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BFF: Part VIII
By: Mia L. Hazlett
9/29/11

I sat up most of the night talking to my husband. He dozed off about an hour ago, but I couldn’t shake my conversation with Kay. A lifetime friend wanted me to be comfortable saying cancer. I tried to say it to myself, audience free, in my car ride home. I realized it wasn’t saying cancer that bothered me, it was thinking and knowing that my best friend had cancer.

I said “cancer” the whole ride home, but my mouth and thoughts could not even begin to accept, “Kay has cancer.” It brought me back to a time when we ran away from home when we were about seven years-old. My parents grounded me for my entire Christmas vacation. There was no phone or friend visits. I was completely devastated and couldn’t even think of a time when Kay and I had gone just a day without seeing each other, never mind not talking. I didn’t see why calling my grandmother’s fat ugly friend, “fat and ugly,” was a big deal. My mother said something along the lines of, rude or completely embarrassing, and apparently she would never be able to go to the market store where the woman worked again. This was the same woman who told me I should never lie.

Kay and I stayed in our little fort in the middle of her backyard. It was our runaway spot. We spent the afternoon laughing and joking as we almost froze to death. I remember our conversation turned to the girl who sat behind Kay in reading class.

“Laura was crying the other day in class,” Kay said as we huddled together in our sleeping bags.

“She is always crying about something. It’s like she cries every day.”

“They said her mom is going to die.”

“Who said that?” She caught my attention.

“My mom and your mom.”

“Die like be dead?” I asked not completely understanding the concept of death.

“Yup. Like I guess in like a month.”

“How do they know it will be in a month?” The conversation made me uncomfortable, but I had to ask my questions.

“I don’t know. I think it’s because she is really old. They said she is thirty-eight.” Neither of us could comprehend that age.

“I hope I never get that old.”

“If you don’t get old, than you are dead. Only dead people don’t get old.” Kay was always the smarter one.

“You know what I mean.” My feet and hands were beyond cold.

“They said she had something wrong with her ….” She broke into laughter, which made me immediately follow.

“Something wrong with her what?” I laughed and asked at the same time.

“Something wrong with her boob, ” she said right before laughter engulfed our little fort.

“Her boob? Something was wrong with her boob? What was wrong with her boob?” I couldn’t stop laughing.

“I don’t know. She had lost one boob three years ago and now she lost the other one in the summer.” Laughter consumed our little fort again.

“How do you lose your boobs?” I giggled.

“I don’t know. But your mother said it mastercized in her bones now.”

“What does that mean? Is that like exercise?” I had never heard of dying from exercise.

“Maybe. I just hope once I get my boobs I don’t lose them.” Kay said matter-of-fact.

“Me too,” I said.

We raised our little tea cups full of melted snow and toasted, “May we never lose our boobs.”

50/50
By: Mia L. Hazlett
11/22/10

What was it? The worst day of your life. What was the worst day of your life? My professor’s question infused itself in my head and refused to let me drift off into my slumber. It was supposed to have changed my life . So not only was it supposed to be the worst day, but so life altering that it shaped who I’ve become today.

I guess that’s a simple enough question for some. When I looked around in my classroom, the other students began scribbling furiously. Why could I think of nothing? Certainly there had to be some obstacle in my life that had changed me. At some point in my life I’ve suffered a level of anxiety over some event. I know I have.

There were times I had tasted the warm salt of my tears. But not every tear was that of despair or some insurmountable circumstance. Some gave way to the simple love line in a movie. Some snuck out as hilarity overtook me in shudders of laughter. Maybe even some sad events took place. I won’t deny that. But how, if I’m focused on my pain and whatever circumstance I am going through, am I supposed to know that I’m going through a life altering experience?

Maybe this was that moment. Could it be possible that at the moment my professor asked his question, I had a life changing event? There really had been tears of pain in my life. Moments in which getting out of bed in the morning could bring about that mental breakdown. But what I’m coming to realize is I had done such a wonderful job at dealing with drama, death, and heartache, that in reflecting I’ve created normalcy out of the situations, to protect myself. There has been a string of wrongs that have allowed me to cherish the rights in my life.

Is it wrong to live in survival mode? Should I always expect the most positive outcome? Trust me, I’ve been called a pessimist before, but I’m not. I mean I don’t walk around expecting the worst all the time either.

I’ve just learned that life is 50/50. It can go the way you want or the other way. If you can accept that, than you’re going to learn that life is not about one life changing moment, at least mine isn’t. For me, life is taking the good with the bad. So Mr. Professor, it has been the good and the bad and the best and the worst, quite simply, life, that has shaped who I have become today.

To the Loves of My Life:

Hello my precious angels. On such a momentous day in history, I feel inspired to write to you so as not to lose the significance of this day. I wish with all my heart, I could have shared this moment with you, but the importance was not lost by our seperation.

