Monthly Archives: March 2008

March 6, 2008 · 2:28 am

Sent Away: Part II

Sent Away: Part II
By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/5/08

“Don’t worry we are not sending you away. Look at it like boarding school or overnight camp.” That’s what my parents had the nerve to say to me, like I’m stupid or something. Ah hello, you send your kid away for boarding school and overnight camp. And they basically are sending me away to boarding school. My aunt and uncle’s house is the dorm and I get a stupid roommate. Not only are they going to say that to me, but then they are throwing me a GOING AWAY party. Hello, like duh! I’m thirteen. Don’t lie to me to soothe your insecurity and guilt of being horrible parents, I don’t play that. I just hate them so much.

I sit on my bed with Keisha so we can try and figure out how to get me out of this situation.

“Don’t you know when I asked my mother if you could stay with us, she had already talked to your mother about it? Ain’t that a mess? How did she know I was going to ask her?” Keisha joins my mother bashing session.

“My mother has probably told everyone in the world. She keeps trying to say it’s because they love and care about me. But like hello? If I’m not happy about it, than how can you love me? They are just trying to make excuses for getting me out of here.” I plop on my stomach and start to cry. This just isn’t fair.

“Girl don’t cry. We are gonna figure this out. They can’t break up the Four Blackateers. Uh-uh girl, I ain’t havin’ it.”

There’s a light knock on my door and Keisha and I turn to find my mother in the doorway.

“What’s going on ladies? Tanisha what’s wrong with you. Why are you crying baby?”

I sit up and wipe my tears with the back of my hand. She is the last person in the world I want seeing me cry. She sits down next to me and puts her arm around my shoulder.

“Baby I know this is hard for you to accept. I am sure that you hate me and your father right now, but I’m okay with that. You can hate me all you want when your alive baby. Because I rather have you hate me when you’re alive, than love me when you’re dead. These schools out here aren’t safe, never mind the streets. But I’m not going to lose you the way we just lost your cousin.”

I pop up because I have had enough from her and my cousin stuff, “When will you get it through your head that I’m not like Vaughn?” I’m not sure what just happened, but I know I just caught my mother’s backhand. I don’t know exactly when she stood up, but she is maybe an inch from my face right now.

“Child, I’ve been patient enough with you. I have allowed you to wallow around this house for the past three weeks with your pissy little attitude. But so help me God, if you ever come out your mouth again the way you just did, I will kick you into tomorrow and slap you back to yesterday. Do you understand me? You don’t get it yet Tanisha, because you are not a parent. You kids think you are invincible. And yes that means I’m talking to you too Keisha. I admit your cousin hung around a tough crowd, but the other kid that got shot, was walking to his history class minding his damn business. I’m not gonna try and be at work all day wondering if you are going to come home at night. That’s the end of this conversation. You’re going to live with your aunt and uncle.”

(to be continued)

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March 5, 2008 · 3:01 pm

My Boss

My Boss
By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/5/08

I can’t stand him. My boss, that is. Don’t like him at all. Hate would be an inappropriate word, because that would show my weakness of taking things way too personally. So I’ll stick with, don’t like him. Depending on how I want my day to go at work I may choose my four-inch heels, or I’ll be nice with my flats. I’ll have a good day in my flats, but there will be hell to pay if I choose to tower of his 5’1″ chubby balding ass. It’s not my fault I’m five seven barefoot. But what gives him the right to take his Napoleon complex out on me just because he’s my boss?

Well after yesterday, I’m taking every opportunity to click my four-inchers to his office. In laments terms, he doesn’t know a damn thing about computers. But every time he calls I.T. “my stupid secretary messed this TV thing up.” Jackass! Oh yeah, yesterday. He somehow managed to 1) erase all the e-mails in his inbox, 2) respond to everyone instead of just the sender and vented about one of the people in the e-mail, 3) forgot to attend his weekly meeting with his supervisor…weekly like he has been doing this every damn Tuesday at the same time since I started working here two years ago. So of course everything was my fault and not only my fault, but I am also the miracle worker who has to clean up his mess. I don’t know how to solve stupidity. I called Dave in I.T. to reverse stupidity. I responded to the sender of the e-mail and simply confirmed the meeting place. Not much I could do about the stupid e-mail he sent out. Then I was kiss-ass enough to set up another meeting with his boss. So I guess you could say; I rescheduled stupidity. But I really don’t think I was successful at solving stupidity.

