I’m so tired of loose lips sinking ships—of human cannons shooting us with lies, and creating a mass of loblollies with the full intent to bury us alive.
we’re more than flesh & bone, we’re heart & mind, and they must’ve forgotten we can fight when a corner is the place they push us in.
a faulty administration is running a nation, betting with money from people who’ve poured their last into a country they once loved.
they have no clue of what they’re doing, yet they do, and we’re the ones dying a long death. but, we’re the ones fighting to stay alive, too.
the first home
a short workweek ahead for me—taking pto for a trip back to a place that hasn’t been home in 21 years, but it’s still home.
I’ve been eyeballing the weather, got my hawk’s view on 10, monitoring changes to be sure travel plans won’t meet their demise. I need to get away.
my mother will be in tow—my nerves will work overtime to keep her anxieties at bay. I’m craving fresh seafood, familial hugs, and time spent with people close to my heart.
a quick mini vacation to recharge my energy—strengthen my bones. prayerfully, none of them will break from the weight of the pain that the first home can bring.
I first stumbled across the writing of Andrew B. Knott on Medium. His witty gift of gab and literal humor were luring effects. He had a gift of drawing you in slowly, building up the comedic punchline with a slow burn to a lasting fire. I appreciated the way he looped words that sounded like they belonged together in sentences. It was as if he were a word connoisseur, sharing his tastes with us, but in a way that Medium needed at that time.
I became even more enamored by his work when I began editing his submissions in P. S. I Love You, a defunct Medium publication that specialized in publishing work on relationships, love, and all things life & connection. Andrew stood out, and he still does.
And this book is crafty in the way the events are presented in the author’s life. Every story, essay, and vignette has something to offer the parents of this world, especially new/newer/younger ones.
Even though I have not birthed any of my own children, I am significantly older than all my siblings, so most of the scenarios mentioned, I’ve experienced in some way with the little ones (now much older ones) in my life. I also have significantly younger cousins and nieces and nephews.
What I like most about Andrew’s approach to parenting (as it is humorously detailed throughout the book) is his nonchalant, “let it be” attitude with his children.
Naturally, some things will call for discipline, but most things do not… So why waste time and energy when children will more than likely not change their minds or agree with a parent’s choice in the very intense moments of a tantrum?
The author’s humor is one that builds up. There is a slow burn to it before the lasting fire. It’s witty and catches you off guard. It actually reminds me a lot of Steven Wright’s approach to comedy. Either you get it or you don’t, and I definitely get it.
There were a few stories that droned on or took a while to get to a plot twist or heightened point of comedic satisfaction, but those are few and far between.
Overall, I’m glad I took the time to read parenting from a person’s perspective who took “learning as you go” to a whole other level.
It’s a great read!
I shared this review with Andrew by way of communicating with him on Substack. I have another book of his on my shelf, waiting for its turn, and I am truly looking forward to it as well.
If you’re looking for a good laugh about parenting and the many obstacles you have to endure to feel like you’re at least a C+ parent, I recommend Fatherhood: Dispatches from the Early Years.
Flash Fiction: A Wayne Donald & Kinley Chris Adventure
Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels. The image depicts a glowing, lit sign that reads “Arcade” hung above the entrance to a hallway. At the other end of the hall, we see a doorway leading to a room with different arcade games.
“I gots $5.75″ to spend at the arcade, Kinely Chris. That ain’t enough for four hours’ worth of playing video games. What you got?”
Wayne Donald yells to her big sister as she’s scraping change from her piggy bank for their impending trip to the mall to explore Jade’s Arcade. The girls do not get out often. With their grandmother being the town’s declared homebody, their Uncle Henry has access to them every few weeks and allows them a trip or two upon those visits.
“I have ten dollars. Now, lemme just say this… You know as well as I do that Uncle Henry ain’t gon’ give us more than $5.00 a piece when he comes, so I’ll go on and give you two of my ten dollars, so you’ll have $12.75 once he’s done handin’ out money. I’ll have ’bout a dollar more’n ya, so we can split that last dollar later, before we leave. That sound all right t’ya, Wayne Donald?”
