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)

Leave a comment

Filed under Taken

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)

Leave a comment

Filed under Sent Away

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)

Leave a comment

Filed under Rushed

January 16, 2008 · 4:29 pm

Rushed: Part II

Rushed: Part II
By: Mia L. Hazlett
1/16/08

Okay, maybe I spoke too soon. I can wait for our future to begin, or at least this could slow down by like….oh I don’t know. This is all happening to fast. This is not what I intended to happen at all. I mean not like this. Why did this have to happen? He’s still married. We’ve only been together for a little over a month now. My friends haven’t even met him. What will my parents say? What will he say? I wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant.

I can’t call my friends. They won’t understand. They are not happy he is still married. I was just so sure that he would be my husband by the time I had to make this announcement. But now my fairy tale has come to an abrupt end, and I’ve been thrust into this nightmare. I’ve prayed for the past ten years to have a baby and a man, but since I have failed at both for the past six years, I just assumed I wasn’t able to have children. I mean no doctor ever told me I couldn’t have kids, but I just assumed. And now this…this baby growing inside me. This child…my child. I’m not ready. Why couldn’t God have waited until I was ready?

How am I going to tell him? How do I let him know that we are about to have a baby? I mean that wicked witch has been putting him through hell about him not seeing the kids, so he has had to stay over there for the past two weekends. His three year-old is not handling this well at all, so they are trying to make it easy on him. I really should wait until he gets here, but I can’t keep this news bottled up inside of me. I want to tell my girlfriends, but I am not ready for the judgments just yet. Well here goes, let me just get this over with and call him. He should be on his way home anyways. We always talk when he gets stuck in the horrendous rush-hour traffic.

I panic as the phone rings…rings…rings…rings. Finally he answers. I lay the news out as gently as possible. I even sound excited, and I don’t think I’m faking. I didn’t catch what he said before we got disconnected, but I’m having a very uneasy feeling about all of this. It’s been over three hours since then, and his phone is going straight to voicemail. His phone must have died. He will call me once it’s charged. I settle in for the night in front of my television and contemplate using a number I found in his phone one night. It said “home”, and it wouldn’t be so horrible for me to call his house, since he has already told his wife and children about us. By the end of next month his divorce will be final. He told me his wife is dating too, so it shouldn’t be a shock for her if I call.

Everything in me is telling me not to make this call, but there is something else telling me I need to make this call…God, intuition…I don’t know, but here it goes. Okay, for the sake of my feelings I shouldn’t have made the call. But I think it was God and intuition that knew I had to hear what I just found out. I’m so alone right now. So alone.

(to be continued)

Leave a comment

Filed under Rushed

December 7, 2007 · 9:06 pm

Rushed: Part I

Rushed: Part I
By: Mia L. Hazlett
12/7/07

Our relationship started with a brief introduction by our mutual friend. My mouth barely turned its corners. His hand gave a weak wave. We walk away. Time passes. A movie reunites us again. With the brush of our shoulders, a connection is made. That look of recognition crosses both of our faces. It’s a full smile I give this time and add a flirtatious giggle. He leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. My girlfriend walks on to the car and I don’t notice him in the company of anyone. He shares a quick joke at the expense of the only commonality between us, our friend. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as he searches for a pen and piece of paper. As if I should be so desperate to receive a phone call, I share my home, cell and work numbers. And from there, forever began.

Days pass and I wonder when or if he will call. There is no possible way he cannot reach me…wait…I should have given him my e-mail. That is the way these days, isn’t it? Well in the interim old can’t be bad, I mean it is familiar. I call my ex and flirt the best I know how. He reads through my effort and tells me he is on his way over. Amen….no batteries tonight. As he leaves I am upset that the batteries didn’t win. I expect my bed to be empty once they have served their purpose. Why did he have to rush home to her? He always spent the night with her when we were together. Pregnant or not, he was my man first.

