Two Different Worlds

T10626_Jacob_001“I’m thinking of breaking up with Josiah,” Phyllis said to her friend, Veronica when they were having lunch at a cafe close to Veronica’s workplace.

Veronica looked surprised.  “Why?” she asked.  “I thought you were really into him.”

“I am but, I’m not sure where this relationship is going.  We’ve been seeing each other for three and a half years now and I still haven’t met his family.  The last two years when he flew to Seoul for the Christmas holidays, he doesn’t ask me to go with him.  I don’t even know if he’s told them about me.  He met my family in our second year of dating.”

“Yes, he did on Thanksgiving but as I recall, some of your relatives didn’t exactly welcome him with open arms.  Maybe he’s trying to spare you from the same kind of treatment from his family.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” Phyllis asked.

“Yes.  He’s the best thing that has ever happened to you.  Don’t blow it.  Hang unto him.  He’s a keeper.”

Phyllis sighed.  “All right.  I’ll take it one day at a time.  Thanks for being such a terrific friend.”

Veronica smiled.  “You’re welcome.”  She glanced at her watch.  “It’s time for me to head back to the office.”

“Let’s do lunch again soon, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

They split the cheque and parted company.  Phyllis walked back to her office.  She was busy for the rest of the afternoon and was thankful when it was time to go home.

5404faab75c57b2d48d4ae4fbee86294--black-girls-black-womenShe grabbed a hot chocolate on her way to the subway.  On the train ride home she thought about what Veronica said.  Josiah was a really special guy who treated her like a queen.  He liked to buy her gifts, take her places and cook dinner for her.  Tonight, she was going over to his place for another romantic, home cooked dinner.  She was really looking forward to the dinner and spending the weekend with him.  She couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face when she wore her new negligee.  I probably wouldn’t be wearing it for long, she mused.  Yes, I would be a fool to break up with him.  When the time is right, I will meet his family.

When she got home, she checked her messages and then took a long, hot shower before she got dressed, grabbed her overnight bag, handbag and left.

“Something smells really, really good,” she remarked as soon as she entered the apartment.”

“It’s Popcorn chicken with basil.”

“Hmmm.  My mouth’s watering just thinking about it.”

He smiled as he helped her to remove her coat.  After he put it away in the closet, he took her in his arms and kissed her.  “I’ve been looking forward to doing that all day,” he said when he raised his head several minutes later.

Phyllis could hardly breathe.  “You have?” she gasped.

“Yes and I want to kiss you again but if I do, it will lead to other things and the dinner will get cold.”  Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back.

“Why-why don’t I go and freshen up in the meantime?”

“Good idea.  Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

She took up her overnight bag and headed for the bedroom.

A few minutes later, they were sitting at the candlelit table, having dinner.  In the background, classical music was playing.  “This is so good,” she exclaimed after she finished her first mouthful of the food.

“Thank you.”

“You’re such an amazing cook.”

“Cooking is something I really enjoy doing.  Before I became a Marketing and Sales Manager, I wanted to be a chef.  After I left university, I went to a culinary school in Paris.  It was a fantastic experience.”

“Why didn’t you become a chef?”

“As much as I loved it, I realized after a while that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life working in a kitchen.  So, I decided that I would open my own restaurant and hire a guy who went to the same culinary school as the chef.”

“I’m glad you did.  We met at your restaurant.  One of my girlfriends was celebrating her fortieth birthday and we wanted to take her to the best restaurant in Soho.”

“Yes, I remember that night as if it happened today.  When I came out to greet and chat with the diners, I saw the staff gathered around your table singing happy birthday.  I came over and my eyes fell on you.  I barely acknowledged who else was at the table.”

“I couldn’t believe that you were the owner.  You looked so young.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to go out with me at first?”

“Well, I’ve never dated a younger man before and…”

“and one who’s from a different culture.”

“Yes, but then, I was so attracted to you that after a while, I had to stop making stupid excuses not to go out with you.”

“And here we are three and a half years later.”

She smiled.  “Yes.”  If she had followed her mind instead of her heart, she wouldn’t be here now enjoying a romantic dinner with him.