Wayne Donald is shaking up her piggy bank, trying to see if any more coins are dangling from side to side. The empty echo of nothingness signals to her that she has nothing left to spare. She looks in Kinley Chris’s direction and nods her approval before speaking.
“Thanks, Kinley. I sure do appreciate that. I know which games I’m gon’ play, too! Mrs. Pac-Man, Frogger, Skee-Ball, and Air Hockey. And if Uncle Henry’ll put me on his shoulders, I’ll play basketball, too!”
“Ya ain’t skilled enough to play Frogger, and you always bouncin’ the balls into other lanes with Skee-Ball. Stick to what ya’know, and that’s Mrs. Pac-Man and Air Hockey.”
Silence fills the room, and the younger sister nods her head in agreement, and tilts it to the left—she’s trying to gauge whether or not she should just stick to what she knows. More than likely, she’s going to do what she wants anyway. She coughs into her cupped hands and rebuts.
“Kinley Chris, I do believe I’m gon’ play what I said I’m gon’ play. If I don’t try, how will I learn?”
“Y’know what, Wayne Donald?! Ya got me there. Ya got me.”
Uncle Henry pulls up to their grandmother’s castle-like home, parks his truck in the driveway, and honks the horn twice. The girls skate down the stairs, yell their goodbyes to their grandmother, and bolt through the front door.
“HEY, UNCLE HENRY!” They shout in unison.
“Hey, girls. So, Jade’s Arcade, right? Should be just a few tykes there by the time we get to town. Y’all buckle up for safety. And here’s ya money.”
He leans slightly over the front seat of his truck and hands the girls a $5.00 bill apiece—crispy bills, too. The girls look at each other with huge smiles, slapping their faces.
“THANKS, UNCLE HENRY!” The hum of the truck presses into the cool air of the late morning. Uncle Henry turns his radio to 94.5, and the lovely sounds of electric jazz fill the truck. A smile slaps his face, too, and before the girls can say anything else, he says tenderly…
This concludes the adventures of Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris. Thank you for joining me on their memorable journey!
This flash fiction piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. It is week #357. When I saw the image, the girls sprang into action, and the story above is what came to me.
Perhaps, you’ve got a story brewing within you, too, for this week’s image offering?
Scattered Words: Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt is available now! Have you gotten your copy? Hardcover|eBook
Flash Fiction: A Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris Adventure
The image above is by Erwin Bosman on Pexels. It depicts three chickens perched on a branch. The chickens appear to ascend in height from left to right; the leftmost chicken being mostly brown, the one at center being mostly white, and the rightmost being mostly black.
Wayne Donald stares outside their upstairs bedroom window. She is scratching the curly, messy knot of hair on her head while she huffs and breathes outwardly in exasperation.
“You gon’ tell Charlie ’bout them chickens of theirs cluckin’ about in the yard again, Kinley Chris, or do I have to put on my knickers and go on over there and do it myself?”
Wayne Donald is in rare form this morning. It is a raging hot Sunday in the depths of the South, and wandering chickens are the last things she wants to deal with the day before going back to school. The girls had been out for Christmas break, enjoying every moment of freedom their grandmother would allow, and now… the countdown to back-to-school has begun.
“Who out there?! Which ones? Some, I don’t mind. I put some chicken feed out near the fence yesterday morning—might be sopping that up.”
“Looks like Helen, Lucy, and Quack.” She squints her eyes to look closer outside of their upstairs bedroom window—zooming in with imaginary binoculars. “Yeah… that’s definitely Helen, Lucy, and Quack.”
Kinley Chris looks up from an adventurous book she had been reading, keenly stares at her younger sister, and nods in approval.
