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Jamal’s pain in every kiss, in every caress. I could hear his pain in every moan and every call of my name. His heart was crying as tears fell from my eyes.
    Now, we lay still. Jamal was on his back with my head resting on his chest. I waited until I heard the smooth, solid rhythm of his sleep-breathing and then I slowly lifted my head. He shifted, then settled down, and I positioned my elbow so that I could rest my chin on my hand and just stare at my husband.
    Only the moon that was slowly bowing to morning illuminated our bedroom, but it was enough to see Jamal. And the beautiful black of his skin. I held my arm out, and now Jamal looked even richer against the paleness of my Caucasian genes.
    This was one of the many things that I loved about me and Jamal. We were total opposites who fit perfectly together. I knew that from the moment I saw him, though it took us years to get to the same point . . .

    January 26, 1998
    I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Monica Lewinsky . . .
    â€œOh, my God, he’s lying,” I shouted at the TV as I scooted to the edge of the couch.
    â€œSo what?” Michellelee said. “I knew what he was when I voted for him.”
    I stared down at my roommate, stretched out on the floor with a bunch of magazines in front of her. Michellelee had been my suite mate for a year and a half now, along with Miriam, and in that short time, the three of us, each only a child, had grown to be as close as sisters. But not once had we ever talked about who she—the only one of us who’d had her birthday in time to register—had voted for.
    â€œYou actually voted for Bill Clinton?” I drawled. I had been trying to keep the twang out of my voice now that I was in LA. But I couldn’t help it. When I got upset, the inner Mississippi came out of me.
    Michellelee sat up and crossed her legs, yoga-style. “Uh . . . yeah. Who else was I going to vote for? Bob Dole?”
    â€œOf course. He was going to reduce taxes, and reduce government. The federal government is getting too big.”
    â€œThat’s what all you Republicans say. The government is your enemy, until you need a friend.”
    That was a smart retort, a line I’d never heard before, but I still had to stand up for the man my daddy had campaigned for. “Did you know Bob Dole has two Purple Hearts?”
    Michellelee glanced up with a look that told me she thought my words were silly. “That Purple Heart qualifies him to be president as much as being black qualifies Bill Clinton.”
    I fell back onto the couch. “Why do black people always say thatBill Clinton is black? It makes no sense.”
    Michellelee shrugged. “ ’Cause he is. We gotta claim him ’cause, trust me, he’s the closest we’ll ever get to having a black president.”
    â€œWell, then, you go right ahead and claim him, because I don’t want him. Just wait. You’ll see what’s going to happen.” I wagged my finger at Michellelee. “He had sex with Monica and the truth will all come out. Then Hillary will leave him and next will come his impeachment. And then”—I jumped up from the couch and flicked my wrist as if I was shooting a basketball—“Bob Dole will be president!”
    Michellelee laughed. “No, you fool. Al Gore will be president.”
    Before I could tell Michellelee that I’d move to Canada and play college ball there if Al Gore were ever to become the president, the door to our townhouse busted wide open. “Guess what?” Miriam came in huffing and puffing like she was going to blow our house down.
    â€œWhat?” Michellelee and I said together.
    â€œI got you a date, my boyfriend’s best friend. You’re going with me to the Upward Bound Awards program tonight.”
    Michellelee and I stared at her for a moment and then Michellelee turned to me with a pointed finger.