So now that Dave has saved the day once again, my task is to print out all the e-mails while he is at his meeting, all two hundred and forty-one of them. Did I mention I don’t like my boss? Because if I didn’t, let me just say, I don’t like my boss. I just hope I can finish before he returns, but I have a feeling this is going to take a little longer than his half hour meeting. The beautiful desk-jet printer is going to take its old sweet time. We have the money to upgrade to laser-jet, but he so maturely put it “printer, schminter.” I’m sorry, I thought I was dealing with an adult, but I’m stuck with schminter boy.

The end of the day sneaks up on me and I still have about twenty e-mails to print. I’m trying to avoid showing my face at I.T. again for another ink cartridge, but I don’t think I can avoid the little trip. Although I get revenge by being able to look down on my boss in my towering shoe jewelry, they are definitely not walking-friendly. I can’t wait to get home and soak my poor feet. Dave laughs at me and hands me my ink cartridges. I don’t find anything amusing, but since he is one of my daily contacts, I give my friendly office smile and giggle.

An hour and a half after the “end” of my day, the last e-mail is finally printed. The stack of e-mails is arranged chronologically on his desk so he will have it first thing in the morning. He was nice enough to leave early and miss his rescheduled meeting. I don’t care one way or the other, it’s his boss…job. I make it all the way to my car before I realize that I am missing my blackberry and laptop. I left them in his office when I locked up. Dammit!!! Wait a second, why is his car still here? He left close to four hours ago.

I make my way back to his office and notice a faint light from behind the blinds in his office. I could have sworn I shut them off, but the last thing I need is for him to beat me in tomorrow and have to deal with a “light situation” meeting. I open the door and want to die. Now I have wanted to die in before, but now I really want to die. Like no pulse, nothing… the big ole dirt nap for me. I open my eyes and realize I am not dead. Instead I am staring at chubby bald schminter boy screwing the accounting clerk on his desk. And yes, I think they might be on my laptop.

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March 5, 2008 · 2:48 pm

Taken

Taken
By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/5/08

“Mommy. Mommy, where are you?” I jerk awake from my taunting nightmare. The same dream that has plagued me for the past three days keeps me from my slumber. I don’t even want to sleep anymore. I just want my baby back. I want her here in my arms. The longest I have ever been separated from my four year-old daughter is two nights in all her life. And now she has been snatched out of my…our…lives. I haven’t seen my husband sleep since we got the news. He has worked non-stop with the police and FBI. I don’t think he will rest until we’ve found her. And we will find her. We are going to bring my baby home.

“Do you like it Mommy? How do I look? Don’t forget your camera Mommy. I want to take a picture with daddy.” She poses with my husband and I take the perfect picture; the picture of her first day of school. I do everything I can not to cry in front of her. I promised myself I would make this a happy day and not cry. I give my husband the camera and I pose with my precious little baby. She is just growing up too quick. We have these same pictures from when we were bringing her home from the hospital. Now I am sending my baby off on her first day of school. My second time for letting go…daycare was a breeze compared to this.

We park our car and huddle with all of the other parents in the small school drop-off area. My little Jessie doesn’t want any help with her empty backpack. She is just so grown, well as grown as my baby can be. A woman shouts her name over the loud clamor and my little Jessica runs towards the crowd of kindergartners near her new teacher. I wait until she gives me her last little wave and finally allow the first tear to fall. My husband walks his little baby back to the car and takes me home so I can go to work.

There she is, perfect little Jessie. All dressed in uniform and ready to start school. I’ve been watching her for the past three weeks. She never strayed far from her parents, so it’s taken me a little longer than I’ve wanted. All these confused little children on the first day of school, perfect for me. The teachers are focused on the attendance of their students. The principle is outside shaking hands with the parents. So it was definitely no problem for me to play parent and sneak into the school unnoticed.

I hide out in the bathroom downstairs near Jessie’s new classroom.As all the kindergartners and first graders make their way down the hall, I come out and grab Jessie’s hand. I know I have a small window to get this done. If I get caught, I can play that I am looking to give the tiny white sweater under my arm to my make believe first grader. But if I get away with it, there is fifty thousand waiting for me. Jessie takes my hand and I tell her to come to the other classroom down the hall. But so that she can get a special gold star, she has to call me mommy. Out the back door and to the car…fifty thousand here I come.

(to be continued)

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March 5, 2008 · 2:27 am

Sent Away

Sent Away
By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/4/08

I can’t believe my parents are doing this to me. This has to be illegal or something. There has to be someone I can report this to. They can’t just send me away to live with my aunt and uncle if I don’t want to. There has to be some sort of law they are breaking and I’m going to figure out which one it is. I mean I am about to go to high school. They can’t take me away from all of my friends. I absolutely refuse to spend my last four years in school away from my best friends in the whole world. There is not another, Tonya, Keisha, or Marcus…I don’t care what my mother says. We have been friends since elementary school. You can’t replace all that time.