I reach for my phone at work and don’t recognize the deep smooth tone on the other end. I am ecstatic that he has finally called me. I don’t care what I have to do; I am not going to mess this relationship up. Ahead of myself from a simple little phone call…yeah, maybe. But I can just tell that he is The One. Wait till I tell my girls, they are not going to roll their eyes at this guy. Nope, he is a keeper. I fly home and make four different phone calls with the same story. All my friends sound doubtful, but I won’t let them steal my joy. I’ll prove to them how right he is for me. I know I am only taking this off of one phone call, but sometimes you just know when you’ve met the right one for you…I have never felt this way before. Well at least not lately.

I finish applying my lipstick and take one last look at myself in the mirror. Damn I clean up nice! I squirt a freshening spray of perfume and walk into my living room. I ease into my couch so as not to wrinkle my anywhere black mini dress. My cleavage glistens from my lavender shimmering body lotion. That’s right, I am on fire tonight. I can’t believe it’s me waiting for him; usually I am slipping into my dress as they arrive. Concern sets when I think that he could be lost. And I never even thought to ask him for his number after we made the date. How could I be going out with this man and not have a way to contact him? I bet he is lost. He’s already twenty minutes late. Or what if he forgot? He hasn’t called me in two days. What if he thinks its tomorrow night? Wait…is it tomorrow night and not tonight? Maybe I have the days confused. I could have sworn he said Friday. I need to calm down and just wait. If it gets to be an hour, than it is definitely tomorrow and not tonight.

I startle awake as I almost roll of my couch. The coffee table stables me as I gather my senses. My vision comes in tact and I catch a glimpse of my living room clock and it is going on midnight. I check the caller ID on both my house and cell phone…no calls. How could I get the nights confused? I was all dressed up with no place to go, but now I’m all wrinkled and disheveled. I throw my dress over the back of my chaise in the bedroom and crawl into bed. I feel so ridiculous. I have talked this night up over the past two days to my friends and told them not to call me after seven, because I would be on my hot date. I could dodge them for a day and wait to talk to everyone until Sunday morning. That way I will be able to treat tomorrow night’s date like tonight’s date and they won’t even have to know I screwed the nights up.

No sooner am I asleep, than my phone rings. I fumble with the phone without checking caller ID and hear that sweet voice as I groan out a hello. I muster up as much pride as I can when I hang up the receiver and realize I was stood up. There was no emergency, he didn’t get lost; he fell asleep and woke up a few minutes before the phone call. Sleep doesn’t come easy for the rest of the night. I didn’t have a chance to get his phone number, and notice he is a private caller on my ID. I’m short on tears as I dodge my friends’ calls the next day. We never rescheduled for another date at 2:30 this morning. So I guess that leaves me waiting for another phone call with Mr. Mysterious. I am tempted to call my ex and ask him to come over, but rejection is just not something I can handle right now if he says no. I opt for a bag of chips and a lazy Saturday afternoon cable movie.

I come out of my pity party and call me friends. They tell me not to worry about it. It’s not as though it has been anything more than a few phone conversations. I wear the smile they put on my face throughout the following week. I’ve done a pretty good job with forgetting about The One until….ring. Another date made and here I stand in front of my mirror again with the lipstick and perfume, complimenting myself. The one difference this time, I have his cell phone number. No falling asleep for him. I’m perfectly coiffed, sparkling in all the right places, and ready for my night. After ten minutes on the couch, my anxiety leaves as the doorbell rings. With our first date, forever begins.

Happy, content, fulfilled, whatever word you want to use, that’s how I feel. Four weeks in with my Mr. Right and nothing can take me off my cloud nine. I can actually say the word love this early on. I mean he is just so upfront and honest about everything. I know exactly who I am dealing with and don’t have to spend months falling in love to turn around and have a bombshell dropped on me. I mean long and short he is in the midst of separating from his wife of fifteen years. They have an eighteen year-old son, twin twelve year-old daughters, and a three year-old son. He is just sticking around for the kids right now, but he has already filed the separation papers. My girls are not overjoyed by the situation, but he told me his soon-to-be-ex, is the devil herself. And from the stories, I can see why he is leaving her. I mean if he wants to come home and have dinner on the table waiting, I don’t see a problem with that. She is a stay at home chick; that is her job. But the point is; I know this already. He has been completely forthcoming.

