magnolia manuscripts is a creative writing blog powered by students and faculty of Pellissippi State Technical Community College. This blog is intended to give students an uncensored voice and an outlet for creative expression. Not everyone who reads our blog will like what is written in each post, but simply put, magnolia manuscripts is what it tis. Please leave a comment and let us know what you think. If you would like to submit some of your own works, please email s_acbeattie@pstcc.edu.
Thanks.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Poems by Amanda Downs
Theme: Children and Parenting
DAUGHTER
I smile inside
When I think of her
Her eyes are the sunshine in my heart
VIRTUOUS
When I was young
She was perfect
Now that I am older
She is no longer flawless
Should I judge?
Yes and no
My children will judge me
I hope they will prove me blessed
MY PSALM
Oh Lord my soul cries out to you
You have saved them in days of old and days of new
Save now me in my time
Lord only you can create light and dark
And separate the two
Separate me from my darkness
You alone are Holy
Rescue me
Revive me
Resurrect me
KENNEDY
Thank you
Her words were honey
The sparkles in her eyes were fireworks
Her hands were not eager
I watched her with admiration
She was genuine
Her innocence pure
My love for her makes me better
DAUGHTER
I smile inside
When I think of her
Her eyes are the sunshine in my heart
VIRTUOUS
When I was young
She was perfect
Now that I am older
She is no longer flawless
Should I judge?
Yes and no
My children will judge me
I hope they will prove me blessed
MY PSALM
Oh Lord my soul cries out to you
You have saved them in days of old and days of new
Save now me in my time
Lord only you can create light and dark
And separate the two
Separate me from my darkness
You alone are Holy
Rescue me
Revive me
Resurrect me
KENNEDY
Thank you
Her words were honey
The sparkles in her eyes were fireworks
Her hands were not eager
I watched her with admiration
She was genuine
Her innocence pure
My love for her makes me better
Monday, August 27, 2007
Fall Semester
Fall classes have started once again at PSTCC. All student writers are welcome to submit their work.
Have a wonderful fall semester
Have a wonderful fall semester
Monday, May 28, 2007
summer school
Hello everyone. I hope everybody is having a great summer. If there are any PSTCC students who would like to post anything to this blog, please send any contributions to s_msjohnson@pstcc.edu
poems, plays, random thoughts, essays, short stories, whatever...
And no, I guess school isn't really out for summer, much less forever. Classes begin today for summer school. Good luck to all involved in that!
poems, plays, random thoughts, essays, short stories, whatever...
And no, I guess school isn't really out for summer, much less forever. Classes begin today for summer school. Good luck to all involved in that!
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
An African Tragedy Part II By Chuck
“Charles, this is Awa, I just came back from The Gambia.”
My heart started racing with excitement, because I just knew that Awa had news for me about her cousin, the one woman in the world that I loved more than life.
“Did you see Fatima?”
“Charles, she’s,” Awa paused for what seemed like an eternity, let out a sigh and said, “Fatima is dead.”
“Dead?” My voice was choking, my eyes filling with tears. I could barely breathe, and the one woman who loved me as much as I loved her was dead.
“What do you mean dead?”
“Charles, you knew she was sick, you knew she would probably never recover from this disease!” Awa’s voice was cracking; the strain of telling me about her beloved cousin was starting to take its toll on her too. Than in a cold voice Awa said, “Safilie is also dead; he died two weeks before Fatima did.”
“I don’t give a damn about her ex-husband. His infidelity is the cause of this; If not for these stupid ancient customs, her husband would not have been able to infect her with HIV. I hope his ass burns in hell.”
My eyes were now blurry, tears streaming down my face, suddenly I exploded and threw the telephone down, and without even thinking, I picked up the lamp that was at my side and threw it against the wall.
“Oh God, why, why Fatima, Lord?” Furniture was flying all through the house; I was in such a state of shock and anger that I did not realize what I was doing. Than as if a switch had clicked in my mind, a sudden sense of calm overcame me. I was looking in the mirror with a chair raised over my head, but my eyes were looking at the picture, the only picture Fatima and I ever took together. It was than I could also hear Awa’s voice screaming through the telephone.
“Charles, Charles, stop talk to me, please.”
“I’m here”, I replied as I held the picture close to my heart.
“I know you two loved each other, and because of the way things were when you met, you could not marry, but. . . “
“Awa, I will call you later,” I retorted as I hung up the receiver.