“I spoke to my parents this morning,” he said as they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher.

“Oh.  How are they?”

“They’re doing well.  I’m planning to visit them in July.”

“Oh.  I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

“They’re looking forward to meeting you.”

She almost dropped a glass.  “They know about me?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, they do.  I wanted to take you to Seoul to meet them but my grandmother was living with them and she wouldn’t have approved of us.  I wanted to spare you that.  While I was there and when she wasn’t around, I told my parents about you and even showed them pictures.  I hated spending Christmas without you and I promised myself that I would never do it again.  My grandmother died a couple of days after I left.  I couldn’t go to the funeral because of the short notice and I had already been away from the restaurant for a while.  My parents understood.”

“I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

“Me too.  I wish she could have known you and accepted you.”

“I’ve met people like your grandmother.  They don’t see past color or culture.”

“My mother had to deal with the same thing because she’s British.  My grandmother wanted my father to marry a Korean girl and was furious when he didn’t.  She refused to attend the wedding and stopped talking to my grandfather for months because he did.  I’m surprised that she didn’t shun me because I was Eurasian but she said that I looked more Korean because my Korean blood was stronger than my English blood.”

Phyllis shook her head.  “It’s sad that this sort of thing still happens in families.”

“Yes it is,” he agreed. “But let’s not talk about it anymore.  The important thing is that we are together.”

“Yes.  And we have our parents’ approval.”

“And even if we didn’t, it wouldn’t matter.”

They left the kitchen and the dishwasher going and went into living-room where they spent the evening talking and planning their trip to Seoul.  It was close to mid-night when they decided to turn in.  While he undressed in the room, she was putting on her negligee in the bathroom, her heart pounding with excitement and anticipation.  When she finally emerged, he was standing beside the window, wearing only his pajama pants.  He turned when he heard her and his eyes traveled over her.  She knew that the negligee looked great on her.  Its muted red shade flattered her coloring and the fine silk hugged her body in all the right places.

In a matter of seconds, she was in his arms and he was kissing her ravenously.  She clung to him as she returned his kisses.  They stood there kissing wildly and then he drew back, his chest heaving and pulled the negligee over her head.  She was naked.  Then, his hands and lips were all over her, making her head swim as ripples of indescribable pleasure spread through her body.  Then, he was backing her over to the bed until she was lying on top.  His heated gaze ran over her as he ripped off his pajama pants.  She reached eagerly for him and their lips met as their bodies merged.

In between kisses, he murmured, “I love you.”

When he buried his face in her neck, she whispered, “I love you.”

Before they went to Seoul in July, they got engaged and in the spring of following year they got married when his parents visited New York for the first time.  In June, at the age of 40, Phyllis gave birth to their first child, a healthy boy whom they named after her father who passed away just a couple of weeks before.  The second boy was named after Josiah’s father.

Two different worlds collided and became one. 

A Drug Habit

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

I really didn’t think he meant it this time.  Whenever he broke up with me, he always came back.  He once said that I was like a drug habit he couldn’t kick and that made me feel good because it meant that he needed me.

His family and friends never approved of me. They said that I was toxic for him.  They wanted him to dump me.  He tried to countless times but always came back.  This time when he didn’t, I went to the deli where he worked and met his fiancée.

He’d gotten me out of his system.

 

100 Words

 

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Another Bad Day

Dear Diary,

I had another BAD day today.  Mom and I got into another one of our huge arguments.  She’s always finding fault with me.  I just can’t seem to do anything right.  I’m sick and tired of this.  Sometimes, I wish I could run away but where would I go?  I can’t stay at my father’s place.  I don’t like his new wife.  She’s young enough to be my older sister.  She’s so fake.  Always acting all nice when he’s around but the minute he’s not there, it’s like dealing with Cruella de Vil.  I can’t go to Sean’s house.  His parents would have a conniption.  They don’t know that we’re sexually active.  We have been very careful.