I am going to give him the world once we get a place together. He says once he moves out we will get a bigger place, probably buy a house. We’ve already discussed everything, and I already know I have to put everything in my name because his wife is such a gold-digger. We would lose everything to her…not a chance. She had her chance and lost; now it’s my turn and time to shine. I just wish things would move along more quickly. I am ready for his past to end and for our future to begin.

(to be continued)

Leave a comment

Filed under Rushed

December 5, 2007 · 6:11 pm

Forever Changed

Forever Changed
By: Mia L. Hazlett
12/5/07

You never know when the first day of the rest of your life begins with a person. In fact, it’s not until sixteen years later that you look back on that first day and thank God for His life- changing blessing. It was the day you waited for your entire teenage life…turning eighteen and going off to college. It’s that day when you found yourself wandering aimlessly on a new college campus, like a kindergartner on their first day of school. You smiled back at anyone that showed you some sign of attention, just so you didn’t have to endure the entire experience by yourself. But as they passed you by, you gave up the chance to introduce yourself and embark on a new friendship. You got to the point that you wanted to start crying, because you actually missed your parents and home. You realized that you were out of your safety zone and you wanted to put your security blanket back on.

As you scanned your list of events for the day, a familiar face smiled at you from across the field. Not familiar in the sense you thought you recognized them, but familiar in the sense that you now knew you were not the only black girl again. You returned her smile and welcomed her company as she came to sit down next to you. She introduced herself and gave you a small piece of paper. It had something about “Afro-Am”, but you didn’t want to waste your time reading it and pass up the opportunity of having your first conversation of the day. Two hours in and you hadn’t talked to a single person. You’ve ignored her piece of paper, but she goes on to explain her organization and tell you the meeting time and place. At the end of her sales pitch she bid you a farewell and walked away.

With that brief five minute encounter, God introduced you to your best friend. Because from there, you would end up attending her meeting and becoming part of her organization. You would abuse her open-door policy and begin to share your darkest secrets. You would embrace her with your arms and all your heart and soul as you depart, knowing she is going home to tell her parents she’s pregnant at 21. You would run full sprint up a flight of stairs with her back pack, all in the name of a pregnancy prank. You would impatiently pace the waiting room anxious for the announcement of her firstborn. You would lend her your shoulder as she announces her divorce to you. You would cry with her when she tells you she is going back home to California with the baby. You would celebrate with her when she returns from California baby in tow. She would stand by you as your bridesmaid in your first wedding. She would laugh with you as you both realize she has the peanut butter, you have the jelly, but neither of you have any bread. She lends her shoulder as you announce your divorce. You both celebrate each other as you become adults…she moves away to Texas and you move to Virginia. She supports your pregnancy long distance. You fly to Texas for her second wedding. She understands your paycheck to paycheck struggle with your newborn. She comes to visit you when you move back home to your parents’ house. She gives you a hearty congratulation when you remarry. You are overjoyed at the announcement of her second pregnancy and blessed at the birth of you Godchild. You both offer stability through the stormy years of your marriages. She announces to you that you may be pregnant again and advices you to get a test. You support her decision to end her second marriage and open your home as she looks for homes in your area. You both agree that Texas would be better for her and the kids. You bid her farewell and good luck as she leaves you again. You pray for her as she builds her first home and thank God for her success as she stamps her mark on Corporate America. She pushes and edits your writing as you struggle through the first year with your publishing company.

You look back to the first day with that person and sixteen years later realize who God brought into your life….your guardian angel, your advocate, your biggest fan, your biggest critic, your shoulder, your patience, your conscience, your children’s second mother, your marriage mediator, your doctor, your pastor…all and all your friend and sister. And by this one person being in your life, you have been forever changed.

Leave a comment

Filed under blessings, Forever Changed, friendship, love, sisterhood

October 25, 2007 · 8:06 pm

Shoes

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.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

October 23, 2007 · 2:49 am

That Look

That Look
By: Mia L. Hazlett
Written: 10/22/07

I watched the look of concern sweep across her face as she rushed to be by her lover’s side. She just stood there as if she didn’t even care. Their hands reached out for each other to give them both the sense of security that everything would be alright. I couldn’t even tell if she was touching him or if he even knew she was there. A tear welled in the corner, but was very cautious not to fall. I couldn’t tell if her emotionless expression was to show her strength or to suppress her pain. She caressed his hand to let him know she would not let anything happen to him. How could she just stand there as if nothing had happened?