“Long as it’s not those other demon birds, I say, let them be. Charlie Rhett and ‘nem are at church anyway at this hour. It ain’t no need bangin’ on their door about some harmless chickens just cuz you don’t like the way they cluck.”
“They irritate me, Kinley Chris, and I just can’t take it. Why you gotta put that chicken feed out on Sunday mornings when I wanna sleep in?”
“Who are you to tell me where and when to put chicken feed, Wayne Donald? It’s late morning, and you shoulda been up about an hour ago anyway. Don’t get on my bad side before noon.”
Wayne Donald shuffles off to her bed, plops her flimsy body back down, tucks her face underneath the sheets, and fake-sobs. Through the sheets, she continues her argument with her big sister.
“I’m just sayin’… they cluck and squawk and make so much noise while they’re eatin’, Kinley Chris. How can you even read with all that racket walkin’ in through the window?”
“You were just up, Wayne Donald. You could’ve closed the window, silly. They aren’t that loud, and it’s too early to be complainin’. Get yourself a few more winks in, and I’ll go downstairs in a bit and fetch us some breakfast. If Helen, Lucy, or Quack laid some eggs, we’ll have us a mighty fine batch of eatin’.”
To this, Wayne Donald does not debate. She turns over, snuggles up into a ball, and closes her eyes. “Fifteen more minutes,” she says. “Fifteen more minutes.”
This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #353.I love it when these two sisters start speaking to me. When I saw the prompt roll out this past Monday, and those chickens staring back at me, I said, “Ha! Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris,” so here we are. Thank you so much for reading.
Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book& Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback(only) yet?
I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing, as I discussrecent events related to my previous place of employment, including racism and discrimination, the growth I experienced after resigning from that company, and the foibles and overall experiences of life. I welcome your visit.
Flash Fiction: A Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris Adventure
The image above is from Jon Tyson. The image depicts the window of a brick building that is overgrown with ivy; some of the leaves are still green, but many are a beautiful red color. We see some, but not all, of the window frame.
“Wayne Donald! Get out here! We needa clear somma this ivy!”
Kinley Chris shouts up toward the huge window of their grandmother’s home. Wayne Donald is in their bedroom watching Gremlins, avoiding all Saturday chores. She huffs, kicks her feet up from the bed, jumps down from the top bunk, and lands with a vicious thud over their grandmother’s art room.
Kinley is standing outside in front of their grandmother’s home, under the first window. She is dressed in a medium Uline Deluxe Coverall, ski mask, gardening gloves, and goggles for protection. She is holding a mini rake in one hand and a standard rake in the other.
“Kinley Chris, why we gotta do this? Why we can’t wait ’til Uncle Henry gets here to clear this ivy? I hate it. It makes my stomach turn.” The younger sister whines and tries to plead her case, but Kinely Chris stands firm on what needs to get done as a part of their Saturday chores.
“Every Saturday you moan’n groan, like I wanna hear it. I don’t. Uncle Henry won’t be over here ’til later on this evening for dinner, and by that time, he ain’t gon’ wanna do nothin’ but plop down and fill his belly with steak, potatoes, and gravy. So… please go get your gear on and get back out here so we can do what we need to do.”
Wayne Donald stirs up a fuss with her feet as she rattles the leaves awake beneath them. She races upstairs to gather her gear, puts it all on in haste, and rushes back outside to help her big sister.
“Get yo rakes and make sure your goggles are on good. We don’t need you rashin’ up ’round the eyes like you did two weeks ago. I got a swift slap to my cheek from grandma for not checkin’ on ya before we started, and I ain’t aimin’ for that to happen today.” Wayne Donald straightens up her goggles and pulls her ski mask down to meet the edges.
“And if you do a good job today, I’ve got some gummy bears with yo name on’em.”
Wayne Donald looks over at Kinley, shakes her head happily, and gets to work.
AI-Generated Image: Two sisters; one teenager, one seven-year-old, dressed in gardening gear and goggles, frowning.
