Shattered Dreams: A Short Story by Tyora Moody (excerpt)

The full short story can be downloaded on the Kindle or Nook.

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Can a sistah get a break? Despite it being early September, I was already feeling the strain of the school year.  I could've blamed the ole humid Carolina weather for dragging me down, but weariness had descended on me that really had nothing to do with a new school year.  After eight hours of dealing with eighth graders, I wanted to put my feet up for the night, but I knew that wasn't going to happen.  I walked into the house, dropped my work bag on the couch in the living room and headed straight to my favorite part of the house—the kitchen.

Tired wouldn't begin to describe how I felt, but the one thing that lifted my spirits was a good meal.  I laughed out loud. "Pleasing Eugeena's taste buds. Lord, that's all I seem to find a bit of joy in these days."  The humor of my statement fell flat to my ears. My choice of pleasure had wreaked havoc on my body.  Old habits were hard to break. Food was a comfort. I used food to bind my family as close as I could and to fulfill my needs.

Our home no longer had two hungry boys. Both were now grown men, one in Atlanta and the other in Charlotte with his own family. I only had to prepare a meal for my husband, Ralph, and daughter, Leesa.  Most days we barely said a word to each other—forget about sitting at the table together.  To keep some sense of normalcy, I planned meals anyway.

Right then, my thirst needed to be quenched. I opened a cabinet and chose a tall glass. Inside the fridge, I reached for a pitcher, not really caring about ice. I poured the iced tea into the glass and then greedily sucked it down. Just as I tried to place the pitcher back in the fridge, a scream from upstairs jolted my aching body. The pitcher of tea slipped from my hand, crashing to the floor. I looked down in horror at the shards of glass and liquid creeping across the linoleum.

How often had I yelled at the children to be careful about handling that same pitcher? It was so old I usually just let it catch dust in the cabinet. The last piece from a wedding gift. All the glasses included with the set had long been broken.

"Mama!"  My daughter yelled my name and then produced another ear-piercing scream.

I turned away from the mess and pushed the kitchen door open. "Leesa, what's going on with you?" Baby girl was the drama queen of the house, but I'd never known her to scream before.  From the time she came into this world, whether it was a scrape on the knee, a lost doll or a bad hair day, the whole house suffered.

I ran out of the kitchen toward the stairs that led to the second floor bedrooms. I could hear Leesa moaning as I sprinted up the stairs.  Well, I wouldn't call it a sprint so much. More like a fast shuffle. The stairs creaked under my feet. My bones not only ached, but extra weight over the years had started to give me knee problems.

Leesa's bedroom door stood wide open, which was unusual. The girl always had her bedroom closed up tight like she was hiding something. Her dad and I both warned her one day we were going to take the door off the hinges.  It wasn't like she paid rent.

Curled up in the fetal position across her lavender and white comforter, Leesa lifted her head. "Mama, I need...I'm in pain."

I took one look at her and sensed her discomfort. The child couldn't take pain, but the fear in her eyes spoke volumes to me. "Was it something you ate?"

"I haven't eaten anything all day. I've been feeling nauseated and throwing up."

Throwing up?  "Where is the pain located?"

Leesa touched her abdomen area.

 "Is it cramps?" It better be!

"No, Mama! My period isn't on. I think I need to go to the hospital, for real. I ain't never felt like this before." Tears began to stream down her face.

"Come on, let's get you to the hospital. We'll call your father on the way."