“Pamela, are you asleep?”
It was after ten o’clock pm. Lying peacefully in bed with my back turned to my estranged husband Jeffery Hill, the television was on; the sports report of the news was being broadcast. The television glared at me, as I lay there half asleep. My voice was groggy, “No. Why?”
“I’m seeing an attorney about a divorce next week.”
There was no apprehension in his voice, so why should there be any in mine. To be honest, I stopped caring about this so-called marriage and this fake, pretentious man lying next to me perpetrating as my husband a long time ago. We have been going through the motions of being husband and wife for some time. Scratch that. We never really had a marriage, so to speak, and we never acted like newlyweds. This marriage was a mistake from the beginning. “A divorce” he says, that’s music to my ears.
So what, this so-called marriage has been a circus act ever since the day that we stood before a judge and lied to each other by saying, “I do; for sickness and health, for richer or poorer, till death do us part.” I guess his announcement of a divorce was suppose to be my queue for me to break down crying, sobbing like a baby telling him how much I love him, and that I cannot imagine living my life without him, and how my life would be incomplete without my husband. Better yet, I cannot go on living without him. Ha! There is certainly no love lost here. “A divorce” That’s a joke.
Preparing for an argument, I sat up on the edge of the bed tilting my head just enough to look over at him out of the corner of my eye. Jeffery was leaning back on the headboard with his pillows propped up pretending to be concerned about the sports report on the news.
My response to his announcement of a divorce, “As long as you have my half of the equity in this house, please feel free to file for a divorce! You have my vote.” I calmly told him. With that said, I turned away from him, laid back down getting into my comfortable position.
We have only been married for two miserable years. Meanwhile portraying the image of the perfect suburban family, by far has to be the joke of the century. We appear to the world to have a perfect life together. People look at us and imagine that we are a happy, loving family with the world at our feet. That’s an illusion. Looks are deceiving.
“So he wants a divorce?” I thought to myself. That is funny. I told him the next time he brings up the subject of a divorce it would be the last time. He should file, or I will. I thought about the song for a moment, ‘Not Gon’ Cry’, by Mary J. Blige that’s funny, I can relate. I don’t have anything to cry about.
My thoughts raced back to one particulary horrifying weekend that I will never forget. It sticks out like a sore thumb, the move from Birmingham, AL back to Logan, MS to be with my new husband. Packing up my child at the end of the school year was devastating for him. The thought of being away from his friends; the school year was ending in a couple of weeks, luckily for us one of his classmate’s parents said he could stay with them for the final two weeks of school.
