Monthly Archives: April 2011

Conundrum (Part IX)

Conundrum (Part IX)
By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/8/11

I debated most of the week whether we would attend the family reunion his aunt invited us to. I thought about it over and over and went with no. I realized my ex (I was still trying to get used to saying that)signed us away. But the problem was, my oldest wasn’t aware of it yet. She still had hope. I had spent all this time trying to lift her spirits with hope. Seeing him at the reunion would crush all her hopes.

I thought I was doing the right thing as a mother, but now I realized how absolutely detrimental hope can be when it is unrequited. He had never hoped for us. Our tears, our love, and our hope were all unrequited. As I cradled my oldest in my arms, I had to question, with these lost hopes so fresh, how was I going to teach her to hope again?

Because at such a tender age, I could not allow her to abandon hope. For without hope in her life, I could not teach her to have faith. Right now it wasn’t about having faith that her hopes would come to pass, but in having faith that God closed the right door and opened one that would exceed abundantly everything she had ever hoped for.

The new doorway was not the source of my angst. I didn’t recognize the woman walking through it. There was a grace and warmth that radiated. Her worries and fears had been cast aside in the light of her newfound hope of peace. And it was because of this hope, God opened the door of Peace. Through all she had carried her family through, she finally turned in the key to Drama, and entered Peace.

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Filed under blessings, children, Christian, Conundrum, daughters, divorce, faith, fiction, God, hope, motherhood

Macy VI

Macy VI
By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/7/11

I woke on Saturday and turned to the #3 envelope on my nightstand. The plan was to read it before I fell into La-la Land, but I wasn’t sure of the content, so I chose sleep. So as held it in my hand, I said a little prayer first. I didn’t know what piece of my ancestry it held for me, but I had to get to know my grandmother since I had now forgiven her.

Well Macy, it wuz not reel nise livin wit my Momma aftr everythin dat dun happend. Wut waznt makin hur happy wuz the frend dat I made in the sistur ov the boy who dun hurt my familee. Hur name wuz Mary. Mary wuz hur name Macy and she uz my frend.

Like I dun told you before Macy my Momma dun cleend the house ov the peeple dat dun killd hur famlee. She startd takn me to wurk with hur. 1 day I wuz cleenin in the kitchin with Momma and Miz Mary came in. Momma kept cookin’ and I kept cleenin the floor. Miz Mary wantd to eet hurself sum lunch so Momma dun made hur a food. Az Momma wuz makin hur food, Miz Marys Momma came in. We dun calld hur Mz. Suzana.

I dont know wut dun hapend in dat dur kitchin Macy but it wuz sumpin. It wuz cuz there wur women in dat kitchin Macy. There wuz a hole bunch of quiet in there, but sumpin dun hapend dat nevr culd ov hapend back den. I meen az far az beein leegul an all. We all dun sat at dat table an ate food togethr. No culurd folk evr got to eet food wit white folk. Dat just nevr hapend. But Macy Mz. Suzana dun sad sumpin to Momma dat made hur cry. She dun said, I sorry. I sorry dat my boyz and huzbin dun hurt your famlee. And den she dun touchd my hand and dun squeezd it. She dun squeezd my hand Macy.

Dat day wuz dat day Macy. It nevr hapend again. But hur sun nevr tuched me again. He dun nevr even lookd at me no more. So dat day wit Miz Mary and Miz Suzana kinda made things beter livin wit Momma. I think Momma got hur sum more money from Miz Suzana and I sure nuf got all of Miz Marys to small cloze. And becuz of dat day Macy you have all this money. Cuz Miz Suzana sqeezd my hand you have this money.

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Filed under daughters, fiction, Macy, racism

Monster V

Monster V
By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/6/11

They didn’t take Silhouette with them, so I muscled through all the pain to turn my back to her. I couldn’t stomach the blood pooled around her lifeless body. The hopelessness of my situation battled my need to escape. I couldn’t die here. I knew they would kill me, but when? How? I had to escape.

