and I could give it.

  “Baby,” I said, finally standing before him. The men had separated and now they were encircling the pool, their candles making the water shimmer even more beneath the dark sky. It was the kind of romantic moment women dreamed of. But I was living it, and feeling like the luckiest woman in the world.

  “I don’t ever want to be without you, Kerry,” Jamison said. “I told you before that when I first saw you, for the first time, I felt something in my heart.” He placed his hand over his heart. “And I know now that I never want to be without that feeling again.”

  Every hair on my body raised. What was he saying? Was Jamison about to ask me to marry him? Did he want me to be his wife? And . . . did I want him to be my husband? We hadn’t talked about it. Not this. I loved him. I really did, but we were so different. From different worlds. Could our worlds ever come together? Would he love me forever? Could he? All of these thoughts raced through my mind in seconds. I was happy but nervous; overjoyed but scared as a baby. This man was in love with me. Not in love like I thought . . . he was innnnn lovvveeee. I knew I loved him, but I didn’t want to let him down.

  Jamison got down on one knee, reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny, red ring box.

  “No,” I cried.

  He looked up at me with terror on his face.

  “I mean . . . not no, but no . . .”

  “Kerry, I . . .” he tried.

  “I mean, I know I want to marry you,” I said. Everyone was silent. “I do, but . . .” I bent down by his side. “This is a big deal,” I said. “I love you and I know I want to be with you, Jamison, but I just . . . I’m messed up.”

  “What are you saying?”

  I was crying again, this time in sadness.

  “I just have a lot in my past with my mother . . . and with your mother and with our difference, who knows . . . I mean, who knows—”

  “Who knows what?” he asked.

  “If you’ll love me . . .” I said. I felt weak. “If you’ll always love me. That’s what I want to know, Jamison. If you’ll always love me. Good or bad, me. Selfish me. All of me. Can you always love me? Will you? Can you do that and promise me you won’t leave?” A crack came stinging through my heart. I saw my father’s face in my mind. I felt his hand on my back as he hugged me, and realized right then how much I’d missed my father, and that I was hurt, hurting since he’d left. And I knew it didn’t make any sense at all, but I couldn’t bear to lose someone else the same way. Anyone else that I loved, through death or deception, I couldn’t do it.

  “You are the most perfect person I know,” Jamison said. He was crying now too. “And do you know why?”

  I shook my head no.

  “It’s because even in your flaws, you’re still being you. And that’s part of what I love about you,” he said. “Some people’s cracks are a little less visible, but you wear yours. And right or wrong, you are what you are. So, if the question is if I can deal with all of that, the answer is, I already am dealing with it. And I always will. Because if that’s what it’s going to take to have you, point blank, baby, I’m down. So, our
mothers will have to change. And in some ways, we’ll have to change, but we’ll do it together.”

  I smiled.

  “So . . . Kerry Ann . . . perfect Kerry Ann, would you please rise?” He wiped my tears and straightened his back.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “So, I can . . .” He held up the ring.

  “Oh,” I giggled and stood up. I looked at Jamison and wiped a single tear that was still left on his cheek with my hand.

  “Kerry,” he said, taking my hand into his. He held up the ring to my ring finger and looked back up at me. “I would be blessed if you would do me the honor of being my wife. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” I cried with joy. “I will. I do. I will and I do.”

  Jamison slid the ring on and everyone started cheering. He stood up and we hugged each other tightly.

  “I love you, baby, and I always will be there for you,” he whispered in my ear.

  I could see Marcy standing on the other side of the pool with Damien. She smiled and waved at me.

  “I love you too, Jamison,” I said.

  E-MAIL TRANSMISSION

  TO: Jamison.Taylor@rakeitup.net

  FROM: coreenissocute@yahoo.com

  DATE: 5/09/07

  TIME: 5:20 PM

  This is ridiculous. You won’t answer any of my calls, return my e-mails, or sign on to chat. What the hell is going on? I’m getting tired of you disappearing like this on me. And then it’s like I can’t even say anything. I know I sound angry, but damn it’s been three days since I last saw you and you seem like you just want to come and go out of my life as you please. It’s not fair. I’m not angry. I just miss you and want to know what’s going on. Did I do something wrong?

  E-MAIL TRANSMISSION

  TO: coreenissocute@yahoo.com

  FROM: Jamison.Taylor@rakeitup.net

  DATE: 5/10/07

  TIME: 1:26 AM

  Coreen:

  I don’t know how to say this and I don’t know if there’s a right way to do it, so I’m just going to come out and tell you that I can’t see you anymore. Remember, I told you my wife was sick? Well, we just found out that she’s about two months pregnant. We didn’t plan it, but it’s what’s happening.

  I have to ask that you not try to contact me anymore. I have to be there for my family and make some right decisions for my wife and child. I’m not trying to be mean, Coreen, and I know e-mail is not the best way to do this, but I don’t have the nerve to do it any other way. It’s not that I don’t respect you, but I’m married and I can’t make this just go away. I hope you understand.

  Jamison

  E-MAIL TRANSMISSION

  TO: coreenissocute@yahoo.com

  FROM: Jamison.Taylor@rakeitup.net

  DATE: 5/10/07

  TIME: 3:15 AM

  I can’t stop crying. I can’t even believe what I just read. How could this happen? I guess I should’ve expected it. But I didn’t expect you to lie to me. You said you haven’t been having sex with Kerry, so how did she get pregnant? Sounds like someone’s caught in a lie.

  But that’s OK. I guess I got what I asked for dealing with a married man. I just thought you were different. That maybe we had something.

