fear, uninvited, sat with me on a dark and gloomy day. I offered it a glass of sweet tea. if it was going to be here for a while, it might as well quench its thirst.
I usually run straight toward it; my arms spread out for a hug that never comes, but today was different. I spoke to it on a faith-based level. I informed fear that if it planned on staying, it would have to do some work around here–earn its keep.
I need love and care, confidence and hope, trust and reassurance, and I wanted it to understand if it did not intend to provide those things, the portal to my life would close soon.
so, fear tried to negotiate with me; if it showed up on Monday and Thursday, would I have time for it? I listened to its offer, bathed the details in the back of my mind, and politely declined.
I decided I no longer wanted to be stunted by this marriage. taming fear is taking time, but we’re both learning and growing. pretty soon, I believe it’ll be able to get along in life without me.
Séduire, Front Cover. Created with Canva by Tremaine L. Loadholt
Séduire, Back Cover. Created with Canva by Tremaine L. Loadholt
I have been hard at work on something for the last two years, and . . . the above front and back covers are the faces of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction. Séduire (French), meaning to seduce or charm, encapsulates everything I wanted to do with the words I turned into characters that turned into stories for this book.
It is comprised of fourteen fiction tales, housed in 87 pages from my restless and imaginative mind. It is my first book comprised completely of fiction. It was hard to select which stories I wanted to share, but I believe I made the best decision in selecting the stories published in this book.
Its publishing date will be October 30, 2024. Why this date? It’s close enough to Thanksgiving and Christmas, yet not so close to hinder holiday expenses. I believe it will make the perfect gift for family, friends, and acquaintances. Over the next few months, I will post an announcement about the book along with blurbs from its beta readers.
The first two are below:
Tremaine isn’t just a writer; she is a sage who applies the practices and alchemy of empathy. She doesn’t just create compelling characters; she inhabits them and allows them to speak their truth through her grounded prose, regardless of how vulnerable, how conflicted, how beautiful, or how harrowing. -Barry Dawson, Jr. IV
In Séduire, Tre Loadholt gives us the full range of her storytelling magic. Beyond the humorous dialogue, the raw earthiness of relationships, and the intense despair of grief and loss … eternal hope is the emotion that always shines through her stories.This iconic collection of short fiction belongs on your must-read list.-Kay Bolden
For those of you who have always supported me, thank you. I hope you will do so this time around as well when Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction is published.
Are you interested in reading my previously published books? You can do sohere.
1. Monday Night Dinner. Photo Collage Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
2. Maxine 4th of July Funny Quote. Image Credit: Pinterest
1. Monday Night’s Dinner was incredibly delicious and was as follows: kale with onions, cherry tomatoes, yellow peppers, and various seasonings, an open-faced baked potato with dairy-free cheese (one thing I hate about the dairy-free cheese is that it takes FOREVER to melt) & butter, salt & pepper, and a mouthwatering steak.
I was so happy to have leftovers of this meal, and if I were completely okay with it, I’d slap myself for how good it was!
I stuck my whole foot in this meal (if you or your relatives are from the South, you’ll know what this saying means)! And I am happy it turned out the way it did–super YUMMY!
2. Maxine 4th of July Funny Quote . . . because, why not?! I love this character and her sassiness and quick-witted retorts! I thought it would be cool to share a funny quote for today and Maxine is a great go-to for this!
For those of you who celebrate, please be safe, have fun, enjoy your family & friends, and also have some great food, too. Please do not let me read about you in the digital papers/magazines or see you on the news!
I still struggle now that you’re gone, but I am getting better.
Chrissy and I, Circa 1985-1986. I do not know who took this photo of us. But it’s my favorite.
My cousin was Black Joy personified. Her contagious smile entered a room before her feet could land softly on the floor. She was so many things to so many people; mother, sister, aunt, cousin, healer, and friend. To me, she had been a rock; steady on her feet and a guiding light for my path.
She did not know a stranger.
She was sixteen years older than me. I looked up to her. Every time she and her siblings visited our family down south from up north, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I knew we would have a time with my big cousin, and I dreamt about her arrival days before I saw her.
If my cousin was visiting, that meant I would get all the hugs and kisses I wanted from her. That meant I could sit and listen to the lull of her voice rise up and down, and her accent coat the walls of any room she graced.
If you have never had the chance to know genuine love from a person, I apologize to you in advance. I knew how it could develop and how it could lift you up when you were at your lowest. This form of love from my cousin differed from what I had from my parents or grandparents. It was a high-feeling love. A love without actual description; for there are no words for it. Not any that come to my mind, at least.
