Tag Archives: Mia L Hazlett

BFF: IX

By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/13/13

“Could you please just answer my question?  Do you believe in God?  Better yet, are you a Christian?”  Her avoidance was beginning to irritate me. A simple yes or no is all I needed to hear and we could move on.

“Honestly Mrs. Devins that is a very personal question which is irrelevant to our discussion.  I would really like to stay on track about your treatment,” the doctor shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

It amazed me she found my questions personal.  Over the past three weeks, we had shared the most intimate conversations about every aspect of not only my medical history, but of every woman in my family.  Every private detail about the current state of my body was spelled out in the little labeled manila folder she kept glancing at before she would ask me very “personal” questions.

She just didn’t get it.  I needed to be reassured that she didn’t think she was God.  I needed her to know that I wasn’t leaving my life in her hands, but I was praying to God to deliver an optimal outcome.  God was a huge part of my life and now I was supposed to put Him on the back burner to make sure she felt comfortable.  She looked at this as “treatment”, I perceived this “discussion” as my life.  My cancer treatment would alter my life forever.

I wasn’t requesting her to go through this treatment with me.  I’m not some religious zealot that was going to deny medical treatment and rely completely on prayer.  I just needed to know that through however long this treatment was going to take, she would respect my prayers to take precedent over medicine when I needed it to.

The point is, I’m scared.  I don’t know the outcome of all of this and neither does she. If it’s God’s will to take me home, I have to accept it somehow.  These are the conversations I’ve been having with Him since I was diagnosed.  Anger creeps in every now and again, but for the most part, I must remain faithful that He is in control.  So as irrelevant as she may find my simple question, she needs to understand she’s not in control.  She can squirm and shift all she wants in that chair, but I’m not leaving here without a yes or no.

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Filed under BFF, blessings, cancer, Christ, Christian, fear, fiction, friends, God, illness, Uncategorized, woman

Macy VIII

By: Mia Hazlett
4/11/13

My grandmother’s past was becoming my present. I wanted to consume every letter at once as though they were an enticing book, but each letter set heaviness in my heart with each word. It was only curiosity to get to know whom my grandmother was, which pushed me to finish each sentence.

Now I sat in front of her fifth envelope. It’s funny when someone is given so much power in a family, you just believe in their greatness, whether you like them or not. Glancing over her barely legible four letters I had read, I realized my grandmother’s weakness, her education. It never occurred to me she lacked an education. But maybe that is what made the letters so heart wrenching to read. She was so desperate to tell her story but she barely knew the words to express her years of misery.

Wen you wit a babee in you, boy you don’t feel reel nise. You don’t feel nise a tall. Macy, I dun hated dat der babee in me cuz my momma hated me cuz a dat babee in me. Wazn’t nuttin I cud do rite. She jus hated me.

But she dun luvved me sister. Me sister she wuznt like me. Well she didnt look like me. She wuz reel reel witelike. She cudda dun passd fur a wite persun if she want. But jus cuz moma dun hated me, me sister she tuk care ov me reel well. You see she dun new wut had happened in dem woods wit dem boyz dat dun killed our bruthers. She dun got da wurse of wut dem boyz did. Doctur dun sed she wud never have no babees. It wuz weeks befur she cud even walk after it dun happend.

But it don’t matter nun. I iz gonna hav me a babee and my sister, she reel happee fur me, even tho my moma want us to die. Yup, my moma told me she hope us both die fo we bring hur mo bad luk. She don’t want no darkee babee in hur house. She sed I wuz a bad gurl and it wuz my falt that boy dun dis wit me. I wuz alwayz wearin dem tite cloze round him.

Macy, when yur own moma hate you dat much, you lern to hate yurself too. And when you iz only but 12 yeerz old all you want iz yur moma to luv you. So 1 day I dun take a big rock and put it on da ground and dun fell belly furst on it. I dun nocked da air right out ov myself. It dun hurt reel bad. Sister came reel fast, but befor she culd stop me, I dun catched my breath and did it another. Dis 1 hurt me somethin reel bad and I woke up in the house with the docter man there.

Moma dun stud in da door and she dun hated me. I cud see it in her eyez. She dun hated me somthin bad. To dis day Macy I don’t no why. I dun killd my baby so we won’t bring hur no bad luck. Yes Macy, I dun killd my baby fur my moma and she still hated me.

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Filed under daughters, death, fiction, Macy, racism, sisterhood

In My Head – Part II

By: Mia Hazlett
4/11/13

Dear Diary,

I haven’t seen my dad in two weeks.  I think my parents are going to get a divorce.  My friend Sara at school and another boy Philip, their parents are divorced.  I know a whole bunch of other kids whose parents never even got married.

