Tayari Jones - An American Marriage: A Novel

ALSO BY TAYARI JONES

Silver Sparrow

The Untelling

Leaving Atlanta

An American Marriage

TAYARI JONES

Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill 2018

For my mothers sister, Alma Faye,

and for Maxine & Marcia, my own

What happens to you doesnt belong to you, only half concerns you. Its not yours. Not yours only.

CLAUDIA RANKINE

Contents

Letters

Roy

Roy

Epilogue

ONE

Bridge Music

Roy

There are two kinds of people in the world, those who leave home, and those who dont. Im a proud member of the first category. My wife, Celestial, used to say that Im a country boy at the core, but I never cared for that designation. For one, Im not from the country per se. Eloe, Louisiana, is a small town. When you hear country, you think raising crops, baling hay, and milking cows. Never in my life have I picked a single cotton boll, although my daddy did. I have never touched a horse, goat, or pig, nor have I any desire to. Celestial used to laugh, clarifying that shes not saying Im a farmer, just country. She is from Atlanta, and there was a case to be made that she is country, too. But let her tell it, shes a southern woman, not to be confused with a southern belle. For some reason, Georgia peach is all right with her, and its all right with me, so there you have it.

Celestial thinks of herself as this cosmopolitan person, and shes not wrong. However, she sleeps each night in the very house she grew up in. I, on the other hand, departed on the first thing smoking, exactly seventy-one hours after high school graduation. I would have left sooner, but the Trailways didnt stop through Eloe every day. By the time the mailman brought my mama the cardboard tube containing my diploma, I was all moved into my dorm room at Morehouse College attending a special program for first-generation scholarship types. We were invited to show up two and a half months before the legacies, to get the lay of the land and bone up on the basics. Imagine twenty-three young black men watching Spike Lees School Daze and Sidney Poitiers To Sir with Love on loop, and you either will or will not get the picture. Indoctrination isnt always a bad thing.

All my life I have been helped by leg-up programsHead Start when I was five and Upward Bound all the way through. If I ever have kids, they will be able to pedal through life without training wheels, but I like to give credit where it is due.

Atlanta is where I learned the rules and learned them quick. No one ever called me stupid. But home isnt where you land; home is where you launch. You cant pick your home any more than you can choose your family. In poker, you get five cards. Three of them you can swap out, but two are yours to keep: family and native land.

Im not talking bad about Eloe. Obviously there are worse native lands; a big-picture mind can see that. For one, Eloe may be in Louisiana, not a state brimming with opportunity, but it is located in America, and if youre going to be black and struggling, the United States is probably the best place to do it. However, we were not poor. Let me make that extra-strength clear. My daddy worked too hard at Bucks Sporting Goods by day plus handymanning in the evenings, and my mother spent too many hours fixing trays at the meat-and-three for me to act like we had neither pot nor window. Let the record show that we had both.

Me, Olive, and Big Roy were a family of three, and we lived in a sturdy brick house on a safe block. I had my own room, and when Big Roy built an extension, I had my own bathroom. When I outgrew my shoes, I never waited for new ones. While I have received financial aid, my parents did their part to send me to college.

Still, the truth is that there was nothing extra. If my childhood were a sandwich, there would be no meat hanging off the bread. We had what we needed and nothing more. And nothing less, my mama would have said, and then wrapped me in one of her lemon-drop hugs.

When I arrived in Atlanta, I was under the impression that I had my whole life ahead of meendless reams of blank paper. And you know what they say: a Morehouse Man always has a pen. Ten years later, my life was at its sweet spot. When anybody said, Where are you from? I said, The A!so intimate with the city that I knew her by her nickname. When asked about my family, I talked about Celestial.

We were properly married for a year and a half, and we were happy for that time, at least I was. Maybe we didnt do happy like other people, but were not your garden-variety bourgeois Atlanta Negroes where the husband goes to bed with his laptop under his pillow and the wife dreams about her blue-box jewelry. I was young, hungry, and on the come-up. Celestial was an artist, intense and gorgeous. We were like Love Jones, but grown. What can I say? I always had a weakness for shooting-star women. When youre with them, you know that youre deep into something, none of that hi-and-bye stuff. Before Celestial, I dated this other girl, also born and raised in the A. This girl, as proper as you can picture, she pulled a gun on me at an Urban League gala! Ill never forget that silver .22 with a pink mother-of-pearl handle. She flashed it inside her purse under the table where we were enjoying steak and au gratin potatoes. She said she knew I was cheating on her with some chick from the Black Bar Association. How can I explain this? I was scared, and then I wasnt. Only an Atlanta girl could be so classy while doing something so hood. It was love-logic, granted, but I wasnt sure if I should propose or call the police. We broke up before daybreak, and it wasnt my decision.

After Pistol Girl, I lost my touch with the ladies for a minute. I read the news as same as anyone, and I heard about some supposed black man shortage, but it seemed that the good news had yet to make an impact on my social life. Every woman I took a shine to had someone else waiting in the cut.

A little competition is healthy for all parties involved, but Pistol Girls departure got up my skin like chiggers and sent me to Eloe for a few days to talk things over with Big Roy. My father has this alpha-omega way about him, like he was here before you showed up and he would be sitting in his same recliner chair long after you left.

You dont want no woman that brandished a firearm, son.

I tried to explain that what made it remarkable was the contrast between the streetness of the pistol and the glitter of the evening. Besides: She was playing, Daddy.

Big Roy nodded and sucked the foam from his glass of beer. If thats how she plays, whats going to happen when she gets mad?

From the kitchen, as though speaking through a translator, my mother called, Ask him who she is with now. She might be crazy, but shes not crazy. Nobody would dismiss Little Roy without somebody on the back bench.

Big Roy asked, Your mother wants to know who she is with now. Like we werent all speaking English.

Some attorney dude. Not like Perry Mason. Contracts. A paperwork sort of person.

Arent you a paperwork person? Big Roy asked.

Totally different. Being a rep, thats temporary. Besides, paperwork isnt my destiny. Its just what I happen to be doing now.

I see, Big Roy said.

My mother was still peanut-gallerying from the kitchen. Tell him that he is always letting these light-skinned girls hurt his feelings. Tell him he needs to remember some of the girls right here in Allen Parish. Tell him to lift somebody up with him.

Big Roy said, Your mother says before I cut him off.

I heard her and didnt nobody say that girl was light-skinned.

But of course she was, and my mama has a thing about that.