My fascination with their love was not in their entwined hands, her concerned brow or his instant relief at having her enter the room. It was the look that both of them shared. A look that needed no words. A look that offered comfort in a time of emergency. A look that said, I love you, I love you, I love you….don’t leave me, I need you here by my side. As the nurse forced their departure, that cautious tear finally streamed down her cheek. She let herself look back one more time with that look…that look.

I could tell by her poise, her refusal to look at him, and that he reached for me and not her, that whatever they had was now gone. She offered no love to anyone that came in the room. She stood off to the side allowing people to shuffle through without so much as a glance. I couldn’t tell if he was looking for me or her, but when he called her name, she gave him a look. A look of disgust. A look of why am I even here. A look that said, die, die, just die…I don’t love you or want to be by your side. But as the nurse forced my departure, she gave me that look…that look.

I sat alone in the steel wheeled chair. If not for his brothers, I wouldn’t have been able to take a step. The nonchalant smile of the nurse offered little comfort. His brother’s arms supported me and offered me comfort in my time of need. If only he had come home tonight. If only we had stayed in tonight. We could have talked about our problems and we wouldn’t be here. He would be deep inside me right now and not laying alone. I would tell him that it was going to be alright and we could start over. I could almost feel the rhythmic rocking of his hips, taste his mouth, and feel his breath. But now we may never have that chance. But the reality is I may never touch him again. He may never hold our children again. He may never hold me again. We could lose him forever. I could lose him forever.

How can I go home? How can I go home? What will I tell his family, what will I tell my family, what will I tell our babies; because I don’t know what happened. There is everything there to remind me of him: his clothes carelessly strewn across the floor, our pictures that highlight every room, the smell of him on my sheets. Lord Jesus, give me strength for You are my rock. I want to pray to God to bring him back to me, but then there goes his wife with that look…that look.

That’s right, I’m his wife. I watched her concerned look, their entwined fingers, and that look. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t be; because in the union of he and I, the odd one out was me. In that one moment, I wanted to be her. I wanted that look. I wanted him to know I would make everything alright. I wanted him to see my tears did not have to be cautious. I wanted him to need me there by his side.

His brothers promised to take care of me, but they chose her. In the house of the Lord they smiled at me, but in the streets with the devil they honored her. They left me alone with no ride home. They left me alone and cared for her. They left me alone and didn’t care. But when he asked them to take care of me, that old familiar church smile came back, and they said, “No problem.” But that’s okay; because little did I know He did not leave me alone. He got me a ride home. He took care of me. He carried me through.

That’s right, I’m his mistress. I should be her. I’m the one he really wants to be with. If only she knew who I was, she wouldn’t have so cordially introduced herself and shaken my hand. She would have screamed when I caressed his hands or cried at his relief when I entered the room. She would have crumbled if she knew of our secret love affair. Wouldn’t she? Because no wife would allow the other women to love her husband right in front of her…or would she? Because when she passed me, she gave me that look…that look.

1 Comment

Filed under adultery, betrayal, husband, love, marriage, mistress, wife

October 20, 2007 · 12:26 am

Sorry

Sorry
By: Mia L. Hazlett
Written: 10/19/07

The pain slowly seeps to every pore of my being. I cannot rationalize the words the doctor just spoke. He repeats the word, “sorry” with a gentle touch to my mother’s shoulder. Instinctively she pulls away, only to grab his arm for balance. He guides her to the chair that she had popped out of when she saw him appear from behind the “Employees Only” door. I’m not sure when my tears began, but I taste the familiar salty warmth as I slowly rock back and forth in my husband’s arms.

The funny thing about death, it’s final. Everything you wanted to say to that person dies with them. There is no, “I’ll tell them tomorrow” or “It can wait”, it’s just over. I try to tell myself that he already knew everything I was going to tell him, but I fail at suppressing my guilt. Guilt brought on by my own procrastination and lack of prioritization. Being a hypocrite, for the mere reason I have actually had the nerve to tell people they are not promised tomorrow. And I stand here with the guilt of putting a visit to the hospital off until tomorrow.