I miss my dad.  I wish he was here or that I could just see him.  He called a couple of times, but that’s not the same.  He says he and my mommy are just taking a little break right now.  I guess kinda like me and my friend Sara got in a fight that one time and we didn’t talk to each other for three whole days.  We didn’t even sit with each other at lunch or on the bus.  That was the worst fight in the whole world.

But this is worse than three days.  It has been two weeks and one day.  I’ve been marking it on my calendar.  I heard my mother on the phone the other day saying she was so happy he was gone.  I don’t want her to be happy he’s gone.  I want her to miss him like I do.  If she doesn’t miss him than he won’t come back and live with us or maybe to even see us.

I heard my mother praying the other night for peace.  I don’t know what that means, but she sure has been happy.  She was in the kitchen the other day making dinner and she was singing and dancing.  A long time ago before my sister was born, she used to do that when she was cooking, but I haven’t seen her like that in like forever.

Then the other night, we stayed up until like 11 watching a movie.  She made us popcorn and not even the whole night did she talk on her phone.  Not once.  Not even to text.  But when she went to the bathroom I looked at her phone.  It was Daddy saying he was sorry and he loved her.

I hope she wrote him back later.  I mean he was saying sorry.  You’re supposed to make everything ok if someone says they are sorry.  But I don’t know if I want her to be sad again.  It has been really fun doing stuff with my mom since she’s been happy.  I just wish I could see my dad too.

From – Me

© Copyright 2013, Mia L. Hazlett

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Filed under children, daughters, divorce, family, fiction, In My Head, marriage, parents

Monster VIII

By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/20/13

“AAAAHHH,” I screamed in pain as Footsteps dragged me to a standing position.

My friend, Syringe, hadn’t come to visit me in…well…long enough for me to be in pain for hours…days…weeks…
Ever since I had come to this dreaded dungeon of horror, standing had not happened. I hadn’t thought about my legs, never mind using them. As he held me upright, I realized my ankles were not the only things Syringe was nursing. There were constant darting pains in my back. I had expected pure waste to engulf my nakedness, but my vertical stance proved me wrong. At some point, someone had washed me.

Footsteps let go of me, which sent me crashing to the floor. My legs had forgotten their function. They had not had to support me since I came here. “UP!” he shouted at me. “UP!” with a quick snatch of my arm I was upright. I wobbled under the excruciating pain. “WALK!” he shouted at me again. His insanity was maddening. Although there was no longer swelling in my ankles, their obvious purple hue should have told their own story. “WALK!” He grabbed my wrists and pulled me towards him, forcing my wrenching first steps. “AAAAHHH!” I screamed with my second.

Maniacal appeared behind Footsteps, “There you go. You didn’t think we brought you here to rot away did you? You have to get those legs of yours nice and strong again. You have a lot of work to do. You were a bad girl and now you have to make right.”

He turned me around and tore something from my back. “Ah, your sores have healed nicely. How are those ribs of yours?” He came inches from my face, “You’re mine. Don’t get any ideas. I own you for the rest of your life. You do anything I don’t like, well, then you’re his,” he turned to a smiling Footsteps who placed his hand down his pants.

They left and I collapsed to the floor. I dragged myself to the wiry cot and I heard Hope again. “Hello. Hello. Is anyone there?” It was almost a whisper, but so crystal clear. “I know you’re here. I hear you cry out at night. Where are you?”

“I..I..I’m here. I just don’t know where here is. Or where your ‘here’ is. Who are you? I think I heard you say my name the last time. Do you know where we are?” I didn’t want to stop talking to Hope. I didn’t want Hope to leave me again.

“They’re coming. I hear them. Whatever you do, don’t tell them anything. They don’t know anything. Remember that. They know nothing. But we know everything.” Hope disappeared to the sound of Footsteps returning.

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Filed under fear, fiction, horror, Monster, violence

Macy VII

By: Mia L. Hazlett

5/14/2012

Work was absolutely impossible.  Knowing I had a box full of my ancestry waiting at home made me appreciate the long weekend that was now upon me.  I had told my friends I was going away for the weekend, so I could have uninterrupted alone time with my grandmother.  Dead or not, this was the closest we had ever been.  I needed to hear her story.  I wanted to understand why she spent my lifetime showing her love for me through hate.

There was an inner conflict warring inside me at the same time.  Should I include my mother in unraveling the mystery of her mother?  We both knew who she was, but I guess in life it means a whole lot more to find out why people are the way they are.  But because I was only a few letters in, I decided to wait on sharing with my mother.  I felt a need to protect her, just as she had spent her life protecting me as best she could.  There was a part of me that felt as though my grandmother was apologizing to my mother through me.  She knew I told my mother everything,  Maybe she wrote these letters to my mother so I would tell her, rather than for her to have to read them by herself.  Because if my mother had received them, she would never share any of these with anyone.

