In the Heat of the Night

At approximately 9:25 PM EST, the world got its answer: Lebron James is going to Miami. Whew, thank god THAT’s over.

Well, not exactly. As one city celebrates without actually having won anything, another city mourns yet one more moment of ruinous heartbreak in a generation of sports tragedy. But tomorrow, when the GHB-laced mojitos give way to the queasy unnerve of an uncertain future, the fans in Miami may find themselves dealing with a bit of remorse.

Miami is now the “other woman.” It’s the amoral hussy who stole away Cleveland’s one true love. See that wounded, mascara-streaked, wailing woman on the banks of the Cuyahoga River? The man that did that to her, the man she thought she would live the rest of her days beside, who would take her to a glorious future; the man who, after seven years, tore her heart from her chest on live, primetime television without ever giving her the ring she so badly wanted? He’s the man standing beside you, promising you all of those same forevers, all of the same glories.

And sure, you can tell yourself that no two relationships are the same. You can even choose to believe him when he tells you that what you and he have is nothing like what he had with his ex. But somewhere, back in the damp, quiet, haunted corners of your mind, will always be the question you desperately want to know but don’t dare ask: If he did it to her, will he do it to me, too?