I finally collect myself enough to go and comfort my mother. She is rocking back and forth with a low moaning sound escaping her mouth. I can’t even fathom how her world just changed with those two words, “We’re sorry.” Those are words that are suppose to offer comfort, give you a sense of peace. They aren’t supposed to take your husband of fifty-five years away. My light rubbing of her back doesn’t take her out of rhythm, it only ceases her moaning and tears begin to roll down her face.

There are so many thoughts going through my head right now as I scan familiar faces in the waiting room. People trying to offer each other comfort after the morose news. I’m not saddened by my father’s departure. My father is…was…seventy eight years-old, so age compounded with his eight month battle with lung cancer doesn’t take you by surprise. It just hurts to know the only man you have known your entire life is gone. He was the first man in my life to love me unconditionally. The first man to fight for me. The only man that I can say I trust…trusted. And now he is gone.

My mother stands and slides her arm through mine with an unexpected strength. She wipes a strangling tear, smiles at me and tells me to take her home. My husband stays and does all the paperwork and my mother and I enjoy a silent ride home together. I don’t know what memories she is thinking about, but she occasionally lets out a small chuckle. We get home and I walk her into their…her… house. How can she be so strong, I wonder to myself. I straighten up the house and fall asleep on the couch. When I’m sure she is asleep I return to my home and join my husband in bed.

Being an only child, I try to figure out how I am going to take care of my mother. It’s not as though we didn’t help out with my parents occasionally, but they did have each other. But now that she is by herself, maybe she needs to move in with us. I ponder how I am going to ask her the question as I enter her side door. I call out to her and get no response. I tiptoe down the hall because if she is asleep, I don’t want to wake her. I peak through the door and see her tiny form confined to her side of the bed. I try to imagine what her first night alone must have felt like. As I continue to watch her, I notice something is missing: the rise and fall of the bedspread.

This can’t be happening! I rush to my mother’s side and try to stir her to consciousness, but her eyes are already open. She has a slight smirk to her mouth and a peace in her forever stare. I want to cry. But I am overwhelmed by the answer to my question. She couldn’t make it through her first night without my father.

Leave a comment

Filed under death, family, love, parents

October 19, 2007 · 5:11 pm

Precious Glory

Precious Glory
By: Mia L. Hazlett
Written: 4/27/07

It wasn’t her silence or her lifeless eyes that caught my attention. Nor was it her frail skeleton body frozen in the fetal position that tore my heart. It was the absence of her mother that brought me to tears. There were no hands to swat away the flies that danced around her eyes and crept along her weak body. Instead of a nipple leaking milk into her hungry mouth, a faint circle of dirt outlined her lips. Although my boss told me we were there only to take pictures, my God told me He had sent this child as a blessing, if not to her mother, than to this world.

Without taking a picture, I placed my camera on the ground next to the feces of some animal, and walked to the child. I knelt next to the tiny form and swatted away the buzzing insects. I removed my white linen shirt and spread it on the ground next to the tiny baby girl. Risking only disease and my job, I gently picked up God’s blessing and wrapped her in my shirt.

A small noise escaped from her lips and I kissed her forehead and whispered, “You’re welcome.” I’ve never been pregnant or even thought about it for that matter, but I will say I know how a mother feels the first time she holds her baby. I didn’t know how long I would have with this precious glory, but I knew I would not let her go until I absolutely had to.

I took her back to my tent under a small tree on the dead grass. In this third world country, I had no means to feed this child. There were no corner stores with overpriced formula, and I wasn’t at all eager to find the mother who had proven they didn’t want her. I took out a clean cloth from my backpack and soaked it with water. I placed it to her lips and gave a gently squeeze. The water leaked across my fingers and her mouth took on the natural sucking motion of a newborn as it latched onto the drenched cloth.

I don’t know why God brought me to Precious Glory’s side, but I can say she was held, kissed, fed, and loved before she died in my arms later that day.

Leave a comment

Filed under children, death, fiction, love, poverty