A rare shout from up above meets the girls’ ears. It’s their grandmother giving precise orders for the proper trimming of the ivy.
“Girls, I likes them red leaves… how they’re comin’ in beautifully. Keep as many of them as you can, leave some green leaves to mingle with it, and trim from the top to the bottom. Y’all got your hedge clippers out there?”
The girls look up, both surprised to hear from their grandmother at this time of day. Typically, she’s asleep until noon, it’s only 09:30 AM. Kinley is the first to respond, then Wayne Donald.
“Sure thing, Grandma. We’ll get it right.”
“Okay, Grandma, will do!”
The sun rose higher to greet the two of them just as they were making headway under the third window. With seven more windows to go, the girls know they will not finish the task today, but at least most of the trimming and clearing of the ivy will be done for next Saturday.
“Whew! Five windows down, five more to go. It’s time for lunch, Wayne Donald. We can end here and finish up next Saturday. I think I smell Grandma’s fried spam and eggs, and I sure do want a belly full of that on some buttered toast.”
“Lawd, I do too, Kinley Chris! I been waitin’ for you to say we can stop since we started. Let’s get inside!”
This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #349.I love these two sisters. They remind me of my friend, E’s two youngest girls. When the series is complete, I will share it with her. I am long overdue for a trip up to the mountains of Western North Carolina to visit all of them, and I am looking forward to it at the beginning of next year.
The image depicts the corner of a room with bright green walls and ornate stacked moulding in white and gold. We see part of a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A sofa with green and gold striped fabric and gold trim sits against one wall. Various artworks of different sizes adorn the walls, some framed in gold and some black. Photo by Elif Gulgac on Unsplash.
“Where the hell is Wayne Donald?!”
Kinley Chris yells from across the salty shore. Her younger sister shot like lightning from their grandmother’s front porch to the mouth of the beach when she heard the fireworks.
To try and coax her home, Kinley runs at full speed with a bag of gummy bears dangling from her back pocket–her sister’s favorite snack.
“Wayne Donald! Wayne Donald! I’ve got your favorite snack! Come on out here. I ain’t got all day!”
The girls are the two most oddly named children at their school–in their neighborhood. Wayne Donald, the youngest, at age 7, is a blonde-haired, green-eyed turbo train of unbridled anxiety. Kinley Chris, 13, is cinnamon sunshine with a pinch of “Don’t waste my time”, and their personalities speak before they do.
Plainly put, they don’t need an introduction.
The girls’ grandmother sits in her art room, rocking back and forth to the sound of the island’s fireworks.
No one is allowed in this room, not even her husband (not the girls’ biological grandfather). The room is both peaceful and creepy. It’s a vibrant green with a cream and gold ceiling, and has Art Deco-like furniture. It smells like a scene from a Foghorn Leghorn cartoon married to last night’s dinner. The girls gladly stay out of it.
“Wayne Donald! Wayne!!! Girl, where are you?! It’s getting dark, and I’m cold as the teats on a mama polar bear!”
On the pier, directly behind the viewers, Wayne Donald appears. She is wearing a snaggletoothed smile and sea-soaked clothes.
“I’m right here, Kinley Chris! If I was a snake, woulda bit ya!”
The little girl races to her older sister, slaps five with her, and snatches the gummy bears from her back pocket.
“If that was all I had to do to get these here gummy bears outta ya, Kinley, I woulda did it long ago.”
She leans into the tight embrace of her big sister, and they plop their tired bodies on the muddied sand.
“If all you wanted was some candy, Wayne Donald, all you had to do was ask.”
The girls’ grandmother lifts the window in the art room and calls them home. Her wretched voice echoes along the beach. They race each other back to the long-winding porch and float through the front door.
Tomorrow’s adventures await.
This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. The name, “Wayne Donald,” came to me first, then the image of the little girls, and the story wrote itself from there. I love these challenges, and I am grateful for them as kickstarters for buried creativity.
A Cornered Gurl 
You must be logged in to post a comment.