How could they do this to me? I have been on the honor roll. I don’t do drugs. I’m on our basketball team and the swim team at the Y. And I don’t want to be away from my parents. They say I will still be able to see them every weekend and they will be right there if I need them. I know that’s a lie. I barely get to see them now. We live under the same roof and they never make time for me. Now they expect me to believe that if I call, they will come…whateva.

This all comes down to the high schools not being safe in the city and the quality of education is better where my aunt and uncle live and blah, blah, blah. My parents are just scared of black people. There, I said it. They think all black teenagers, are about nigga this and nigga that, but that’s not me. I can’t believe they don’t trust me enough to know that’s not the clique I hang with. I mean if they don’t have the faith in me, that I won’t make the right decisions, than they should at least have enough faith in themselves that they raised me right. I mean they always tell me they are so proud of me. Yeah, right…”We’re so proud of you, now go away.”

I feel like they set me up. They have always told me we could talk about things and that they would include me in any decisions that were made concerning my well-being. But I have fought this the whole way and they have completely ignored me. My aunt and uncle have had more say, in this whole move, than I’ve had. Of course they think it’s okay, because they are all about white people. I think they think that they are white or at least wish they were. Now they think they can get me out there and turn me into my cousin.

Oh and I so can’t wait for that, sharing a room with my cousin Kara. I give it about a week until we are rolling on the floor getting into it. It’s like every chance she gets, she is all about calling me ghetto. I don’t even have the time for all that. Just because I prefer cornrows over curly Q’s, that doesn’t make me ghetto. Just because I know how to dribble a basketball between my legs, instead of play a concerto on the piano, it doesn’t make her better than me. And just because my parents want to send me away, while her parents are planning their next summer family vacation, it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me. It only means that my parents got sick of me and don’t want me anymore.

(to be continued)

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March 4, 2008 · 7:08 pm

Rushed: Part III

Rushed: Part III
By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/4/08

My girlfriends offer me comfort like only girlfriends know how. I know they are holding back and allowing me to let everything sink in. I look around at their faces and this moment is so surreal. I watch my friends talk and laugh, but I don’t hear anything that they are saying. The only thing that echoes through my head is his wife’s words, “Don’t call here again, we are happily married and about to have our fourth child. He told me all about you and you are not going to wreck my happy home.” She hung up on me and that was four days ago. Since then, his cell phone and “home” have been disconnected. I never knew where he worked or lived for that matter. I’ve fucked up. I’ve really fucked up.

The coulda, woulda, shouldas run through my head. I coulda gotten to know him a little better before I slept with him, not family tree get to know you, but last name, where do you work, type get to know you. I shoulda used protection and I wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. And if I had known he was happily married to his pregnant wife, I woulda never gotten involved with him in the first place. But how was I supposed to know all of this. I mean if he was cheating on his wife, than he is the liar that deceived me. Isn’t the goal of a liar to get you to believe them? Why would I have reason to doubt what he was telling me?

Well coulda, woulda, shouldas won’t get me through this pregnancy and raise this baby. I have to deal with the here and now and the reality of this situation. And the reality is; I got played by a liar that I can’t track down. He might as well been a one night stand. I mean that would even make more sense than the situation at hand. So I am snapped back into reality when faced with the question by my friend, “What are you going to do?”

I can’t even answer her because this is not how it worked in my fairytale book. This drama is for the television talk shows. The shows that are geared to be pure entertainment for people like me, because I would never allow myself to be one of “those” people. “Those” people don’t care about their self-image. “They” are common trash that deserve what they get. Right? Wrong. Not only am I one of “those” people, but I am the dirty pregnant mistress that has wrecked the home. I am the one they are going to surprise, when the secret guest is the happy pregnant wife. I am the one the audience is going to boo. They won’t have any pity for me…and really, should they?

What am I going to do? I have $133.00 to my name. Maybe some more in change, but one thirty-five would be stretching it. Only one of my six credit cards isn’t maxed out, which leaves me with debt of over twenty thousand. I don’t qualify for any sort of state subsidies with my thirty-one thousand a year. And with all these pity-party calculations, I only have myself to blame. I remember hearing one of my girlfriends tell her sister “Don’t have this baby if you can’t support it all by yourself. Ask yourself, if that man leaves you, can you still support this child?” I thought my friend was so mean for doubting the commitment of her now brother-in-law. But now I understand her reasoning. And had she asked me the same question, I would answer no. I can’t support this child all by myself. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. But I have to.

(to be continued)

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