Pictures of You: Erica Hoskins Mullenix

“Commuter Marriage,” by Erica Hoskins Mullenix

I am not throwing back that far with this photo, but then again, my marriage didn’t last long enough to become a truly historical event fit for circa dates and carbon dating, so here we are with a picture of my husband and me from 2007. Always a long-distance relationship or a commuter marriage, ours was a pairing of sex and errands whenever we were in the same city. This photo was taken the day Q, my husband, helped me clean our pre-marriage apartment from top to bottom. We started with my disastrous closet filled with unpacked boxes from three of my previous moves, then hit the bedroom. Once we were able to see the floor, I broke down in tears, happy and bewildered that this boy could see me at my worst and still want to be with me. Two years later when he left me the first time, it turns out, according to the note he left behind without leaving behind much else of our stuff, my shit being all over the place was one of the things he “couldn’t take” so he wasn’t as much helping me out of my abyss that day as he was building a case against me, but that weekend, it was all love and fucking and the scent of Pine-Sol and clean Berber with us having sex in each room as we went along. We finished with this self-timed shot in the kitchen.

Our legally romantic relationship lasted fewer than eight years, but we are now, while seeing other people, best friends mutually detailing our lives involving many more outsiders than we’d ever allowed in while we were together. Settled in another city, divorced from me and no longer obligated to move back in with me at any point for any reason, he is thriving, surrounded by male friends and girlfriends and roommates and co-workers who’ve become friends and servers flirting with him as he calculates their tips. He’s never been happier, including the day we got married, including the day his son was born, including any other time in his life.

Which is probably what led to the end of us—this unhealthy two-person circle who saw only one another, who had only each other to vent to about the other’s dumb shit. There was no outlet, and we suffocated. Being divorced and fully broken up (for real this time, not like the other four times) means I get to see other penises if I want. I’ve touched a couple. He gets to see and touch other vaginas. We are each doing that as much as fucking possible because who knew this many other people existed? We did not, but we do now, and we chat on the phone nightly with each other in amazement about the entire development. Did you know there are women out there who can orgasm from penetration? Q did not. He does now, though. Did you know there are men who think an over-40-something woman with three kids can be sexy as hell? Good to find out since I am an over-40-something woman with three kids. Q and I are exiting together through the gift shop of this brand new world, and it is glorious. I picked up a stuffed Shamu just the other week. No more looking back for either of us.

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Erica Hoskins Mullenix is a short story writer and personal essayist living and working in Friendswood, Texas, near Houston. A Howard University alum, Erica is the founding editor of yeah write weekly writing challenge, an online showcase of your very best flash fiction, nonfiction and microstories. Follow her on Twitter @freefringes.