I was clutching the picture to my body as if I was hugging Fatima, trying not to let her go. I laid on my sofa, tears streaming down my face. I started to think and remember that day that would change my life forever, the day that would bring me so much happiness and at the same time so much sadness and grief. The day I met Fatima.
My daily routine, without fail was to stop at College Store, a local convenience store run by the students of Tennessee College. The school was one of the oldest Historically Black Colleges still in existence, and as part of the students training and work-study program, they worked in the store a few hours a week. Entering the store, I stopped, my heart was pounding, and there behind the counter was the most beautiful African woman I had ever seen before in my life. No, she would never win a beauty contest by any means. She was not beautiful in the way most men would judge her; but her smooth milky chocolate skin, the smile on her face with the pearly white teeth, made her the most beautiful woman in the world to me. As if on cue, she looked up at me and the sun seemed to shine brightly on her face giving her a radiant beauty that astounded me.
“May I help you sir?” I was at a lost for words. “Sir, may I help you with something?”
“No, I mean yes, one coffee, uh, yes, one coffee, light and sweet please.”
In all my days living up north, I was never at a lost for words when it came to the women. I mean this woman had me tongue-tied. I took a deep breath; I was trying to gain my composure.
“Excuse me, my name is Charles. Do you have a husband?”
“No I don’t, I am divorced.”
“I know you must have a boyfriend?”
“No, who wants a divorced African student like me?”
“I do, and if you will have me, I will be your boyfriend.”
My composure was returning. My days of being a ladies man although in the past, I never forgot how to play the game, the game of “macking” women. However, this was not a game, about me trying to conquer a new woman, this was, and I do not know this was something different, very different.
“I don’t even know you.” She replied softly with the most beautiful accent I had ever heard in my life.
“I want to get to know you; can I please have your telephone number?” In fact here is my number.”
“Ok, let me write it down.”
“Great!” I said with a big smile on my face. “What time can I call you?”
“I will be back in my dorm room about 7:30 tonight.”
“Ok, I will call you say at 7:45 tonight. This way it will give you a chance to settle down some. I can’t wait till I talk to you.”
“Okay, I will talk to you. Now that will be $1.75 please!”
“$1.75 to call you?”
“No, $1.75 for your coffee and newspaper!” We both smiled and started laughing as I left her the money and was walking towards the door.
“Wait a minute, I almost forgot. My name is Charles, what’s your name?”
“Fatima, Fatima Dalilah.”
We talked on the telephone for hours. Everyday we grew closer together; it was as if this woman had captured my heart and I loved every moment of it. We finally were able to arrange our schedules where we could have dinner together.
“Do you like seafood?” I asked as I was thinking of the restaurant I had in mind.
“Yes I love seafood”
“Good, I know a nice restaurant that I know you will just love.”
The fanciest seafood restaurant in College Town is the Seafood Inn, not only do they have a great cuisine but it is a classy restaurant, with dim lights, candles on the table and a piano. I was going to sweep this woman off her feet and make her mine. This was the kind of woman I had been searching for my entire life; and now I was going to stake my claim.
Dinner was great! The food as always was exquisite, our conversation although light, was informative and at times witty. Fatima had a sparkle in her eyes as she told me of her childhood growing up in the African country of The Gambia. Her father is the Chief of her village of Kambo North.
The coffee and desserts arrived and I knew this was the time to let her know how I felt. I looked into her deep brown eyes and as I cleared the lump from my throat, I said to her, “Fatima, I really don’t know what is happening here. I do know I have never been this happy my whole life.”
“Really? A man like you that has lived the life you have.”
“Fatima, I would like to have a serious relationship with you. A relationship that could lead to something permanent.”
“You just think you do. Let’s finish our dessert.”
I was crushed; I sat there barely touching the remainder of my dessert. Our eyes barely met during the remainder of the meal. After paying the bill, we headed towards the parking lot. I still could not understand how I could have misread this woman.
In the parking lot, I stopped walking and took her by the hand. Gently pulling her towards me, I lifted her chin up with my hand, looked her in the eyes and said, “I know I love you and I feel you love me too. What’s the problem, why can’t we be together?”
“I do love you, Charles, I love you like no man I have ever known. But . . .” Her voice trailed off as she busted into tears. “. . . you are going to hate me for what I am about to tell you and never want to see me anymore.”
“No I won’t. Talk to me I promise I won’t.” Fatima looked into my eyes as if she was trying to read my mind. I truly believe she could see into my heart and soul and read the love I had for her.