I turned my body flat on its back. I needed to put myself through a self-check to see what parts still worked. It began with my legs. There seemed to be nothing wrong with them. A slight soreness in my right thigh from the trunk ride, but I knew I could stand, walk, and run. Check, check, and check. My arms themselves could move fine, but the torso they were attached to could not withstand their mobility. I was sure I had at least a broken pinkie on my right hand and a broken wrist on my left. My entire front and back took most of the punishment, so I felt sore all over. My ribs offered the most pain of all. Inhaling was kept to short intakes. Next in line to my torso, was my head and face. They caught their own set of treatment from being hurled into my dresser and pulled off of my bed feet first.

The only thing I could think of next was to stand. I had been laying on this floor since they put me in here. I didn’t think a day passed, but I wasn’t for sure. I had to turn to my stomach and push myself up with my right arm. My left wrist wouldn’t be able to take any weight. I was able to roll gently to my right side and then I rested. I was now staring into the dead eyes of Silhouette. I had to do everything I could to avoid her lifelessness. I pushed and was now on my knees, when I heard footsteps.

By the time I got back to my fetal position the door swung open. There was only one set of footsteps approaching me from behind. I wished I had laid facing the door instead of the wall. A heavy hand swung my shoulder and swiftly had me on my back. Before I knew what was happening, there was a small heavy sledgehammer pounding my left ankle. “It seems like you were getting some ideas,” he said before he then hammered my right ankle and I passed out.

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Filed under fear, fiction, horror, Monster

Taken V

Taken V
By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/6/11

Voz walked around the back to the warehouse entrance. The door buzzed and he took the steps by two to the meeting room. He dropped the duffel bag on the floor and opened the metal locker. He exchanged duffel bags and sat at the beat up card table to examine the contents as Kev appeared in the doorway.

They hadn’t seen each other in almost two months after the debacle of a kidnapping. They had to meet with Mark, he was the head of all this, and had summoned this meeting. They sat at the table in silence, until they heard the ring of the backdoor bell. Kev got up and buzzed the door. He could see in the monitor there was a small figure coming in behind him.

They exchanged looks. Voz let his glock rest in his lap and Kev kept his box cutter up his sleeve. Mark walked in holding his stepdaughter’s hand. He smiled broadly, then bent and whispered into her ear. The little girl left the room and Mark circled the table.

“Gentlemen, there’s a problem. I think you know what it is. And I’m a bit annoyed, because I’m sure I paged three and I only see two. Why two, when there should be three? Anyone?” He ceased his pacing and waited for a response.

Voz spoke up, “She’s dead. I’ve checked for reports and there’s nothing. Nobody is looking for her.” The fist that caught him in his jaw reeled him backwards and sent his glock sliding across the floor under the lockers.

“Are you stupid?” Mark boomed. “Is this some kind of joke to you. Do you not get what is going on? This was supposed to be a simple kidnapping. You take her, keep her, demand a ransom, we get the money, we disappear. Do you know how much she’s worth? And now you go and kill the scapegoat?”

Voz picked himself off the floor and stood. He tasted blood when he swallowed and wiped the small trickle from the corner of his mouth. ” I found the kid. If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have her back.” Voz attempted to defend himself.

“You found her after she was spotted and the sighting was reported to the cops. They tracked her back to The Spot. They found blood there and no body. They are looking for the body. Now that they have blood, they have DNA. With DNA they can identify who she was.” Mark was inches from Voz’s face.

“They aren’t going to find the body to do any DNA match. Trust me,” Kev said.

“Why should I trust either one of you? You are both fuck ups. They don’t need a body. Need I remind you she is a convict? She’s already in the system. Now they are looking for her and the kid. Tomorrow it’s back on. Do you hear me? It’s back on. There is no margin for error this time. You will be provided details tonight.”

“Daddy, can we go?” Jessie appeared in the doorway.

“Yes baby. Daddy’s coming.” Mark took his stepdaughter’s hand and left.

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Filed under children, fiction, kidnapping, Taken

BFF VII

BFF VII
By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/5/11

“So how did you find out?” I asked Kay as we sat on her couch.

“The routine shit. I went in and had my pap. I thought nothing of it until I got a call to come in. I went into the office and she told me my pap came back abnormal. I asked what that meant? And she gave me some bullshit about ‘it’s really nothing to worry about, we just want to get a blood test.'”

“So she told you not to worry?”