So, as I was telling you, Mom and I had an argument this morning.  Today it was how I didn’t do a good job washing the dishes.  I mean, really?  Why did I even need to wash them when we have the dishwasher?  Yesterday, it was my room.  Apparently, I didn’t do a good job cleaning it.  Isn’t that what she is supposed to do, being a housewife and all?  The day before, it was the rice.  It got burned.  I was in my room texting my friend, Millie.  But still, how was any of this my fault?  Mom’s the one who’s supposed to do the cooking, not me.

I got grounded and my cell was confiscated for a whole month because of the rice incident.  Can you believe that?  It’s just so unfair.  She’s always criticizing everything I do but doesn’t say anything to either of my brothers who get with murder (I don’t mean they literally murder anyone, of course.  It’s just a figure of speech).  They hardly get grounded or have their privileges taken away.  It’s painfully obvious that Mom favors them over me.  That’s fine with me.  I don’t want her favor anyway.  I just want her to be fair, that’s all.

Yes, life here is hard for a seventeen year old girl.  Can’t wait until I turn twenty-one and can move out.  Until then, though, I have to deal with Mom.

Well, that’s my rant for today.  Until tomorrow, ciao for now.

Anabela

This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for Tuesday which is Fault. For more information, click HERE.

Mother Arguing With Daughter Over Use Of Mobile Phone

 

One of These Days…

I am sitting in front of the mirror.  A bruised face with haunted eyes are looking back at me.  The cut on my temple needed stitches.  I used to be a nurse before I got married.  I pick up the threaded needle and proceed to sew the cut.  I bite down on my lip at the pain but I won’t stop until it’s done.

I examine my handiwork.  It looks a bit crude but it will do.  I didn’t want to go to the hospital because I would have to explain the bruises on my face and hands.  No, it was better to do this myself.

I sit there staring at myself for a while longer, watching the tears, silent and unabated run down my cheeks.  What have I done to make him hate me so?  It has to be hate.  No man would hit a woman he loves.  I have been a good wife to him.  When he wanted me to give up my job at the hospital, I did so without any argument.  I take care of him, our home, do the laundry, cook the meals and everything else.  I don’t complain even though I am bone tired by the end of the day.  I make sure that his food is piping hot and ready when he comes home.  I don’t resist when he wants us to make love even though I’m not in the mood.

Yes, I have been a good wife to him.  Why then, does he hate me?  Why does he get angry for no reason and hit me?  In the past, when he hit me, he used to be sorry right after and beg me to forgive him.  Then, the beatings became more frequent and the apologies were less until they were no longer expressed.

Once he threatened to kill me if I left him.  So, I stay not out of love but out of fear.  How much longer could I live this nightmare?  How many more blows and insults can I take before I decide that leaving him is worth the risk?

I place my finger on my lips to silence the voice screaming inside me.  I am afraid of what would happen if I were to unleash it.  I have been living with an abusive husband and suffering in silence for six years.  I was beaten during pregnancy and suffered a miscarriage as a result.  I can’t have children because of the damage that was done.  My mother knew about it but still she insisted that I stay with Anil.  “A woman’s place is with her husband.  It’s against our religion for you to leave Anil and you will only bring shame to our family.”  She even made me think that it was my fault that Anil was beating me.  “He’s a good man.  You must be doing something to make him so angry that he beats you.”

So, I listened to her and I stayed.  I didn’t want to bring shame to our family.  That was two years ago.  One of these days, though, I am going to leave Anil and I don’t care if that brings shame to my family.  I don’t owe them anything.  They don’t care about me so why should I care about them?

I make a solemn promise to myself now on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, that one of these days, I will walk out of here and never look back.

Leaving an abusive marriage/relationship isn’t as cut and dry as many of us believe.  Women remain in these situations for various reasons–self-blame; damaged self-worth; fear; the desire to change the abuser; the children’s safety; family expectations and experiences; financial limitations and isolation.  Some women eventually leave while, sadly, others don’t.

This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for Monday which is Needle. For more information, click HERE.

 

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Source:  Institute for Family Studies

Weekend Writing Prompt #94

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Her vision was slowly fading.  Things were becoming indistinct. Yet, she could still find many reasons to smile.