“I am HIV positive.” I pulled Fatima to my body, holding her head against my chest. My mind was racing, my heart was breaking, but not because I knew I could never have a child with this woman, never cements our relationship the way all couples do. I also knew at that moment that I loved this woman with my whole heart and I would not abandon her. She was going to be mine and I hers as long as she wanted me in her life.
“Fatima, I love you and I will not abandon you. Tell me how this happened, please talk to me.”
“I told you that I was divorced.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Eight years ago, when I was sixteen years old, my father made me marry a man that was much older than me.” She stopped and took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “I did not love the man I didn’t even know him. But according to our customs, if a man pays a brides price or what you Americans call a dowry, the woman must obey her father and marry the man.”
“I have read about this practice, but I didn’t know it still went on.”
“It does and I fought my father, but he was adamant that I would obey him and not bring shame upon him or our family.”
“So how did the divorce come about?”
“On our wedding night, I would not let Safilie, that’s my ex-husbands name. I would not let him touch me. He went for my father, and my father beat me and than held me while this man took my virginity.” Fatima but her head down and continued, “I always dreamt of the day that I would give myself to a man that I loved on my wedding night, and because of our culture I was married to a man I did not know or live and my most cherished possession, my body, my virginity was taken from me.”
I looked into her eyes again and said, “Fatima you can tell me anything, tell me it all I am here for you, today, tomorrow, always.”
“In our country a man is allowed to have as many wives that he can afford. I don’t like it, but that is life in my village.”
“I didn’t realize this still went on.”
“Not only did he take three other wives, but he also had many other women that he slept with.”
“I don’t see how he could do this I really don’t”
“Well we had a bad marriage and I would not put up with the outside women in his life. Therefore, there were constant fights and beatings. He would beat me anytime he felt like it.”
I put my arms around her and as the image of this beautiful angel of a woman, being beat crept into my mind, I whispered to her, “I will never ever let anyone hurt you again.”
“Charles I knew I had to get away and I started making my plan.” Fatima than told me how she began to pretend that all was well in her home. She played the good Gambian wife and did not complain. She had even called her best friend and cousin, Awa, who was living in Tennessee.
“So how were you able to leave your husband and get a divorce?”
“After six months of pretending, I asked my husband and father for permission to visit Awa. They both agreed and my husband booked me a roundtrip ticket to come and see her.”
“Just like that, they agreed?”
“Yes, but they did not know I had made plans with Awa to come here and never return.” She than told me of her plan that she and Awa had devised. She was enrolling in Tennessee College and try to pick up the pieces of her life, since, as is the custom in most African cultures the woman are not permitted to obtain a higher education, because her whole life is groomed towards being a wife and mother.
“So how did you find out you are HIV positive?” I was hoping that maybe this was a mistake.
“The college offered free HIV exams and Awa felt that maybe we both should take one.”
“Did they verify it?”
“Yes, and I was prescribed very expensive medicine that my father was paying for but now he tells me I must come home or he will not support me in anyway.”
“How did you get the divorce?”
“My father took care of it, but now he tells me I must come back home and take my rightful place with my husband, as he is also sick. She let out a deep sigh and said, “I miss my country, and I do miss my father regardless of what he made me do.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, I am very confused because I do know that I love you but I also know that we cannot have a life together not with me having this, this curse. It’s not fair to you.”
“Fatima, I love you with all my heart and I will standby your side, this I promise.”
“Thank you, but it is not fair to you. Wait here.” She than turned and ran to the restaurant. Coming out of the restaurant, I could see that she was carrying paper towels from the bathroom. She had wet some of them, soaped them up, she than wiped my face, my hands and than gave me a kiss on my cheek, and said, “I love you and I don’t want to take any chances that you will ever be infected with this curse by me.”
“Baby, I appreciate that but you don’t have to worry about me.”
“No, if you are going to see me, than you will have to take precautions and be careful. Do you understand?”
“Yes and I do love you.”
“And I love you.”
We continued to see each other always taking the necessary precautions to ensure that she did not give me the ‘curse’ as she called it. Even though we could not have a normal relationship, it was the best three months of my life with a woman. Fatima was starting to loose weight and feeling ill. I offered to marry her so that she could be my dependent and my medical insurance would cover her; naturally, she refused, “I do not want to burden you.” No matter how much I protested, Fatima would not relent, she felt that she would be cheating me out of a normal life. Nothing I could say would change her mind, I constantly told her, “When two people love each other and live as one, sex is not that important when they have that love.” She would not budge from her stance.