“Yup, all casual. I gave the blood and left. I honestly didn’t think about it. I really didn’t start getting concerned until they called me in again. So I go in and then they start asking me a series of questions about symptoms. The shitty thing about it, I have like almost every possible symptom, but I thought it was just stress from the four different projects I’m working on at work.”

“Well what are they? Do you still have them? Sorry girl. That was stupid. That was so stupid. I don’t know, I just think you know… well you know…”

“Becky, I need you to do me a favor? You and Rick are going to have to get me through this. One of the things you’re going to have to get used to saying is cancer. I need you to be able to say it. I’ve thought about nothing but, for over a month now. And I can’t take you apologizing for everything that you say either. You have never apologized for anything for all of the years we have been friends, please don’t change on me now. It’s me Beck. I only have a month on you on this. And trust me, besides finally knowing that I have cancer, that’s it. Promise me you’ll learn about this with me?”

We were both crying by the time I scooted over and hugged Kay. “I promise Kay. I promise we will learn and go through this together. If I could switch places with you…”

“And you can’t say stupid shit like that. You should never want to have cancer. Shit, I don’t want cancer. So don’t say you would switch places with me. That’s just not the right thing to say. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Well now I can’t even apologize,” we broke into laughter for the first time that night. “And may I please point out something to you?” I held Kay’s hand.

“What would that be?”

“You have been dropping the S-bomb all night. You rarely swear, if ever. I’m just pointing that out, since we are talking about not changing.

“I’m angry Becky. I’m really angry. I’ve spent an entire lifetime being good and doing the right thing as much as possible. And for all the right moves, I have cancer. So I’m going to give myself a little treat as I get myself through this, I’m going to swear whenever I feel like it. So on the count of three at the top of your lungs, do it with me, one, two, three…”

“SHIT!” we yelled.

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Filed under BFF, cancer, friendship, sisterhood

Macy V

Macy V
By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/4/11

How did you survive seeing your father killed? This was more of a follow-up question to, after you’ve seen your brothers killed and sister raped, following your own rape? It didn’t seem logical to even ask these series of questions. But in just two letters my grandmother explained her entire life to me, and our dysfunctional relationship. In just those two letters, twenty-two years were forgiven.

I wasn’t in the mood to read another letter. My mundane routine work day did little to distract the images I carried of the very descriptive lynching of my great grandfather. They haunted my dreams, morning coffee, bus ride, and my two business meetings. Even though my curiosity screamed for the small envelope marked with a number three, I had to take a break. I needed to digest my ancestry.

Combined, the stories as a whole were tragic. But, my mother’s story was most spirit breaking. She existed in silent grace, but the flood gates were finally lifted the other night when she let me inside of her reality. My consoling was not offered to my mother, but to a woman who had suffered the generational abuse from a mother who was defined by a lifetime of tragedy. Unfortunately, my grandmother was actually raising her daughter the best she knew how. She offered her the love that my great grandmother offered her, very little.

And as my mother revealed her upbringing to me, I realized the hero within her. For although she didn’t know it, she had broken the generational curse. Although my grandmother and mother had no one to run to in the midst and anger of their mothers’ tirades, I did. After spending a day with Ms. Macy, I was able to run into the loving comforting arms of my mother. I was showered with kisses and hugs. There was not a day that passed that my mother didn’t compliment my beauty. I never comprehended my grandmother’s hatred, but I relished in my mother’s love.

I sat in the darkness of my living room and called my mother. I wanted to know how she was able to a offer a love she had never experienced. My mother answered and filled my ears with motherhood wisdom. She preached the importance of what I had always grown up with, “it takes a village to raise a child.” Although love was absent from her mother, it was abundant in the next door neighbor that took care of her after school. It was spoken to her through words of encouragement from a third grade teacher. It was “you can be whatever you want to be when you grow up,” from the man at the sixth grade assembly. Most of all it was a grandmother that told her on her deathbed, “Don’tcha be like me. When you have yourself a baby, you make dat baby your heart.” So maybe it was the woman that began it that truly ended the curse. Because there was not a day that went by that I didn’t feel I was my mother’s heart.

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Filed under family, love, Macy, motherhood