This story continues each PRINT issue by a NEW BLACK NOVELIST.
The beginning by KaNikki Jakarta
When people talk about Martin Luther King Jr., they often reminisce on his, “I Have a Dream Speech.” His dream was that “the dream” would become a reality.
When little girls think about their lives, they dream of marrying “Mr. Right” and often times they have to go through many “Mr. Right Nows” to find him. I should have listened when my grandmother quoted the Bible to me, “A man that finds a wife finds a good thing,” she would always tell me that I should be looking to be found, not looking for a husband. I should have listened, but I didn’t. I focused on having a beautiful wedding. I would imagine my wedding
dress while spinning in a mirror with a pillow case over my head that I wore like a veil. As I grew up, I stopped looking at myself and started looking at the potential of men that I would meet at bars and even in churches. The imaginary veil was pulled over my eyes like wool. I refused to see the signs. I wanted a husband. He wanted to settle down. I wanted my husband to want me. Most of all, I wanted the perfect wedding; when I should have been focused on the perfect marriage. I would trade my wedding day for a marriage without hesitation. But, it’s too late now.
I was dreaming that he was dreaming about someone else, and he probably was. He probably was dreaming of the women that he’s confessed to being with over the course of our relationship. Whoever said that it’s better to love once and lose love than to never have loved at all obviously has never lost a love.
The alarm clock was the sound of an epiphany. The sun shining through the blinds on to his face shed a new light on reality. He stretched as he did often in the morning. He rolled over and looked into my eyes and smiled. His smile was not contagious. He said, “Happy Anniversary” I remembered that the first year anniversary gift was paper. I rolled over and grabbed the papers from the journal that I wrote in on a daily basis and held it in my hand before I spoke, and then I said, “Happy Anniversary, I want a divorce,” and then I slammed the papers down on the bed like a spade...
SUBMIT YOUR SUBMISSIONS TO CONTINUE THE STORY (200 WORD LIMIT): firstname.lastname@example.org
Poet - Author - Facilitator
READ MORE IN THE
APRIL - JUNE PRINT ISSUE
SHOW YOUR SUPPORT TO OUR SUPPORTERS