My brother in New York needed me to come and help him close out our parents’ estate, so I had to leave for a few days. Assuring Fatima I would be back no later than a week, I was off to New York. The ten-hour drive to New York City seemed to be short to be very short, I was reliving the past three months in my mind and the last words Fatima said to me as I left, “I love you Charles, be careful.”
With the family business settled, I made my return trip home. I was so anxious to see Fatima that I left the rental car at Kennedy Airport and took a flight home. I was also a little worried because when I called Fatima, I could not reach her or Awa. When I arrived, I went straight to her house that she now shared with Awa and no one was there. I left a note on the door announcing my return and went home. When I arrived, I could see a note on the coffee table. Fatima had used the key I had given her and to let herself in while I was away. I started reading the letter and my heart was broken:
My Dearest Charles,
I know you will be very hurt by my actions but I have to do what is best. I am dying Charles, and I may not make it. By the time, you read this letter, Awa and I will be in The Gambia. She is escorting me back so that if or when I should die, you do not feel the pain that I know you will feel. It is not fair to you that you take the burden of my burial. I want you to know that I love you very much. You have given me the happiness that I always dreamt about as a young girl and I could not give you the full relationship that I know you deserved.
My love do not feel badly for me and please move on with your life. You will one day find the love from a woman that can be your woman in all ways. I will always love and remember you.
Loving You Forever,
Fatima Jackson
P.S. I always wanted to see what my name would look like if I was your
wife, now I know.
Life was not easy, every waking moment my mind was on Fatima and every night I cried myself to sleep. Than came the phone call that has now killed my spirit and a big part of my life. I always dreamt that somehow, Fatima would be able to if not recover from this horrible disease, she would at least be able to obtain the medicine that would put her into remission and she would come home to me.
Now I must go see Awa and at least give her some comfort because as much as Fatima loved me, she loved Awa too; we both are suffering the lost of Fatima.
My heart started racing with excitement, because I just knew that Awa had news for me about her cousin, the one woman in the world that I loved more than life.
“Did you see Fatima?”
“Charles, she’s,” Awa paused for what seemed like an eternity, let out a sigh and said, “Fatima is dead.”
“Dead?” My voice was choking, my eyes filling with tears. I could barely breathe, and the one woman who loved me as much as I loved her was dead.
“What do you mean dead?”
“Charles, you knew she was sick, you knew she would probably never recover from this disease!” Awa’s voice was cracking; the strain of telling me about her beloved cousin was starting to take its toll on her too. Than in a cold voice Awa said, “Safilie is also dead; he died two weeks before Fatima did.”
“I don’t give a damn about her ex-husband. His infidelity is the cause of this; If not for these stupid ancient customs, her husband would not have been able to infect her with HIV. I hope his ass burns in hell.”
My eyes were now blurry, tears streaming down my face, suddenly I exploded and threw the telephone down, and without even thinking, I picked up the lamp that was at my side and threw it against the wall.
“Oh God, why, why Fatima, Lord?” Furniture was flying all through the house; I was in such a state of shock and anger that I did not realize what I was doing. Than as if a switch had clicked in my mind, a sudden sense of calm overcame me. I was looking in the mirror with a chair raised over my head, but my eyes were looking at the picture, the only picture Fatima and I ever took together. It was than I could also hear Awa’s voice screaming through the telephone.
“Charles, Charles, stop talk to me, please.”
“I’m here”, I replied as I held the picture close to my heart.
“I know you two loved each other, and because of the way things were when you met, you could not marry, but. . . “
“Awa, I will call you later,” I retorted as I hung up the receiver.
I was clutching the picture to my body as if I was hugging Fatima, trying not to let her go. I laid on my sofa, tears streaming down my face. I started to think and remember that day that would change my life forever, the day that would bring me so much happiness and at the same time so much sadness and grief. The day I met Fatima.
My daily routine, without fail was to stop at College Store, a local convenience store run by the students of Tennessee College. The school was one of the oldest Historically Black Colleges still in existence, and as part of the students training and work-study program, they worked in the store a few hours a week. Entering the store, I stopped, my heart was pounding, and there behind the counter was the most beautiful African woman I had ever seen before in my life. No, she would never win a beauty contest by any means. She was not beautiful in the way most men would judge her; but her smooth milky chocolate skin, the smile on her face with the pearly white teeth, made her the most beautiful woman in the world to me. As if on cue, she looked up at me and the sun seemed to shine brightly on her face giving her a radiant beauty that astounded me.
