The Mrs.

As I went over to Akashic to re-up on copies of Cake to take on my pilgrimage to see the Harlem vendors, I had the good fortune run into my publisher, Johnny Temple, a guy in his early 40s who in addition to running an indie press also fronts his own rock band. As we shot the breeze the inevitable subject of one Barack Obama came to the surface. He identified himself as one of the Obama "zealots" I was speaking of, and hopes that the Democratic nominees election will serve as the beginning of a Brave New World that might eventually be free of much of the political tyranny that has constituted US Politics for the majority of our lives. As we talked about the obstacles against the man we both want to win we landed on everybody's space, Michelle Obama. And she's been stuck in my mind every since.

I've generally come to view presidents' wives as being along for the ride, a required accessory for any commander-in-chief whose key purpose was to do all the expected "woman things": fundraisers for good causes, photo ops with kids, traveling with the prez to meet the wives of whichever world leaders the man was sitting down with, etc. Outside of Hilary Clinton, most of the ones I could think of in my own short history seemed kind of bland. That wouldn't be the case with Michelle. Not only is she a sista with her own credentials and swagger, but she's also the nutrient that keeps her husband's spine so straight. I would also imagine that it's that same kind of strength and swagger that have kept Mr. Obama so faithful and focused during his meteoric rise in the turbulent seas of politics. It always takes two. And for me she has become the personification of this ideal in African-American marriage.

This might seem like a bold statement for some of you. But for a man whose secret crushes were on sistas like Terry McMillan, Sheryl Lee Ralph and Lynn Whitfield, I've always looked for women who displayed both strength and versatility, women who weren't afraid of a spotlight that for them was not only inevitable but somewhat desired, souls who made the decision to be themselves no matter what the cost.

A few weeks ago I found myself near a conversation where two women in their mid-20s were talking greasy about a third who was apparently hanging out in clubs where everyone was regrettably "30 or 35". As my face is somewhat youthful the two of them had no idea that I was in the age bracket of which they spoke. And when my dearest Dervish chose to interject this information, their follow-up questions were glazed with confusion, particularly after I answered in the negative about me having kids or having ever been married before. "You need a mate one of them informed me, as if my singledom was destined to kill me. Half-amused, half-annoyed, I gave an answer that allowed us to move on to the next topic. But for some reason the words stayed with me.

It wasn't until today that both Michelle and this whole "mate" thing merged into one completely truthful statement. I just haven't met her yet. It was almost ten years ago that Wood, K and I sat in K's apartment in Fort Greene composing a list of what our perfect women might be like. Few of the details were about physicality, though all three of us have our general preferences. For me it's always been about finding someone who was in search of a journey and not a routine. Adventure and not just acquisition. Safety that didn't always come with security.

It sounds simple enough but as most of us come out of lower and middle-class backgrounds, we have borne witness to parental struggle, abuse, neglect, emotional unavailablility and the like during the years that we were supposed to be just kids. So when the times comes to grow up so many women just want to end up in a place where the psychological earthquakes and aftershocks are few and far between. But that ain't the world where I live. This blog has told you that time and time again for nearly three years now.

One particular "she" took my accepting invitations to parties and gatherings with friends on weekends and the occasional weeknight as me "wanting to be out all the time". Others took issue with me needing to take the time to work on my craft. Others still loved to take what I had to give without doing so much giving themselves. Etc. Etc. I hold no grudges at this point. They just weren't good fits.

So these days I find myself asking a number of questions during first meetings with ladies who spark my curiosity. I peel away the layers and see who is underneath. Is this someone who could raise my children on her own were something to happen to me? Is this someone who will love me and be attracted to me when I'm not in the paper or have something come out or am on a panel for this and that. Aspiring trophy wives are looking to gleam on a pre-established mantelpiece. Damaged souls either gravitate towards the the energy that broke them into pieces of a Plymouth Rock. If I'm going to do the family thing it has to be with someone who gets me, not just someone who wants to get what I have to offer.

No matter how this election goes Michelle will be there for her man. She has wiped noses and asses but she also knows the whole politicalplaybook just as well as her man does. for her it doesn't seem to be able making the world love her. It's about getting the job done, fortifying the walls where they're weak so that any attack won't break though and being ready with sword ands shield in case they do anyway.

I need me a misses like her. But I have to be ready for her to come through the door. These days my house is still a little messy. That's why I've been doing a lot of cleaning. Out.