I usually have my bottle of Riesling and a good book as I cozy under my sheets on a Friday night.  But wine didn’t compliment the mood to the #4 envelope that sat next to my pillow.  I opted for a cup of decaf coffee.

Well Macy,

Even dough Mz Suzana dun luvd me and Moma, we dun stoped wurkin’ fo her not to much aftr dat der lunch.  Sho was sad fo me and Mz Mary.  Sho was sad.  Wuznt jus bout money now and eatin.  It wuz jus hard to find good white folk to wurk fo bak den.  Moma didn’t want wurk fo nobody dat had manee boyz.  ‘Cuz aftr skool I wood come on and meet her at her job.  Even dough I wuz yung, she dun sed my bodee parts wur reel ladeelike. We dun had us good luk wit Mz Suzana, but not manee wite ladeez wuz like her.  Lots ov dem dun hated culurzds. Don’t reelee no how it wuz dat Mz Suzana culd say stuff to her son, cuz most timez da white women culd not say nuttin in her house.  So Moma wuz scurd a boy or da man in da house wood want to touch my bodee.  After wut Mz. Suzanaz boy dun did to me, I didnt never want no boy on top me like dat again.  

Moma dun found uz a house wit a reel mean ole ladee, but she wuz alwayz in her room.  Her dotter wuz sumpin reel nice Macy.  Sumpin reel nice.  I dun liked Mz. Bell reel good.  She pay Moma eight moneez a week Macy.  We ain’t dun never made dat type der money.  Mz. Suzana onlee pay Moma five moneez a week and gave us food and da clothes, but now Mz Bell do dat and mo moneez.  Mz Bell have hurself two sonz.  They wuz like da sun an da dark.  Now here me Macy.  HERE ME REEL GOOD.  I never dun looked any ov doze boyz in der faces or eyez, but they dun said I did.  

I dun walkd to go meet Moma one day after school.  Dats wut I wuz suppozed to do.  Meet moma at Mz Bells house.  I wood do a da sweepin dat needed to be dun.  When I dun got der I walked round da house to da back.  Now my clothez wuz still small cuz Mz Mary wuz much biger than me.  But I wuz a bit biger than Mz Bell.  Dats da clothez I wuz gettin.  Mz Bells old old clothz.  Mama sed to preciate all we got an wear dem if I wuz gonna be der.  Her shirt fit me reel tight cross my growin’ chest.  Moma sed my bodee parts wuz growin sumpin wild.  I wuz jus reel quiet when she wood talk like dat.  I dun come round dat house and Mz Bells bad son wuz sitin’ on a stump with a long twig in hiz hand.  He looked at me sumpin rong Macy.  He looked sumpin rong.  I jus went to da back door and der wuzn’t no way da door wood open.  He started laffin’ sumpin rong.  He told me wuzn’t no one home.  

I dun turned to walk down da path I had come round to, but he wuz in my way.  He got reel close like to me and sed he dun seen me lookin’ at him.  I told him I hadn’t been lookin’ at nobuddy.  He dun slapped me sumpin’ hard in my face for sassin him.  Dats wut he sed Macy, I dun sassed him.  He took dat twig and dun poked my chest.  He kept on pokin and tole me to take my shirt off.  I dun sed no.  I new wut he wuz gonna do.  But Macy wuznt no boy gonna be on top me like Mz Suzanas son gain.  Not never.  He dun push me and wit all my power, I dun push dat boy rite on back to the ground.  Den I dun run round dat house and he dun cot up wit me and grabbed and ripped my shirt clear off.  I didn’t have no things on under it, so chest wuz showin’.  Moma told me only my husband wuz suppoze to see me like dat.  But I didn’t care.  I kept runnin’.  

I felt him grab my sholeder and push me.  I don’t know wut hapend, cuz I woke up in Mz Bellz house in da back room on a cot.  My hed dun hurt sumpin’ awful and I wuz lookin’ at Mz Bellz mean moma.  I think she wuz happy wuzn’t dead cause she started prayin sumpin.  Mz Bell came runin on nex to her moma an den I saw Moma.  She was cryin’ wen she dun grabbed and hugged me sumpin tite.  It wuz a bit odd cuz Mz Bellz mean moma wuz bein reel nise to me and rubbin my hed. 

Afder dat der day, I wuznt loud to go round der no more.  Mz Bell dun taked cared ov uz reel nise, but hur moma wuz reel meen like.  She dun hated uz.  I never did see dat son ov herz again.  Sed he went to liv wit sum hiz momas people dat lived sumwhere in a difrent state.  To munts later, my Moma told me why.  She dun told me everything dat dun happend dat day wit Mz Bellz son.  Don’t member much bout da storee, but I new my bodee parts done got me to have a babee inside me.  Yes Macy.  Dat is why Mz Bellz son had to go far away.  He dun gave me a babee dat der day wen I dun hit me hed.

 

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