“May I help you sir?” I was at a lost for words. “Sir, may I help you with something?”
“No, I mean yes, one coffee, uh, yes, one coffee, light and sweet please.”
In all my days living up north, I was never at a lost for words when it came to the women. I mean this woman had me tongue-tied. I took a deep breath; I was trying to gain my composure.
“Excuse me, my name is Charles. Do you have a husband?”
“No I don’t, I am divorced.”
“I know you must have a boyfriend?”
“No, who wants a divorced African student like me?”
“I do, and if you will have me, I will be your boyfriend.”
My composure was returning. My days of being a ladies man although in the past, I never forgot how to play the game, the game of “macking” women. However, this was not a game, about me trying to conquer a new woman, this was, and I do not know this was something different, very different.
“I don’t even know you.” She replied softly with the most beautiful accent I had ever heard in my life.
“I want to get to know you; can I please have your telephone number?” In fact here is my number.”
“Ok, let me write it down.”
“Great!” I said with a big smile on my face. “What time can I call you?”
“I will be back in my dorm room about 7:30 tonight.”
“Ok, I will call you say at 7:45 tonight. This way it will give you a chance to settle down some. I can’t wait till I talk to you.”
“Okay, I will talk to you. Now that will be $1.75 please!”
“$1.75 to call you?”
“No, $1.75 for your coffee and newspaper!” We both smiled and started laughing as I left her the money and was walking towards the door.
“Wait a minute, I almost forgot. My name is Charles, what’s your name?”
“Fatima, Fatima Dalilah.”
We talked on the telephone for hours. Everyday we grew closer together; it was as if this woman had captured my heart and I loved every moment of it. We finally were able to arrange our schedules where we could have dinner together.
“Do you like seafood?” I asked as I was thinking of the restaurant I had in mind.
“Yes I love seafood”
“Good, I know a nice restaurant that I know you will just love.”
The fanciest seafood restaurant in College Town is the Seafood Inn, not only do they have a great cuisine but it is a classy restaurant, with dim lights, candles on the table and a piano. I was going to sweep this woman off her feet and make her mine. This was the kind of woman I had been searching for my entire life; and now I was going to stake my claim.
Dinner was great! The food as always was exquisite, our conversation although light, was informative and at times witty. Fatima had a sparkle in her eyes as she told me of her childhood growing up in the African country of The Gambia. Her father is the Chief of her village of Kambo North.
The coffee and desserts arrived and I knew this was the time to let her know how I felt. I looked into her deep brown eyes and as I cleared the lump from my throat, I said to her, “Fatima, I really don’t know what is happening here. I do know I have never been this happy my whole life.”
“Really? A man like you that has lived the life you have.”
“Fatima, I would like to have a serious relationship with you. A relationship that could lead to something permanent.”
“You just think you do. Let’s finish our dessert.”
I was crushed; I sat there barely touching the remainder of my dessert. Our eyes barely met during the remainder of the meal. After paying the bill, we headed towards the parking lot. I still could not understand how I could have misread this woman.
In the parking lot, I stopped walking and took her by the hand. Gently pulling her towards me, I lifted her chin up with my hand, looked her in the eyes and said, “I know I love you and I feel you love me too. What’s the problem, why can’t we be together?”
“I do love you, Charles, I love you like no man I have ever known. But . . .” Her voice trailed off as she busted into tears. “. . . you are going to hate me for what I am about to tell you and never want to see me anymore.”
“No I won’t. Talk to me I promise I won’t.” Fatima looked into my eyes as if she was trying to read my mind. I truly believe she could see into my heart and soul and read the love I had for her.
“I am HIV positive.” I pulled Fatima to my body, holding her head against my chest. My mind was racing, my heart was breaking, but not because I knew I could never have a child with this woman, never cements our relationship the way all couples do. I also knew at that moment that I loved this woman with my whole heart and I would not abandon her. She was going to be mine and I hers as long as she wanted me in her life.
“Fatima, I love you and I will not abandon you. Tell me how this happened, please talk to me.”
