Broken Doors: From Monroe, with Love

By J.E. Hewitt

Broken Doors is the first novel for new author, J.E.Hewitt. This is a story of birth, death, love and redemption. Real-life power couple, Soleste and Cyrus experience a dynamic love that demonstrates support, passion and affections toward music and real estate. Set in Minneapolis, the beauty of the surroundings in the home are made to feel realistic and desired. Trouble shows up on numerous occasions leading to some losses and some unbelievable triumphs. The journey taken by this couple proves as an example that all circumstances can be overcome with a tenacious drive to greatness; until there are no longer any logical answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491857281

J.E. Hewitt

J.E.Hewitt is an artist who has studied at world-class educational institutions. Born in Minneapolis, Minnesota, Hewitt has the ability to connect the quaint with the cityscape. Real life circumstances of hard-working, creative people help to frame the situations in which characters develop for this writer. Professionally, Hewitt has over 15 years experience working in the mortgage and real estate industries. Homes are an important component to piece together the ways that people connect in their relationships to the spaces where they live, work and love. Hewitt has every intention to lead readers through journeys that people can relate to. The unexpected surprises in life are what drive the words of this literary artist to challenge how we pull our lives together and move forward.

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© 2014 J.E.Hewitt. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/31/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5726-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5728-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014901679

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One Gone

Chapter Two Hunted

Chapter Three Born

Chapter Four Law

Chapter Five Reminisce

Chapter Six Fearlessness

Chapter Seven Westside

Chapter Eight College

Chapter Nine Growth

Chapter Ten Open

Chapter Eleven Lux

Chapter Twelve Simplicity

Chapter Thirteen Recovery

Chapter Fourteen Hope

Chapter Fifteen Change

Chapter Sixteen Grace

Chapter Seventeen Keys

Chapter Eighteen Retreat

Chapter Nineteen Fast

Chapter Twenty Decisions

Chapter Twenty-One Closed

Chapter One

Gone

W alking into work that day, I could never forget my reflection in the revolving security doors. My sleeveless red maternity button down shirt over a faux-Burberry skirt—I felt something. Some way. My hair pulled back in a slick bun, I walked up to my cube, sat down and logged in for another day in the thriving mortgage industry as an underwriter. The normal hustle and shake of the movement of work assignment logs and calls with appraisers and realtors seemed still. There was eeriness to the day. Suddenly, before the hands on the clock had barely moved, the phone on my desk rang. I could see the number on the screen: 825-7828. Home. I answer. I hear, Soleste, there are Sheriffs at the door. They are saying we have to get out of the house now! Now? No, this could not be happening. Are you there? Do you hear me? I could hear Kirby and Sabrina, our pit bulls paws scratching across the hardwood floors and barking. They were uncomfortable with the energy of this time and space. I could hear the world moving in that moment. So loud, yet silent. Soleste, Soleste—Hello? You need to come home now. Cyrus knew that he needed to remove me from the hypnotic state that I had fallen into from the information he had the horrific task of communicating to me. I stopped for a moment to breathe. Then I tuned back into Cyrus and one of the most difficult calls I had to receive. Babe—a Sheriff was trying to climb into the window. There is a moving truck outside! His voice, calm and alarmed at the same time. I reach down and rub my belly. My baby. Only a few days before, so many beautiful, happy faces surrounded me at my first baby shower for my first-born child. I’m on my way. As quickly as I could move, I walk up to my team lead and somehow manage to say, I just received a call from home, we are being evicted—I need to leave right away. Similar to those with near-death experiences that people recount, I felt life flashing in front of my eyes. I could see scattered moments of life in my tears. My family owned the home that I was being removed from since it had been built, long before my birth. Breathe Soleste—this must be for a reason. Keep driving, this can be fixed. There is no memory of moving my car through the streets to get home that day. The daze that I was in was overwhelming. I walked up to the door and found several strangers with their hands on my possessions. They were boxing up my home and there was law enforcement there to oversee this activity. It was humiliating, invasive and violating. Eventually, the look on my face must have stricken an accord with the first Sheriff standing at my door. The first thing I heard him say was this is probably all a mistake. We sometimes have to come back and bring everything back, that will probably happen this time too. With that, I felt like I was going to hit the floor. I was dizzy and felt suffocation in my chest. Movers are taking everything out of our house and Sheriffs are here. Frantically, I gathered all of my unborn babies gifts and a few clothing items for myself—no jewelry, no furniture, no journals, no electronics, none of the years worth of Cyrus’ lyrics in notebooks, cds or cassette tapes. None of my artwork, no paint or paintbrushes, none of the family heirlooms or photos stashed in the family room or the basement—just a few things. So few things. Cyrus and I drove away; I could not find the courage in that moment to call my parents for help. Cyrus and I sat at a park a half-mile away and stared into the future. The only things we could manage to visualize in those moments were years past this unbearable blow. Mind-blowing and devastating. The bond that we had did not require spoken words, though occasionally, Cyrus would say, they can’t do this, or what the fuck! I was in complete shock. I cannot remember speaking one word.

