but not before
we panic, cry, lose our cool,
but not before
we panic, cry, lose our cool,
©2019 Tremaine L. Loadholt. All Rights Reserved/Originally published on Medium.
Author’s Note: With all that’s wrong in this world, something goes right and not enough light is shined on it, not in my opinion. After watching the video below about ten times and sharing it with my friends, I was moved to pen something. Like it or not, HISTORY was made and it came on the wings of a Goddess named Simone.
hello, Time . . .
so, you’re here for me, but
I am still not done with today’s day
and tomorrow always comes before
I am ready.
I request more of you.
And I know this game.
I know you will deny me of
what I ask, but
I am stubborn enough to
think that maybe today is different.
You could change your mind
and this suggestion of M O R E from
you could land in lap,
shortly after I finish this sentence.
But, think about it.
Just a little bit more of you today
would be better for me tomorrow
and really–aren’t we eager to keep
me satisfied these days?
Time, you can make it happen.
I’ll be waiting.
©2019 Tremaine L. Loadholt All Rights Reserved
This evening, I will be traveling to Alaska for a full workweek. It has been incredibly long since I took an actual week off of work for vacation. I am going to Alaska, more specifically, Anchorage. My reason for this is to celebrate my friend’s upcoming birthday and to experience beautiful sights and landmarks. I have never been to Alaska, having a close friend who lives there will inspire many more trips in the future. I will soon be able to mark this off my bucket list.
But first, I am looking forward to this time away and my internet usage will be limited as I intend to totally immerse myself in my surroundings. I need this. My mind, heart, and soul needs this. I know for a fact that this will be a great experience, not just for me, but for my writing, my mental fortitude.
Jernee will be with my Mom. I picked her up yesterday and she and Jernee will have a week together to enjoy each other’s company and get reacquainted. My friend has a complete itinerary and everything I envision to do in Alaska, within my means, will be done.
To say that I am excited is an understatement, however, I am nervous too. I hate flying. It makes me severely anxious. I intend to take one Aleve capsule (to curb any headaches or backaches) before boarding and will read and sleep for most of the flight or, try to.
It is my prayer that each of you will enjoy your week ahead and that life will be more than kind to you.
John and Lenny stand outside the church drawing in on the butts of their cigarettes lamenting and gossiping about their friend Parker’s death. How does a fifty-five-year-old man manage to make his wife poison him? The two of them shoot the shit, unfazed by the crowd thickening in the pews for the viewing. The church bells ring and the small choir begins their rendition of ‘Nearer My God to Thee.’ They ignore the cues to be seated.
“You heard what happened to him, right?”
“No, I haven’t, just that he was in the hospital for three days before he died. You know what happened?”
“She’d been poisoning him . . . Preparation H in the cake icing every weekend for two years.”
“He did love cake.”
“He did . . . That’s a bad way to go, though. A hemorrhoid cream death. How do you explain that to your kids?”
“You think they’re gonna tell’em? The family?”
“I sure as hell hope not. I wouldn’t want my kids knowing I died a hemorrhoid cream death. Jesus! I ain’t going to the funeral. It’s sure to be a nesting ground for the media. Half the neighborhood’s here and it’s just the viewing.”
“Are you gonna send flowers to his family?”
“Think I’ll send them an edible arrangement and have Edith bake them a pie.”
“Good. I thought you were gonna say ‘cake’. So glad you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they don’t want any cake any time soon. Damn. Just, damn. Word on the street is that Janie caught him cheating with Elaine. Elaine of all people, Lenny! Can you believe that?”
“Well, Elaine could bake a mean cake. Wait a minute . . . Do we really know if it was Janie and not Elaine who’d been poisoning him?”
“Aw hell, man. Let’s go inside before folks get to questioning what we’re doing.”
“God. That’s still such a bad way to go.”
The two friends stroll inside the building, each of them finding their own wives, and seating themselves quietly. Neither of them mentions the words ‘cake’ or ‘Preparation H’ ever again.
Here lies Parker T. Overton. Loyal Husband. Loving Father. Faithful Servant of the Lord. June 12, 1964 — July 12, 2019. Death by Preparation H.