Anonymous

The day that we finalised the divorce, we had a dissolution ceremony in the morning: a place to rescind our vows, make new promises to each other no longer as husband and wife, a way of separating in spirit what had been joined in spirit.

I brought a bottle of champagne, we melted down our wedding rings and we made awkward conversation. My un-bridesmaid took me off to lunch where we drank more champagne, ate really good food, then hooked up with more friends to go on the rollercoaster at Ratanga Junction. Another act to embody the symbolism of what my angel-friend had been telling me: that the journey was a rollercoaster and I needed to make sure that my hands were up all the time.

We wondered where to go to afterwards. A party, yes. A chimurenga (liberation) party, even better. This was my first night of freedom as a new single woman and there was no way in hell I was going home on my own. I wanted to know what it would be like to be with someone new after 11 years of one partner, how comfortable I could be with my body in a stranger’s arms. I wanted comfort, acknowledgement and affection.

Who did I find but an old admirer at the bar, someone I had consistently turned down due to my married status? It didn’t take much to convince him to come home. After he lit a candle, he meandered his way across my body. He was so skinny, my husband had been solid. His nakedness was a revelation of elegance. His penis tilted to the side and he was gentle, attentive. I was surprisingly comfortable, and realised how sensual I could be, how little emotion sex required, and how different it could be. I think I may have cried. Condoms were re-introduced into my life.

Sex—easy; sleeping—impossible. He fell asleep in my bed, and I couldn’t stand him being there, so I decamped to the couch. Luckily I had an early flight to catch and I kicked him out without too much discussion about why.

I was very pleased with myself.

The writer thinks life is amazing after divorce.