We prayed. We sat in silence. The moon came out. We devised a short-term plan. Very short. Our short term plan included driving our minivan, stuffed to the brim with our baby shower contents to my parents home. Finally, I made the call to my parents. We needed to come over and talk—our conversation was painful, but under the circumstances, I could not differentiate whether the event itself was causing the most pain, or having to explain this to my Dad who had grown up in this home. Up to this point, I had also not disclosed to my parents that the deed for our home was now in the hands of an investor who currently had the upper hand in the situation. We were upside down in mortgage payments, barely taking home enough income to cover all of the home expenses. We purged some of our emotions about the loss of the house. It would be hard to believe that any of us were able to sleep through the night of this nightmare. The next day, it was very important to get on with work. After all, we had to earn money to get out of this situation. For me, I found it to be ironic to be helping customers obtain mortgages when I just had gone through the experience of completely losing mine. Even still, I wanted to do my part in helping people’s dreams come true while we made our best efforts to reconstruct ours. I wanted to do what I could to help to prevent other people from going through the pain that I was experiencing. Even before we were removed from our home, there was the anxiety, the unfathomable mental pain that came with not knowing what would happen next. It is very easy to think: pay your bills and you won’t face situations like this. The burden of losing financial stability is never that simple. Never. There is always a story that leads people from having their needs met to being on the other end of the spectrum. For me, the loss of my Nana sent me into a downward spiral of darkness.

Nana was the mother to my mother. She was an angel warrior on Earth. As a Black woman in the United States of America, she lived through struggles of the Civil Rights movement while she nurtured and raised her children. She was loving and firm. She worked. She was a friend. She knew how to make people feel special. She kept her family together. She helped us laugh at ourselves and not take life too seriously. She really listened to me and knew me, even though we lived in different cities. During a visit to New York, she introduced me to Cyrus. He lived down the street from her and helped her carry her groceries in when he saw her walking from the train. She let me know that she knew a very handsome young man that she wanted me to meet before I made my way back to Minnesota—he is a good one—was the way she described him. And to her, he was just the right height for me. I spoke to her at least once every other week on the telephone. I always called her and when I did, she was always available to me. She gave me advice about how to be a lady. She would tell me never to wear too much make up and to always fix myself up pretty. She explained how I should assert myself in different situations without being too aggressive. She warned me about the way people were and that people should not easily be trusted with my heart. She knew me well because I was mostly willing to trust because I was open and quite frankly, I was naive girl from Minnesota. She told me how to cook things. One thing she did not do was telling me a lot about her past. Her lack of explanation about her painful trek from Mississippi to New York told me all that I needed to know. She did not want me to know; if she did, she would have happily shared with me. Her focus was on maintaining strength in our family. She wanted all of us to have each other’s backs. Because she had nine children of her own, she was Nana to 35 grandchildren. She shared with me what was going on in the present; she used ever so slight reflection to remind of past successes and failures. What was most important to her stories were that we would move on. I had no idea that losing her would be my greatest challenge in moving on.