  E-MAIL TRANSMISSION

  TO: coreenissocute@yahoo.com

  FROM: Jamison.Taylor@rakeitup.net

  DATE: 5/10/07

  TIME: 5:33 AM

  I’m sorry you feel that way. I never meant to hurt you. It wasn’t like that at all. This just happened and I have to be a man and deal with it. I have to do what we both know is right, no matter how I feel. So, again, I have to ask that you not contact me anymore. I’m sorry. You have to know this hurts me too. But this is my family. I love my wife. I always have. And I just can’t continue to do this to her.

  Tyrian Purple

  After everything I’d been through, I was still relieved when one of the nurses came in and said Jamison was on his way into delivery. The weirdest thing about being angry with someone you love is that when you really need them, you tend to feel less of the anger riding your heart. And lying in the hospital bed alone with my legs cocked up and nurses and my doctor walking in and out of the room on a rotating basis, I needed and wanted no one else there but my husband. Cheat or no cheat, this was our baby coming out of me and I didn’t want to go it alone. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not how I imagined it. I didn’t want to someday tell my child that his father was not there the day he was born. I wanted to feel the love I felt when my child was conceived, see the man I loved, and share, even if it was for the last time, a part of the family we’d created. So, when Jamison came into the room, while I was silent and wondering what I’d say, I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t soften.

  “Baby, I’m here,” he said, rushing over to my bedside.

  I didn’t say anything. After an hour or so of trying to breathe between the thumps in my gut, all I could do was cry. Seeing my husband, the moment finally hit me. So much had happened, but here I was now, Kerry, giving birth to my first child. And now my husband was by my side. It was happening. We were giving birth.

  “I came as soon as I got the ca—Are you all right? You need anything? You need me to . . .” He was nervous. Jamison tended to ask a lot of questions when he was nervous. “Get you something? Something to eat?”

  “Sir, she can’t eat right now,” the only nurse left in the room said, laughing.

  We both looked at her blankly.

  “I guess I’ll let you two be alone for a second,” she said.

  “Baby, I—” Jamison started.

  “Don’t say anything,” I said with my voice cracking. “I’m just glad you’re here. I just want you here right now.”

  “And I want to be here too. I can’t believe he’s coming. Can you, baby? Our son?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I love you.”

  “I—” A contraction came that was so powerful, I felt as if I was going to fall off of the bed. “Ahhh,” I hollered, and I don’t believe I even recognized the voice. It felt as if I was suddenly hit with the worst menstrual cramp I’d ever felt, a swift kick in the belly. I sucked in deeply and then released, this seemed to make the other contractions stop, but it just came back and this time it was harder.

  “Jamison,” I hollered after what seemed like ten minutes but must’ve been a second because Jamison still hadn’t said a word.

  “I know, and I’m sorry, but I—” he tried.

  “No, get the nurse,” I managed.

  “Oh,” Jamison said. He hustled out the door and the next thing I knew the nurses had wheeled me into delivery and I was giving birth. I always thought birth would be the most painful part, but the birth had nothing on those last, awful contractions. I felt as if everything inside of me was trying to get out and tear me wide open, so by the time the doctor announced that I was crowning, I felt at peace and ready for the whole thing to be done. I was so hot and sweating, and every five seconds it seemed like my doctor was telling me to push harder and again and then harder and two more times. I wanted the pressure to stop and when the last push came, I grabbed Jamison’s hand so tight. He looked into my eyes and for that second, time stood still. I saw fear and happiness, confusion and clarity. We were beginning something. Someone was joining us. A part of both of us. It was arresting, baptismal, and I was so happy to share that moment with him.

  “This is it,” my doctor said. “One more push and he’s here.”

  Jamison nodded his head and I pushed and our son came into the world.

  I’d imagined having so many beautiful things to say about my son when the nurse placed him in my arms for the first time, but nothing came out. I just kept crying and laughing. I was so happy to see his little wrinkly face, his questioning eyes that seemed to ask the inevitable, “Where am I and who are you?”

  “He’s ours,” I said to Jamison, who was standing beside me and crying.

  He bent over and kissed him on the forehead.

>   “Tyrian,” he said and then kissed me on the forehead too.

  “Tyrian,” I said too.

  PART TWO

  Life

  “I know our love will never be the same

  But I can’t stand the growing pains”

  —Erykah Badu,

  “Green Eyes”

  Jamison’s Wedding Day

  Like most men I know, I have to admit that I hate weddings. But unlike most men I know, this isn’t because of the frills and forced intimacy in front of hundreds of sappy spectators—most of whom you don’t know. When I fell in love with Tanya Tolliver in fifth grade and spent every red cent in my piggy bank to buy her a dozen pink roses (she was always wearing this pink sweater and I knew she would like them), I accepted that I was a hopeless romantic when it came to the woman who had my eye, so romance never bothered me, much less public displays of it. What bothered me about weddings was the crying. Rows and rows of wet eyes and cheeks, falling back like dominoes from the person who likely started the whole thing—the groom. I noticed at every wedding I went to that the tears in the church always seemed to start with stormy tears gushing from some brother’s eyes. Now, this too, in light of the situation (seeing the woman that was supposed to be the love of his life giving her life to him) wasn’t completely deplorable. But even with my sensitive side, I’m still a boy from southwest Atlanta, and seeing some otherwise strong brother standing in front of a room full of people crying just wasn’t my idea of a good time. Was he happy? Was he sad? Was he a damn punk? Come on, brother! Love was deep for me; the love I had for Kerry was the deepest thing I’d ever experienced. But on our wedding day, I was determined that I wasn’t going to be that dude crying.