“I told you that I was divorced.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Eight years ago, when I was sixteen years old, my father made me marry a man that was much older than me.” She stopped and took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “I did not love the man I didn’t even know him. But according to our customs, if a man pays a brides price or what you Americans call a dowry, the woman must obey her father and marry the man.”
“I have read about this practice, but I didn’t know it still went on.”
“It does and I fought my father, but he was adamant that I would obey him and not bring shame upon him or our family.”
“So how did the divorce come about?”
“On our wedding night, I would not let Safilie, that’s my ex-husbands name. I would not let him touch me. He went for my father, and my father beat me and than held me while this man took my virginity.” Fatima but her head down and continued, “I always dreamt of the day that I would give myself to a man that I loved on my wedding night, and because of our culture I was married to a man I did not know or live and my most cherished possession, my body, my virginity was taken from me.”
I looked into her eyes again and said, “Fatima you can tell me anything, tell me it all I am here for you, today, tomorrow, always.”
“In our country a man is allowed to have as many wives that he can afford. I don’t like it, but that is life in my village.”
“I didn’t realize this still went on.”
“Not only did he take three other wives, but he also had many other women that he slept with.”
“I don’t see how he could do this I really don’t”
“Well we had a bad marriage and I would not put up with the outside women in his life. Therefore, there were constant fights and beatings. He would beat me anytime he felt like it.”
I put my arms around her and as the image of this beautiful angel of a woman, being beat crept into my mind, I whispered to her, “I will never ever let anyone hurt you again.”
“Charles I knew I had to get away and I started making my plan.” Fatima than told me how she began to pretend that all was well in her home. She played the good Gambian wife and did not complain. She had even called her best friend and cousin, Awa, who was living in Tennessee.
“So how were you able to leave your husband and get a divorce?”
“After six months of pretending, I asked my husband and father for permission to visit Awa. They both agreed and my husband booked me a roundtrip ticket to come and see her.”
“Just like that, they agreed?”
“Yes, but they did not know I had made plans with Awa to come here and never return.” She than told me of her plan that she and Awa had devised. She was enrolling in Tennessee College and try to pick up the pieces of her life, since, as is the custom in most African cultures the woman are not permitted to obtain a higher education, because her whole life is groomed towards being a wife and mother.
“So how did you find out you are HIV positive?” I was hoping that maybe this was a mistake.
“The college offered free HIV exams and Awa felt that maybe we both should take one.”
“Did they verify it?”
“Yes, and I was prescribed very expensive medicine that my father was paying for but now he tells me I must come home or he will not support me in anyway.”
“How did you get the divorce?”
“My father took care of it, but now he tells me I must come back home and take my rightful place with my husband, as he is also sick. She let out a deep sigh and said, “I miss my country, and I do miss my father regardless of what he made me do.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, I am very confused because I do know that I love you but I also know that we cannot have a life together not with me having this, this curse. It’s not fair to you.”
“Fatima, I love you with all my heart and I will standby your side, this I promise.”
“Thank you, but it is not fair to you. Wait here.” She than turned and ran to the restaurant. Coming out of the restaurant, I could see that she was carrying paper towels from the bathroom. She had wet some of them, soaped them up, she than wiped my face, my hands and than gave me a kiss on my cheek, and said, “I love you and I don’t want to take any chances that you will ever be infected with this curse by me.”
“Baby, I appreciate that but you don’t have to worry about me.”
“No, if you are going to see me, than you will have to take precautions and be careful. Do you understand?”
“Yes and I do love you.”
“And I love you.”
We continued to see each other always taking the necessary precautions to ensure that she did not give me the ‘curse’ as she called it. Even though we could not have a normal relationship, it was the best three months of my life with a woman. Fatima was starting to loose weight and feeling ill. I offered to marry her so that she could be my dependent and my medical insurance would cover her; naturally, she refused, “I do not want to burden you.” No matter how much I protested, Fatima would not relent, she felt that she would be cheating me out of a normal life. Nothing I could say would change her mind, I constantly told her, “When two people love each other and live as one, sex is not that important when they have that love.” She would not budge from her stance.
My brother in New York needed me to come and help him close out our parents’ estate, so I had to leave for a few days. Assuring Fatima I would be back no later than a week, I was off to New York. The ten-hour drive to New York City seemed to be short to be very short, I was reliving the past three months in my mind and the last words Fatima said to me as I left, “I love you Charles, be careful.”