Jazzy, I say to you the day I brought you home was one of joy and fear wrapped into one. The first time at anything is always scary, but there were never such dire consequences to face should I fail with you. We barely slept a wink that night and when we finally caught that piece of heaven, we were interrupted by a day that will go down in history, September 11, 2001. Fear set in my heart. How could I bring a child into a world that flies planes into buildings just miles from where we sleep?

Kaylee, you were born into a war on foreign ground that is still fought to the very second that I write this letter to you. So it is with you my precious daughter, that I share your beginning. For your war is called The War in Iraq, and mine was called The Vietnam War. I pray to our Father above that you, like I, will live to see it end.

And today my loves, as I watched President Barack Obama, our first black president, sworn into office, and I watched him kiss his daughters; I thought, what a wonderful world I’ve brought you into. Although we live in a country that has forever had racism, and even though this day does not abolish the divide, it does bring us one step closer to equality. It allows me to hope and pray and dream for you like I never have before, because change and normalcy have been introduced to you at such a young age.

As this day draws to a close my darlings, know that just by being alive, you make me strive to do my best and you both have made me a better person. It is an honor to live my life as your mother. May you always carry God and your family in your hearts.

Love,

Mommy

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.

Shoes
Written By: Mia L. Hazlett
10/25/07

Click clack, click clack, click clack all the way down the hall. Clip, clip, clip, clip, clip up the stairs. Bup, bup, bup, bup, softly against the carpeted lobby floor. I stand outside the opened double doors and schmooze the best I can. I toss my head with a giggle here, I give my beauty pageant wave there, and nibble at the hor’s devours; careful not to smudge my lipstick. I jump into conversations that are finishing punch-lines to dry jokes. I make sure to find my way to the President and CFO, for without whom; I would have no reason to be here tonight.

It will be my first award ever and nothing can take me off of my cloud. I’m feeling fabulous in my fitted, strapless, black cocktail dress. To be honored in front of all of my colleagues is such a dream come true. People begin to make their way into the hall and find their seats. I decide to dash into the ladies room for one last look, before I stand in front of hundreds. My lipstick remains perfect…maybe a touch more gloss, my hair needs no attention. I turn to see my rival step out of the small stall. It has been a bitter battle between us, but the better person is about to reap the rewards…oh yeah-that’s me, I giggle to myself. I pay her no mind and allow her and company to point and snicker at me all they want. Jealousy is so yesterday. I step into the bathroom stall.

As I pull up my stockings I am appalled at the horrible atrocity that has slipped my attention. WHY!? HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN TO ME? NOT TONIGHT. NOOOO!! I blink to clear my eyes in the hopes I am just seeing things. I pull at my stockings and rush out of the stall. It is still there…this is happening! Okay, okay don’t panic. NO PANIC! OH MY GOD! Please not tonight, just not tonight. There are too many people in that room that I have stepped on to get here. We are a damn shoe design company, for Christ’s sake. My marketing has gotten us the top clients, some of whom are sitting out there right now, some of who backed me on receiving this award.

I walk out to the lobby and except for the late stragglers, everyone is already seated. My table is in the very front with the President and CFO, along with their wives. And then there will be me and my stood-me-up-last-night-with-a-phone-call date. These men…my bosses run the shoe industry. There is no getting in any door if you disappoint…humiliate them. This is bad. This is really, really bad.

I saunter to the front with my painted on fake smile. Strapless and no shawl was a wonderful idea, until my bathroom horror. Now I am sweating bullets and there is absolutely nothing I can do to cover my perspiration. I see the bathroom bitch laugh at me one more time with her stupid little bathroom crew giving me condescending applause. How juvenile of them. How petty. Well damn, if they noticed, everyone else has or will too. AHHH!

I slide right into my seat and into instant conversation. Again I toss my head and giggle, give a few, “Oh Bobs”, and carry on hair conversations with their rehearsed wives. My mind is distracted enough for me to enjoy the chicken cordon bleu, until Bob is called to the podium on stage to “say a few words about tonight’s recipient.” My eyes peruse the audience, only to land on Miss Witchy face and her evil goblins. I give a glare to their snide gestures, but I can’t believe my fashion faux pau. Bob calls me to the stage, so I may receive my award. I stand and wave from my seat and take slow cautious steps. And the moment I’ve been waiting for all my life instantly ceases to exist. Because tonight was not only the night I was going to receive my reward, but it was going to be the premier of our new shoes to our clients. The problem is I wore half of both sets. I clip, clip, clip up the steps, and introduce Bob to my fashion nightmare. “On our left we have Navy and on the right we have Black. Navy and Black, this is Bob, he was my boss.” My entire life was ruined by a pair of shoes.