“…and in the middle of Dr. King’s speech the lightning struck, the thunder started, and we knew that in any minute it was gonna start pouring rain. But not on Dr. King’s head…uh uh. The rain started to fall and just as it almost touched the ground, Dr. King reached high up into heaven, pointed his finger, and the rain stopped mid-air.” He finished with his own hand in the air for added dramatic effect.

Pretty soon, his story time with us gave way to more frequent arguing time with my mother over his extended hours at work and shortened hours at home. They divorced after three years. Surprisingly enough, they remarried a year later, lasting five more years until eventually she could take no more. She claimed that being married to a man who was never around was like holding on to a winning lottery ticket that had expired—not worth much more than the paper it was printed on. They called it quits for good.

Every now and then I stop by the liquor store for a soda and a civil rights story, both of which he is too eager to freely give.

Now on deck is my mother’s fourth husband, Mitchell. Mitchell Carter. A gentle and soft-spoken father of two married sons that are both around my age. Being retired from the military, he speaks in 0800 and 0600 military talk. Besides that, he’s okay, I guess. I haven’t really been around him long enough to know or to care. That’s her man. She’s got Mitchell and I’ve got Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving Day Graham. There was another knock at the door. Uh oh. I haven’t even started with my makeup. My mother’s gonna kill me.

“Montana, it’s me, William. Can I come in?”

Thank God, it’s William. I yelled through the door, “Just a second, I have to slip something on!”

“I’ve seen them before, remember?”

“Not in almost twenty years you haven’t.”

“As of yesterday, they don’t look like they’ve changed much to me.”

“Ha ha. One second.”

William has been my friend since forever. We started as boyfriend and girlfriend in elementary school and stayed that way through the eleventh grade when we both lost our virginity to each other. For as long as I can remember, William has always been there for me, never missing an event. Birthdays, holidays, or whatever days, he’s been as sturdy and dependable as a Ford truck. An all around blue-collar man, a handy man, the black Brawny man. Outwardly tough as nails, inwardly gentle as a lamb.

To my mother, he was like the son she never had and the husband for me she always wanted. William and I would probably still be together if it hadn’t been for my mother pushing it so hard. At sixteen, what girl wants to be with a guy that her family likes, especially her mother?