With the family business settled, I made my return trip home. I was so anxious to see Fatima that I left the rental car at Kennedy Airport and took a flight home. I was also a little worried because when I called Fatima, I could not reach her or Awa. When I arrived, I went straight to her house that she now shared with Awa and no one was there. I left a note on the door announcing my return and went home. When I arrived, I could see a note on the coffee table. Fatima had used the key I had given her and to let herself in while I was away. I started reading the letter and my heart was broken:
My Dearest Charles,
I know you will be very hurt by my actions but I have to do what is best. I am dying Charles, and I may not make it. By the time, you read this letter, Awa and I will be in The Gambia. She is escorting me back so that if or when I should die, you do not feel the pain that I know you will feel. It is not fair to you that you take the burden of my burial. I want you to know that I love you very much. You have given me the happiness that I always dreamt about as a young girl and I could not give you the full relationship that I know you deserved.
My love do not feel badly for me and please move on with your life. You will one day find the love from a woman that can be your woman in all ways. I will always love and remember you.
Loving You Forever,
Fatima Jackson
P.S. I always wanted to see what my name would look like if I was your
wife, now I know.
Life was not easy, every waking moment my mind was on Fatima and every night I cried myself to sleep. Than came the phone call that has now killed my spirit and a big part of my life. I always dreamt that somehow, Fatima would be able to if not recover from this horrible disease, she would at least be able to obtain the medicine that would put her into remission and she would come home to me.
Now I must go see Awa and at least give her some comfort because as much as Fatima loved me, she loved Awa too; we both are suffering the lost of Fatima.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Poems by Tiffany Harris
A Peace Breaker’s Plot
There’s always someone lurking about
Trying to discover what secrets are out.
Not even concerned for her neighbor’s welfare;
But eager to know is there anything to spare.
Is there a drop of wine, a piece of cheesecake,
Perhaps some steak, or some gossip for my plate?
How about some bread or a drink from your fountain?
With just a little bit, she could urn a molehill into a mountain!
Don’t you fret none- your secrets safe with me!
Just give me the biggest apple from your apple tree!
Now leaving full with a wicked grin,
All secrets are out; they were too much to hold in!
If it is peace, my child, that you are pursuing,
Never let you left hand know what your right hand is doing.
Written by,
Tiffany Harris
*This poem, above, was written in Hempstead, New York in 1993. Published once, without pay in a local Bank’s periodical located in Hicksville, New York.
Why Didn’t You Come Home Last Night
Why didn’t you come home last night?
I wondered; I worried were you alright!
Why didn’t you come home last night?
Were you out on the street hustling?
Were you chasing the street lights?
Did you mean to cause me pain?
My heart’s all enflamed!
Tears bursting from my eyes,
The anguish so great now, I wish I could die!
Could it be from the argument we had 3 nights ago?
I said that I forgave you, but you didn’t hear me tho’!
Why didn’t you come home last night?
Had you found love in another one’s eyes?
Were you curious about the woman on the corner?
Her heart filled with lies!
Probably festering with AIDS. What?
That should be no surprise.
Now you can’t come home tonight;
For you have met your plight!
Your things are all packed on the front, under the porch light.
Why didn’t I come home last night?
You may ask yourself.
It doesn’t matter now!
For all I care, you can go to HELL!
Written by Tiffany Harris
*This poem was written in 2006 in Eastside Knoxville, TN
Where I Stand
Where I stand, right now, I feel I stand alone…
Broken down and on my own.
My father, I cannot call for help.
I am 35, I must fend for myself.
My children, they cannot rescue me,
For I am the parent and must provide for their needs.
My husband who is suppose to be my rock,
Has idolized one and cannot stop.
This pain I feel is too great to be
The very essence of what is meant for me!
It’s not the vision that I see!
This just cannot be my destiny.
Yet, I’ve written this check and it has bounced.
And I must pay the penalty. Yes, every ounce.
Written by Tiffany Harris
* This poem was written in Alcoa, TN, in the month of December of 2006 while staying in home for battered women.
Journal Entry on 10/11/06
Today marks a day of pure, raw anger. I am angry with myself for having been fooled, once again, in giving my heart to unworthiness. I was not looking for fault yet it appeared, and appeared once too many. I was willing to sacrifice better judgment, all in the name of love, to hold to what I revered as special and dear. How special and dear can it be if it causes me so much pain? How meant is it, if it is destroying me, my accomplishments, my esteem, little by little like a carver chiseling away at his wooden masterpiece.
