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Mel lit the candle, settled back onto the couch, andassumed the position. Slowly she dipped her chin to her chest, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled as her head rolled back. Sherepeated this action five times to regulate her breathing beforesettling into her daily meditation. Repeating her mantra, "I am,"Mel waited expectantly to be o ertaken by the deliciously serenefeeling of melting within herself.
Just as she began to feel herself slipping deeper into the comforting and familiar void, the shrill ring of the telephone shockedher back into the room. Melanie tried to ignore the interruption,concentrating on her breath and chanting her mantra with addeddetermination.
The phone continued to ring and, surrendering in frustration,Melanie bounded from her seat and pounced on the offensive distraction. By the time she reached the handset, the caller had disconnected. She glanced down at the caller ID. It was a name andnumber she recognized. It was the same name and number she'dbeen trying to avoid for weeks.
The six weeks she'd been back in New York, living with Candace on Manhattan's Lower East Side, Melanie had successfully, though painfully, evaded any prolonged communication withWill. When she'd first left D.C., just a week following the disastrous engagement party, he had called or e-mailed at least twice aweek, begging for some kind of rationale for her unexplaineddecision and hasty departure. Mel had put off his requests forclarification with a lame plea for time and space. She wasn't ignoring his outreach to be cruel. Melanie simply didn't know what tosay to the man whose dreams she'd shattered.
"I left some clothes on your bed for you to send to your Mississippi 'kinfolk,'" Candace said, walking into the room dressed inher Saturday workout clothes and carrying a spoon and a pint ofcoffee Häagen-Dazs ice cream.
"Thanks. I'm sending their box down this week," Mel said,speaking of the rural family she'd "adopted" through the Box Project, an organization established in 1962 to help fight poverty inAmerica.
"Who was on the phone?"
"Take a wild guess."
"Eventually you're going to have to talk to the boy. You can't goon dodging Will like he's some annoying bill collector."
"I don't know what to say to him, Candy. He wants answersand I don't have any to give him. I really can't talk about this now. I was just getting ready to meditate."
"Not this time, Melo. You'e been holed up in my apartmentfor weeks refusing to talk to me or your parents and hiding fromthe one person you really owe an explanation to. I don't get you,Melanie Hitts. You'e snagged a successful, handsome man andyou're willing to throw it all away because he had the audacity tobuy you a house? What the hell kind of sense does that make?" Candace asked in a tone underscored with irritation.
"The issue is not buying the house,it's the fact that he didn't tell me."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't a surprise supposed to be kept secret?"
"This isn't as simple as being disappointed with some gift.Look at the reality of the situation, Candace. Will and I met inFebruary, got engaged after three months, and were supposed toget married two weeks ago just five months after our first hello.Everything happened so fast -- too fast. Will insisted on a Julywedding, my mother was intent on throwing that stupid engagement party, which was more about her than me, and I was coming backand forth to New York working my butt off on the showhouse and worrying about my dad the entire time. I didn't havetime to really think about all of the ramifications of my decision.It was like I was caught up in the eye of this monster hurricaneand the next thing I know I'm standing up in front of a hundredpeople engaged to a man I barely know," Melanie tried to explain.
"So why call off the engagement -- in public, no less? Why notjust postpone the wedding?" Candace continued to probe.
"Because it just felt like the right thing to do. Do you knowwhat I was thinking about the entire time I was standing upthere? Divorce. In five generations of the Hitts family, there hasnever been a failed marriage, and all I kept thinking was that minewould be the first."
"I'm your best friend and you never once mentioned to me thatyou were having second thoughts," Candace pointed out.
"I thought they were just normal jitters. I knew that I lovedWill. I thought things would be okay."
"You love him and it's been damn obvious that he worshipsyour dirty draws. That's not enough?"
"It's not that simple," Melanie repeated slowly, her frustrationapparent. How could she make her parents and friends understand how she felt? It wasn't that she didn't want to be married toWill. Until William Freedman, Melanie had met no other manwith whom she'd even considered sharing her life. It was simplythat she didn't know how to be married to him, or to anyone, forthat matter. While her kinfolk held up traditional beliefs and customs as the glue that kept family together, o Melanie they represented just the opposite. In Mel's mind, the conventions ofmarried life symbolized the strangulation of her independenceand individuality -- two itally important characteristics in themakeup and survival of any creative person's soul.
"If you ask me,you're being a real chickenshit about this wholemarriage thing."
Excerpted from Hitts and Mrs. by Lori Bryant-Woolridge All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