Before school one morning after Cyrus moved to Minnesota, I received a phone call from my mother. She was in tears, I could tell. She quickly let me know that one of her sisters had called her the night before to let her know that Nana had cancer. Cancer? No, not cancer. Yes, cancer—stage four breast cancer. I had to find a way to focus. My mind was racing, taking me days, weeks, months and years into the future. This was mid-term week; I had to find a way change my energy to be present to work on my daily goals and then deal with this family emergency. I went to class in a complete blur. I made it through the day and called Nana as soon as I returned home. She sounded fine. She tried to reassure me. I’ll be fine! This is nothing that a little tea and prayers won’t heal. Sole, don’t you worry about me for one millisecond, I will be just fine. In fact, I’m going to hear a hip-hop gospel concert tomorrow night. I’m gonna be waving my hands back and forth praising the Lord! We laughed, she always made me smile, even during my most intense hurts. I asked her, Nana, what do you need? What can I do for you? She said she wanted to see me. I would like to see your face, baby. That was it, her voice softened when she said this and something in me felt a sense of her desperation in those words. Cyrus and I hit the road the very next morning. With a quarter tank of gas and very little money in our pockets, $74.50 to be exact, we were on the road to New York City. We only stopped to use rest stops and get more gas. Then back on the road. We reached Nana’s door at 2:45 am on a Friday. She looked so weak to me. I was not expecting to see her like this. Although it was the middle of the night, she seemed to have not slept at all. She kissed me on my cheeks and told me I looked beautiful, like she always did. I bawled. I did not feel like there was anything I could do to help her. I wanted so badly to help her. She reached out and grabbed my hand, We all have our time here, sweet Soleste. I don’t know when my time will come to go and meet the Lord, but I wanted to see your face to tell you that I love you so much and I know that you will be the person who will keep our family together, the way I have. There are only a few people in families who can do this and you are one of those people. Our family has grown to be so remarkable, I am so proud of each and every person who came from me! I am something else, aren’t I? She gave a faint smile, this was her fading spunk. Keep all of your cousins and aunts and uncles close, and of course your mother. Sole, you know you mom and your dad want all that is good for you and they do their best. Know that even when you disagree with them. They will all need you at some point for all different things, the entire family. Trust me my love. You will be the one in the family with wealth. It may not come now, it may not come ten years from now, but eventually, the Lord will bestow upon you all of the blessings that the family deserves. He will do this because you are fair and you have faith. She was getting weaker and I wept more. She had always been so strong. She was at least thirty pounds heavier the last time that I saw her. Do right by me, by your mama and by yourself my sweet Soleste. Nana loves you! I kissed her and hugged her. I asked her what she wanted me to fix her for breakfast the next day. She said, I want you to fry me some eggs, not scrambled, fried about medium. Run to the store and get some hard bacon, not that Oscar Meyer kind, the real butcher kind. And some grits baby, that’s it. Ok, Nana, I will wake up early and run out to get that hard bacon. I managed to smile a little and hug her to the point that I was afraid I might be hurting her because she was so frail. When Cyrus and I woke up around 10, I went straight into Nana’s room to hug and kiss on her like I always did when we were together. Her back was facing the door and she seemed to be curled around one of her pillows. I came up closer and her stillness put me into a state of shock and disbelief for what I was seeing. She was not breathing. She never woke up again. I did everything I could think of to try to wake her out of her rest. She was gone. Just like that. I could not help but notice the folded flyer in her Bible from that gospel hip hop concert that she had just gone to. Her Bible sat close to her face on her bed; she must have been reading it before she fell asleep for the last time. I was devastated. I did not eat or sleep for a week. I wept. Our stunned family gathered to try to celebrate her life and to bury her. What an impossible task. She was only sixty-three years old. Why was it time for this now? We knew that she had cancer for only four days before she was gone. After the funeral, I laid in the back seat of our car and stared at the ceiling until we crossed the Minnesota border. At least that is the way that I remembered it. I remained in this daze for months. I stopped going to my classes at the University. I managed to continue to go to work, but could manage to only work twenty hours or less. I was in a deep, deep depression. I wanted to be out of this world. I had no desire to make myself look beautiful anymore because I was in too much pain to be pretty. This was the darkest place I had ever seen in daylight. I didn’t see a future to care about being in school. I did not want to live anymore. How could life be this unfair? My Nana was one of the best people I had ever interacted with. It felt like the love of our family was sucked out of the atmosphere when she left Earth in the physical form. Without this love, I was completely lost. I did not have the mental capacity to keep a budget or send payments for financial obligations in the mail. I could not even manage to look at myself in the mirror. Cyrus did all that he could to keep my head above the water. He held me up. He made me eat. He promoted nourishment, physical and spiritual, until I could pull myself together enough