18 Words

Beautiful Portrait Of An Elder Woman Outdoors

This is for the Weekend Writing Prompt by Sammi Cox. For instructions, click HERE.

Rashida’s World/Timeless #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

 

She ran to the stone.  It was her escape from her world.  She always made sure she was alone before she clung to its sides, said the words and was transported to another world—a world where slavery didn’t exist.  One of these days, she would remain there and never return to her life as a slave.

The coast was clear.  She held on to the sides, recited the words and poof…she was gone.

When she reached the other side, it was in a wide, open field with wild flowers, their sweet scent filling her senses.  She laughed and ran among them, stopping to pick some until she had a bouquet.  She twirled around like a ballerina, her long skirt bustling about her ankles, the sunshine warming her face.  Giddy, she dropped to the ground.  She lay on her back in the emerald green grass, staring up at the sky.  Yes, one of these days, she was going to leave her other life for good.

Suddenly a figure materialized in front of her.  She sat up, shocked and afraid.  “What-what are you doing here?” she asked.  How on earth did he get here and how come she didn’t see him.  She was positive that she was alone.

“I followed you,” he informed her, his blue eyes narrowing as they traveled over her.  He reached down to help her up but she pushed his hands away.

She scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding.  This was all wrong, she thought in desperation.  He wasn’t supposed to be here.  “You don’t belong here,” she told him.  “In this world there’s no hate or whippings or slave or master…”

“That kind of world doesn’t exist,” was his harsh reply.  “It only exists in your pretty little head.  And no world can keep me from finding you.  Face it, Rashida, there’s no escape from me.  You belong to me.  The sooner you accept that, the better it will be for you.”

“No!” she cried.  “I belong to no one, especially not to you.  I hate you.  You are a wicked and cruel man.  I would rather die than be with you.”

His face hardened and reaching out, he caught hold of her wrist, his grip tightening as she struggled.  “You belong to me.  I bought you.”

“I don’t belong to you.  I belong to God.  He bought me at a price that you could never afford.”

His face suffused with color.  “I don’t want to hear any preaching from you, girl.  You’re coming back to the plantation with me now.”

“No!”  She managed to free herself from him and gathering up her skirt, she ran as fast as she could across the field.  She didn’t stop running until she was sure that he wasn’t following her.  Exhausted from running, she leaned against a tree to catch her breath.

She couldn’t go back to her old world but she couldn’t stay in this one either.  He knew where to find her.  There seemed to be no escape from him.  She meant it.  She would rather die than be with him.  She couldn’t bear the thought of him touching and kissing her.  It filled her with disgust.  Disgust at herself for wanting the man she despised.  Even as she hated when he went in onto her in the nights when everyone was asleep, she didn’t lie there like a log, wishing for it to be over.  She clung to him and gave herself to him.  In the mornings, she was filled with self-recrimination.

There was only one way out of this dreadful situation but she was a Christian.  If she took her life, she would end up in Hell. The thought of burning forever terrified her.  Dejected, she knew what she had to do.  Moving away from the tree, she returned to where she’d left him.  He was still there.  “I knew you’d come back,” he said smugly.  “You can’t run away from me, Rashida.  You belong at the plantation with me.  I’ve been good to you, haven’t I?  It was I who taught you how to read and write.”

She didn’t answer.  She let him put his arm around her shoulders and take her back to the other world where the plantation was.  Her dream of leaving it was now in vain.  She resigned herself to life as his slave and concubine.

The stone remained there, timeless and neglected.  She never went near it again.  It was pointless.

 

 

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Timeless at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

The Roses

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“So, who gave you these roses?” Darla asked her friend, Shauna.

Shauna froze. She’d forgotten to hide them. She always did whenever Darla came over.

“My mother did,” she lied.

Darla examined them closely. “They look like real roses with gold edges.” She touched each one. “They’re made out of glass!”

“It’s getting late.”

“You’re right. Michael’s probably home by now.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

As soon as she was gone, Shauna called Michael. “She just left.”

“I’m on my way.”

“She saw the roses and asked who gave them to me.”

“What did you say?”

“That they’re from my mother.”

“Good.”

 

100 Words

 

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

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