I have had my share of poignant moments in my life and times with women. But through it all- three decades worth of girlfriends, wives, weddings, affairs, divorces and all, I never really had my heart broken until November 8, 2016. For me, this was truly The Day That Music Died- all due respect to Don McLean. This was the day that Becky left me standing at the alter- waiting to jump the broom with her and make the commitment that we both had been waiting so long for- or so I thought. But it wasn’t meant to be- the old white man with money lured her away and left me longing for what could have been.
Although I wish I could excuse myself and play the innocent victim- hiding behind the pretense that I had no idea that she could betray me like this- I really can’t. It just isn’t true. My mother tried to warn me for years when I was growing up. She always said that I couldn’t really trust Becky. She would get what she wanted for a time but then as soon as things got tough, she would bail. Ma said she’d leave me hanging and go back to what she was used to and the acceptance that she needed more than whatever satisfaction she craved from me. And it kills me that Ma was right. Turns out, our thing was a fling for Becky- she was just curious and wanted to try it out because her father had told her to stay away from guys like me. But it felt good to her to use me to slap back at her father and all of the men who had been trying to own and control her since she got her first training bra. But now that’s all over. Becky is gone and I don’t know if she is ever going to come back. And if she does, do I even want her back?
How in the hell could Becky vote for Donald “Pussy-Grabber” Trump over one of her own? As I watched the returns coming in with my 13 year old son, I started getting nervous when Virginia wasn’t immediately called for Hillary Clinton. That should have been a slam dunk state and it took the news reports way too long to clock it for her. Youngblood saw that his father was unnerved and he was unaccustomed to that. So he started to panic: “Dad, she’s still gonna win, right?” And as I reassured him, I thought to myself “Becky, don’t do me like this, girl. Not after all we have been through together. It’s been me and you against the world! Together we are unstoppable! We’ve been going strong for two cycles and if we just do it one more time, we are good forever!”
But everybody knows the story from that night by now. Almost three months later, it is still too painful for me to recount in detail. All I can do now is wonder why she betrayed me- and for that jerk-off! And here I thought I was doing something that she wanted me to do. I mean, HRC was really something I got into because she always said she wanted it. And since we were in it together for Barack from the start I owed it to her to go all in on Hillary, right? Maybe the broom jumping ceremony I had set up was too much for her. Too much black I guess. Three times in a row might be asking too much even though I can promise you, I was ready to do it all over again- like it was the first time. I thought she loved it enough to be strong when the pressure was on but when it was all said and done, she needed more to hang on to if she was going to go against a domineering, billionaire blowhard, degenerate daddy-type. She always has had a thing for all of that- or so I’ve been tols. In the end, the ultra-privileged white man thing is tough for her to beat back two times in a row. After all, HRC is a Becky herself and maybe Becky’s really weren’t feeling themselves like that. I know they listen to Beyonce, but they ain’t Beyonce. We KNOW she is feeling herself- just ask her and she’ll make sure you know.
Beyonces don’t waver or falter under pressure, doubt themselves or fall for the okie-doke from men trying to run a game on them- unless they decide to. Beyonces always go for theirs first and let the rest of us figure out how we feel about it later. If Becky was more like Beyonce, we would not have to tolerate the national indignity of a tabloid presidency and a Commander in Tweet for the next four years. But we do because Ma was right about Becky. When the heat was on and I really needed her she wound up in a tacky Trump Tower suite licking a lustful toad after kissing a pristine prince for the last eight years. And that really hurt me. The idea that a brother from the hood and Becky from the heartland could join forces and change the face of the nation forever was the dream of all dreams- and now it looks like it’s shattered.
But even though she broke my heart, maybe it was what I needed to discover how I can be better on my own journey. I have to get ready for the next round, Becky or no Becky. Isn’t that what a guy is supposed to do after a painful break-up? Find the lesson inside the pain? The 2018 midterms will be here before I know it and I’ve got to move on. But more than figure out how I lost Becky, I need to figure out how I can go on and win next time without depending on her. As painful as it is, I’ll have to make room for her to come back after she gets grabbed in her crotch and is publicly humiliated by the geriatric wolf in wolf’s clothing she put in office. Every guy who gets his heart broken says this but I really do believe she is going to miss me and regret her decision. If I can find it in my heart to take her back- and I will- I’ll have to stay focused on the future and not ask her why she did what she did- or make her confess the depraved details of her shameful betrayal. Besides, she’d never admit to me what she did for him anyway- do they ever? Ma was right that Beyonce is the one I need to build my world around. But if Becky wants in, I have to let her come back for everybody’s sake- just as long as she remembers she is no Beyonce. I sure as hell will never forget again.