Is this truly my destiny? I ask this because this behavioral pattern seems to follow me from relationship to relationship, as if the moment I begin to love, another being, an imp if you will, takes over my loved ones body to break my heart beyond repair. I give so much, but when it seems I need someone, no one is there for me. A life of despair is what mine has been. When will the chain reaction stop?
I must learn to untwine the ropes of love as I have twined them, when I know it is no good for me. Life is love, and life is what you make of it; but is that true for love? You can make love as you will, but it takes two. If the other person isn’t making love with you, you’re in it by yourself. If you’re in it by yourself, cut the rope that ties you to the dead weight so that you can escape drowning. Because, if you know how to swim, you will find yourself in the sea of love again.
Written by Tiffany Harris
*This journal entry was written on the Eastside of Knoxville, TN.
There’s always someone lurking about
Trying to discover what secrets are out.
Not even concerned for her neighbor’s welfare;
But eager to know is there anything to spare.
Is there a drop of wine, a piece of cheesecake,
Perhaps some steak, or some gossip for my plate?
How about some bread or a drink from your fountain?
With just a little bit, she could urn a molehill into a mountain!
Don’t you fret none- your secrets safe with me!
Just give me the biggest apple from your apple tree!
Now leaving full with a wicked grin,
All secrets are out; they were too much to hold in!
If it is peace, my child, that you are pursuing,
Never let you left hand know what your right hand is doing.
Written by,
Tiffany Harris
*This poem, above, was written in Hempstead, New York in 1993. Published once, without pay in a local Bank’s periodical located in Hicksville, New York.
Why Didn’t You Come Home Last Night
Why didn’t you come home last night?
I wondered; I worried were you alright!
Why didn’t you come home last night?
Were you out on the street hustling?
Were you chasing the street lights?
Did you mean to cause me pain?
My heart’s all enflamed!
Tears bursting from my eyes,
The anguish so great now, I wish I could die!
Could it be from the argument we had 3 nights ago?
I said that I forgave you, but you didn’t hear me tho’!
Why didn’t you come home last night?
Had you found love in another one’s eyes?
Were you curious about the woman on the corner?
Her heart filled with lies!
Probably festering with AIDS. What?
That should be no surprise.
Now you can’t come home tonight;
For you have met your plight!
Your things are all packed on the front, under the porch light.
Why didn’t I come home last night?
You may ask yourself.
It doesn’t matter now!
For all I care, you can go to HELL!
Written by Tiffany Harris
*This poem was written in 2006 in Eastside Knoxville, TN
Where I Stand
Where I stand, right now, I feel I stand alone…
Broken down and on my own.
My father, I cannot call for help.
I am 35, I must fend for myself.
My children, they cannot rescue me,
For I am the parent and must provide for their needs.
My husband who is suppose to be my rock,
Has idolized one and cannot stop.
This pain I feel is too great to be
The very essence of what is meant for me!
It’s not the vision that I see!
This just cannot be my destiny.
Yet, I’ve written this check and it has bounced.
And I must pay the penalty. Yes, every ounce.
Written by Tiffany Harris
* This poem was written in Alcoa, TN, in the month of December of 2006 while staying in home for battered women.
Journal Entry on 10/11/06
Today marks a day of pure, raw anger. I am angry with myself for having been fooled, once again, in giving my heart to unworthiness. I was not looking for fault yet it appeared, and appeared once too many. I was willing to sacrifice better judgment, all in the name of love, to hold to what I revered as special and dear. How special and dear can it be if it causes me so much pain? How meant is it, if it is destroying me, my accomplishments, my esteem, little by little like a carver chiseling away at his wooden masterpiece.
Is this truly my destiny? I ask this because this behavioral pattern seems to follow me from relationship to relationship, as if the moment I begin to love, another being, an imp if you will, takes over my loved ones body to break my heart beyond repair. I give so much, but when it seems I need someone, no one is there for me. A life of despair is what mine has been. When will the chain reaction stop?
I must learn to untwine the ropes of love as I have twined them, when I know it is no good for me. Life is love, and life is what you make of it; but is that true for love? You can make love as you will, but it takes two. If the other person isn’t making love with you, you’re in it by yourself. If you’re in it by yourself, cut the rope that ties you to the dead weight so that you can escape drowning. Because, if you know how to swim, you will find yourself in the sea of love again.
Written by Tiffany Harris
*This journal entry was written on the Eastside of Knoxville, TN.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
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