My cousin was magic, and I yearned to Houdini my way through my pubescent years as magically as she had seemed to do. I clung to her safe space as tightly as I could from as young as the age of five, which is my earliest memory of her.
I have a picture I take out occasionally on which to reminisce. I give it a once-over, shed a few tears, and then I smile. As you can see, it is of her standing behind me and raising my arms out far and wide. We’re both smiling as hard as our jaws would allow.
The event had been my great-grandmother, her grandmother’s birthday party. I do not remember what we ate, what music played, or what time the party ended. But I remember my cousin’s smile. I remember the imminent peace that radiated throughout the room with her there. I remember her laughter and, of course, the hugs.
I remember the fun I had with her and not wanting the night to end.
I have a few photographs that I love of the two of us together, but the photo shown above is by far my favorite. It has been a savior for me when the depths of some dark days hover over me without an invitation.
It’s my go-to when I feel like I want to remember every detail of her face; every smile-line, crow’s foot, and beauty mark. It’s my inThe Grieving Room get-by healing memory.
I always come back to it.
No one tells you how to grieve.
Not for an older cousin who mothered you in ways you searched for mothering. No one tells you the pain that lasts; how it creeps in and creeps out when you least expect it.
There is no how-to manual on how to stop your heart from breaking when a patient sounds like her on a scheduling call or a friend says something she used to say. You cannot stop yourself from crying out of the blue because the wind hits a certain way and suddenly emotions pummel you without warning.
There is no cure-all for deaths that come unexpectedly and during your happiest moments.
Just when I thought, I’m proud of myself. I’m doing so well moving through these phases of life, God’s plan swooped in and stirred up something.
I thought, Years of therapy—down the drain, but my cousin’s death allowed me to open up more during my therapy sessions. It allowed me to be vulnerable; to cry without warning and to witness my former therapist at her most engaging and encouraging. “I know it has to be hard for you, Tre. Crying is good. It’s a release. There’s no shame in crying.”
And there wasn’t. And there isn’t. There are days I wake up with sunshine flowing through my bones; ready to take on anything thrown in my direction. Those are the days I think to myself, I wonder if she sees me getting by—mastering every obstacle and jumping over every hurdle.
And then, there are days I wake up so out of sync with the world and my surroundings and I want to lie back down and let sleep consume me. Those are the days, I think to myself, What would Chrissy do? How would she conquer this day?
Chrissy’s Selfie and the Waves. Photo Credit: Christina M. Georges
The finality of her life made me more in-tune with everything around me and my most inner-tormented self.
How warped must my brain have been to stay stunted and recycle the same events yet repress them as well? Losing my cousin in her physical form pushed me to challenge what I feel, how I feel, and to sit with those feelings and move through them until I no longer freeze in place from pain.
I will not say I am at my best now since her passing on February 18, 2022. I can’t say I am at my worst because I have been there, and it had not been a place to which I wanted to lay claim. I am, however, somewhere in between where healing appears to be more like second-nature than something I cannot attain.
Born in October, years before anyone thought about creating me, she was a star before anyone said she was. Her light hovered over us in life.
And it still does in death.
If I can be honest, I still talk to her. I still ask for her advice, and at the oddest times of day—when the light hits my balcony door just right, or an epiphany greets me without warning, I hear her. She still answers me.
I have had so much time to write poems, essays, and create characters to shine a light on my cousin and her life. But the following is how I’d written about her just a couple months after she died:
On February 18, 2022, I muttered my last ‘I love you’ to my closest cousin — one of the greatest loves of my life. She had been significantly older than me, so she mothered me — nurtured me — allowed me to be guided by her.
She could rain down love without being coaxed or manipulated. It simply fell out of her and onto/into you without caution. If you loved her or had been loved by her, you knew it. You felt it. There was no reason to question this love. It was genuine and given with every ounce of her being.
I no longer view my cousin’s death as the end of her life.
It is more of a continuance of her spirit’s presence in ours. I have her spiritual form comforting me every step of the way.
Surviving her death is an incredibly talented son, a beautiful globetrotting daughter, an intellectually sound husband, and countless others.
She has connected us and in us is that love she deposited the moment we met. Even though I miss her deeply . . . even though I can’t get through some days without completely breaking down . . . I am getting better.
I am not afraid to walk the path of this life without her.
Not anymore.
The above essay was written for a prominent online magazine this past January and was recently declined. I decided to share it here. Peace and blessings.
A Cornered Gurl 
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