Jernee Timid Loadholt: The puppy and younger years. Photo Reel Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
it’s still grief
no one prepares you for the ache you’ll feel each time digital “memories” pop into view… the love lost will always be found.
grieving a deceased pet is often frowned upon–not recognized or centered as a genuine loss. and I wonder, how can you categorize death into a hierarchy?
pain is pain is pain is pain.
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.
Bones… a show I can watch over and over again–the reruns are salve; balm for my crowded mind–a distraction.
sometimes, on heavy days, a distraction is what I need.
to witness complex cases, albeit fatal fiction, I disappear in their plot twists and fall victim to their endings.
funny how the things that gross me out in my dreams invigorate me while I’m awake.
who’s murdering who is more than a pertinent question, it’s a means to an end.
AI-Generated Image: A Black woman with locs, wearing glasses, semi-doubled over in pain.
a body for sale (on clearance)
I’m at an age now when a hard and awkward sleep can throw my back out or a sneeze from the depths of my soul can summon tinnitus.
the body is a weird thing to observe. how fragile we can become when we think we’re at our strongest.
we can be swiftly reminded of just how easy it is to injure oneself without force or torture. depreciating value…
like a brand new vehicle the moment you drive it off the lot.
clearanced and marked down, wanted only because we’re now cost-effective and a hot commodity.
everyone wants the cheapest version of you.
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.
I went from a short, almost pixie-style haircut to just over shoulder-length locs in 3 years! Ájá is healthy, thick, and has a personality all on her own. She’s still doing her own thing, and I’m so happy with my hair! Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
A Photo Montage of Some of My Favorite Moments Rocking Ájá. Video Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
natural hair journey three-year anniversary Ájá’s still thriving
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.
They come dripping with honied songs. You happily lap them up at first; so cloyingly sticky with promise the sting of their claws goes unnoticed. And just like that, there’s nothing again,
Only now, nothing feels less than that. Got you chasing things you never wanted just to feel something one more time, just to get another juicy taste, just like they wanted all along.
Play at being prey enough times, angles and patterns soon seem telegraphed. Funny how when you see them coming those sweet songs croon on empty calories, leaving you, me, and this naked truth.
Unsheathed, this mummer’s mimic still has fangs, so be mindful how you cast them off. Though a well-dressed no is still a no and boundaries trigger venomous bite, angles and distance out-leverage their reach.
Let them bait their lines again and again. Mimic being moved by their siren song as saccharine curdles into sour nothings as you walk away from their invite to thank them for gorging on your wholeness.
(In Response) Tremaine L. Loadholt:
You love being whole, love feeling like you have it all, and every woman you meet must be craving your attention. A welcome yes may not be the yes you yearn for, but this doesn’t matter, you’ll take what you want anyway.
And the sun and moon watch as you devour hearts that haven’t bloomed into their ripe age. they plot on you–one to brace you when it’s hot, the other to push you when it’s cool. You are so intent on breaking every rule, you don’t realize protecting you is their job.
The distance to sanity from where you are is a two-day journey. Wives and husbands, sisters and brothers; every connected union you find along your path–
To read the poem in its entirety, please find it in its published form at Collaborature. Thank you so much, Melissa Lemay, for hosting our work!Thank you, Barry, for continuing to collaborate with me. Our words have danced with each other for years, and I pray they continue to find each other in the future, too.
The image above is from Getty Images. It is a vintage photo of a young boy sitting at a table and looking mischievously at a whole turkey on a platter garnished with lettuce and tomatoes. The boy wears a suit jacket, dress shirt and tie, and his hands are folded and placed on the table. An empty dinner plate, a smaller plate with a dinner roll on it, and a full glass of milk are in front of him.
Bruce Dennis is getting so far up that the girls wail out to her, pleading for her to get back down to safety. The poor cat sits unbothered, still attached to ten red heart-shaped balloons, drifting by a will not of her own. They stomp their feet and cry out with impatience. Kinley Chris shouts downstairs to their grandmother—screaming for her help—begging her with plump tears in her eyes for her to do something.
“Grandma! Bruce Dennis is flyin’ up more and more. We need to get her down! Grandma, please!”
But their grandmother was in the very place she was before all the commotion began. The girls have no idea she is the one who hitched Bruce Dennis to the balloons—swatting the cat away for breaking her favorite vase. She had said so many times before her art room was off limits. She is going to show them better than she can tell them. But before she would wiggle her overgrown self from the vintage loveseat perfectly placed next to the only window in the art room, their young ginger-haired neighbor, Charlie Rhett Baylor, raps at their door.
“Kinley and Wayne!!! I see Brucie up in the sky. What is goin’ on, y’all?!” In between his yelling, there were frantic knocks at the door. Charlie is also thinking of a way to get the fat cat down while he continues to knock and yell. His father, Hank Baylor, is the Deputy Sheriff in town, so Charlie has a few tricks up his sleeve that will surely secure the fat cat soundly.
Wayne Donald shoots down the stairs quicker than an incoming evening tide and swings the door open. She notices Charlie’s Sunday Best attire, then waves for him to enter their home. Kinley Chris strips the bedding off the guest room’s twin mattress and tosses it out the window. She is thinking they can shoot the balloons one by one with her slingshot or BB gun, and get Bruce Dennis to land on the mattress, but they have to be quick. When Charlie meets her in the guest room, she rattles off her plan to him, and he throws his suit jacket on the box spring, kicks off his loafers, and races back downstairs so he can place the mattress in the spot where Bruce Dennis would land.
Kinley Chris loads the BB gun with .177 caliber pellets, flings the gun over her shoulder, and sets up shop right in front of the old window. Like a focused sniper, the eldest sibling tilts her head to find the subject, braces her legs for shifting, and kneels down in an experienced shooter’s position. She yells down to Charlie, who is in a frenzied state, trying to track Bruce Dennis’ landing position.
“Charlie Rhett Baylor, you gotta good eye on Brucie? I ain’t aimin’ to kill my cat when she falls, so you besta be movin’ that mattress in the right direction!”
“Yeah, I’m watchin’! I’m watichin’ ya, Kinley. You just let those bbs rip, and my eyes will be on the fat cat prize.”
Kinley Chris launches the first three pellets with vigor and swift calculation. Two more pellets follow, and Charlie is monitoring every hit and is maneuvering the mattress as if his life depends on it. Kinley Chris launches two more pellets, and Wayne Donald wails in exclamation—deathly afraid of a negative outcome.
Just before Kinley lets the last three pellets fly, Bruce Dennis is falling down at a pace none of them expects, and Charlie has his eyes on her—keenly assessing the situation as every second passes.
“I’m lettin’ these last three rip, Charlie! Make sure that mattress is placed right. Looks like Bruce Dennis is comin’ right at ya!” Each pellet hits its respective target, and the fat cat meows loud enough for the whole block to hear. She lands with a pounding thud on the mattress on her eight-lives-left paws and quickly runs toward the shed behind the house.
“Wayne Donald!” Kinley Chris turns to her sister to give the final instructions. “You go on to that shed and make sure she ain’t got no bruises or nothin’ like that, and take her a fresh bowl of milk and open a can of that good tuna for her, too.”
Charlie waits until he sees Wayne Donald, then hurries up the stairs to grab his suit jacket and loafers. His day of helping the neighbors is over, and now he has a story to tell his highly decorated Deputy Sheriff of a father.
Bruce Dennis won’t even look in the art room’s direction. She will never trust the girls’ grandmother again.
A Cornered Gurl 
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