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Maggie’s Moment
A Short Story by Beverly Hill
Maggie anxiously awaited her upcoming trip. It felt like years since she had traveled. After the divorce, the career change, and the onset of her mother’s dementia, there had been neither time nor money for travel.
The past five years had been traumatic, to say the least. After 15 dedicated years, she lost her high-level position in the federal government’s Agricultural Department. Being home allowed her to spend more time with her husband, Dale—or so she thought. So immersed in her work, she ignored her feelings of loneliness and the lack of love in their marriage. She couldn’t remember the last time they had made love.
Dale must feel the same way, she thought.
Well, surprise, surprise. It took only two weeks for Maggie to discover that Dale was deeply involved in an affair with a woman half her age. To top it off, everyone at his office knew about it. Maggie had been so busy with her job, her status, lunches with the “right people,” and climbing the corporate ladder that she hadn’t noticed Dale was simply going through the motions of their marriage.
The tension and anxiety increased when her mother’s doctor told her she was in the early stages of dementia and would need special attention to slow its progression. As an only child, Maggie knew that responsibility would fall to her.
This, she thought, on top of everything else. I’m not sure I can take any more.
The divorce dragged on because Dale insisted she could keep the house—but only if she gave up all the savings, the timeshare in Italy, and the boat.
“Hell no!” she told him.
Maggie felt fortunate to find a new job that paid just as well in the private sector. It was actually much better, minus the government madness. In her former department, so many people had been let go with little notice. At her new job, she genuinely liked both her subordinates and her boss. She was finally digging out of the financial hole created by a year without work. She had also begun to move on from the divorce—and from many of the “right people” she had once worked so hard to impress.
This was Maggie’s first trip to Jamaica alone. She and Dale had visited before they were married. The brochure and travel agent promised a dream-come-true itinerary. Not only would she spend five days in Montego Bay, but she had also booked short excursions to Ocho Rios, Negril, and the Blue Mountains.
I deserve this, she thought. Life is good.
Five swimsuits with matching cover-ups—check. Three silky scarves to cover her head whenever required—check. Six lightweight tops in various colors, along with shorts and pants—check. Two cocktail dresses, one formal dress, and two long skirts—check, check, check.
Oh, and the cute reversible bucket hat, plus a couple of caps. Comfortable walking shoes and one cute pair of wedge sandals were a given.
“Got my cosmetics, toothbrush…I’m set,” she said to herself.
Finally—wheels up!
She told herself this was going to be the GOAT. She relaxed into her first-class seat and immediately requested a glass of champagne.
Steel drums filled the air as she deplaned.
“Yes,” she said to herself. “This is going to be good.”
Her limo driver stood inside the terminal holding a simple cardboard sign that read, “Maggie.”
The limousine whisked her away to Momondo, one of the finest hotels in Montego Bay. Once inside her room, Maggie threw herself onto the king-sized bed in complete abandon. Laughing, she did a little happy dance, kicking her legs into the air as if riding an imaginary bicycle.
“A little nap, and then it’s on like a pot of neck bones,” she laughed.
That afternoon was delightful. Lunch in the resort café included a scrumptious green salad and a butterfish steak, perfectly cooked in a lemon-butter sauce. Her wine of choice was usually red, but in the heat she preferred a nicely chilled rosé.
Maggie stayed around the hotel that first day, soaking up the sun and seeing who else was sharing the resort. It was an elite crowd: Jon Batiste and his wife (I wonder if he’s going to perform?), Kerry Washington (wow!), and Ta-Nehisi Coates, to name a few.
Today she wore the red one-piece swimsuit with the matching print cover-up. A pair of white shorts underneath made her feel comfortable.
Can’t wait for that raft trip tomorrow, she thought as she pulled back the covers on her cushy bed.
When the handsome driver of her private bamboo raft pulled up and looked in her direction, she thought she might melt on the spot. He smiled and called out, “Maggie?”
Umm…oooh, she thought.
Winston was tall, deep black, muscular, with gorgeous white teeth. His locs were perfectly groomed and pulled back into a ponytail. He helped her onto the pillowed seating beneath the bamboo canopy.
“Okay, m’dear, you’re in for the adventure of your life,” Winston said with a beaming smile. “I’ve made you a beautiful lunch. We have jerk chicken”—which was already sizzling on the little grill—”grilled pineapple, steamed cabbage, and brown rice. How does that sound?”
“Delightful! I can’t wait,” Maggie replied.
“Just a short wait,” Winston said as they slowly drifted up the river.
Surrounded by parrots, cockatoos, and other exotic creatures she had never seen before, Maggie absorbed the sights and sounds. She barely noticed Winston placing a plate before her.
“Lunch is served, m’dear,” he said.
“My goodness, this jerk chicken tastes much better than back home!” Maggie exclaimed. “Oooh…this pineapple!”
“Picked it fresh for you this morning,” he said.
After tidying up, Winston said in his thick Jamaican accent, “Relax, m’dear, and enjoy all we have to offer. We’re just getting started.”
The afternoon sun was warm overhead, but the bamboo canopy kept her comfortably shaded. Every so often, a sweet breeze drifted across her body. Its gentle whisper was enough to make the afternoon heat pleasant. Now and then, cool river water splashed over her feet.
Maggie leaned back against the many pillows surrounding her.
This must be real heaven, she thought.
Exotic bird calls delighted her ears. Delicious food pleased her palate. Warm sunshine and cool river mist caressed her skin. The aroma of jerk chicken drifted from the little grill. Lush green foliage surrounded them in every direction. And the sight of Winston’s dark, muscular chest and arms glistening in the sun certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes.
Spectacular, she thought.
A feast for all five senses.
As Winston guided the raft slowly up the river, Maggie heard what she thought was thunder.
“Oh no, I hope it doesn’t rain,” she said.
“No problem, m’dear. Even if it rains, it only lasts a short while,” Winston replied. “But that, m’dear, is not thunder. We are approaching the great waterfall.”
The roar grew louder. Soon Winston was tying the raft near the shore.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” she replied, though she felt a little nervous.
Winston carefully took her hand and guided her across the rocks.
“No problem, m’dear. Just walk with confidence and keep your head up. I’ve got you.”
Before long, Maggie found herself behind the waterfall, relaxing in a pool of cool water. The thunderous roar was much softer there. A cool spray washed over her head and body. Although the area was rocky, lush greenery pushed its way through the stone.
Maggie stretched out and floated on the water. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Thank You, God. Only You know how much I needed this.”
At that very moment, it felt as though her soul cracked open.
Suddenly, she found herself floating in a brilliant light that surrounded and filled her. Just as suddenly, she was flooded with comforting messages from on High.
“I am with you always, My child. You are never alone. Pick up My cause and follow Me.”
At first Maggie was startled, but the words came gently, almost ethereally, filling her with peace instead of fear. She knew she had experienced a spiritual awakening.
Five years of accumulated tears finally broke free. They mingled with the waterfall, becoming part of its endless flow.
Perfect, she thought. I’m washing all my tears away.
This was only her second day on the island, yet it had become her first true encounter with the Most High.
“Thank You. Praise Your holy name. At last, I have found the peace and tranquility my heart has longed for.”
Selah.
Beverly Hill
I am the owner/designer of Queen B by Beverly Hill.
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November 11, 2025
The Adventure of Perimenopause
I wanted to share something that’s been on my mind, and honestly, a bit of an adventure lately. I’m talking about perimenopause, let me tell you, it’s been quite the experience.
One morning, I woke up in a sweat, feeling like I’d just escaped a pursuit, not from Pharaoh’s army, but from my own bed. My hair was a disaster, my clothes felt tight, and all I could whisper to my reflection was, “Ma’am… what in the menopause is this?”
I knew aging was inevitable. I was ready for a few gray hairs, some soft jazz, and the occasional creaky knee. But this? This feels less like aging and more like a full-blown revolution in my body. Nobody warned me that perimenopause would show up like an uninvited guest, consume all my peace of mind, and leave behind a trail of hot flashes.
My friends talk about embracing “queen years.” While I appreciate the idea, I’m often pacing at 2 AM, wondering if I’m hungry, hormonal, or about to spontaneously argue with the air. I even cried watching a paper towel commercial once, simply because I love a good paper towel.
My body is certainly changing. My memory has become a game of “did I come in here for my keys or to start a new life?” I text people and forget I texted, and I’ve argued with folks only to forget the reason, yet still refuse to let it go. My sex drive is a wild card—one day I’m Beyoncé, the next I’m in my “don’t breathe near me” era.
And my doctor has the nerve to say it’s all “normal.” There is nothing normal about waking up drenched, feeling like I’ve been baptized but only in my neck, back, and chest. So, I tried solutions: ginger tea, black cohosh, and maca root. I practically became an herbal apothecary, and I still feel like my body is staging a hostile takeover.
I wish I could talk to my mom or grandma about this, but they’re gone. My godmama is too, and my Big Sister is on a cruise, claiming she doesn’t remember any of this, but I’m pretty sure she’s lost her mind!! So now, I’m navigating this reality with just a heating pad and a Google search history that reads like a horror film: “night sweats and paranoia,” “why do I feel like punching someone and crying at the same time,” “how hot is hell,” and “please God help me.”
I feel like I’m grieving the woman I used to be while trying to befriend the one I’m becoming. I’m shapeshifting daily, yet still expected to go to work as if everything is perfectly fine. It’s not fine, but I’m here. Still moisturized, still showing up, and still trying to decipher if this is a divine feminine transformation or just my ovaries throwing a tantrum.
Either way, I’m laughing. I have to. Because if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry so hard I’ll float away on a river of hormonal regret. But hear me: this isn’t the end of me; this is my origin story. Menopause isn’t the villain; she’s just the spicy mentor sent to teach me boundaries, breathwork, and how to curse softly while I put on my satin bonnet.
So yes, I’m aging. But I’m doing it loud, hot, emotional, forgetful, and utterly fine. Now, pass me the fan and the dark chocolate, and mind your business. Because if I have to burn, I’m going up in flames like a phoenix in hoop earrings, with an attitude and a whole lot of prayer oil.
January, 29, 2020
When you get sick, you gotta pay!!! You gotta write till you get better! From the beautiful Francis A. Griffin-Brown, her first post. – VictorineAs Francis Recooperates
Victorine requested I log my time during this month, and I hesitated because I told her I hate homework.🤗
Anyway, she makes sense because today, after my therapist left, I watched the documentary ’In the Shadows of Motown.’ Oh my, it was so good! It showed how music can heal the mind and soul, and also how music brings together people of all races, religions, and even political folks. Marvin Gaye singing about the Vietnam War, ‘What’s Going On,’ ‘What Becomes of a Broken Heart,’ just great music.
The most important were the people/musicians behind the music, how and what they went through for those wonderful sounds. If you are a music lover like I am, this is a must-see documentary. If not for my present limitations,
I would have been up on the floor moving to the groove. I’m going to suggest our jazz/concert band director show this to our students.
Music is Love. Music is Life. Remember God, Love and Family First 💖 🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶💖
-Francis A. Griffin
Spicy... 