Tag: Medium

How I Benefited From Purchasing My Car Through Vroom

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The overall process was lengthy but worth it

“Solo” the Chevy Spark. Photo Collage Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I hate to say I “fell on hard times”, but truth be known, I had taken on a heavy period of struggling financially after losing the part-time editing job with P.S. I Love You, thanks to the swift and prudent changes to Medium regarding publications. So yes, I fell on hard times. Everything mounted in front of me, including inflation, a significant rent increase by $87.00, and Jernee’s (my almost 14-year-old Chorkie) health declined.

I am only one person. The income I plummeted into after being considerably above water for over a year was not welcoming or a warm hug. I felt the pressure. I felt the pain. And I felt the undeniable need to make a significant change.

I work from home for my primary job. Given this is my reality, I weighed my options on keeping my vehicle or selling it and going without transportation for six months to a year. Implementing this change would allow additional income to pay down a few bills and be comfortable enough to live with some sense of stability.

It was actually an easy decision for me to sell the vehicle. I did so in late November and got more than I thought I would — which enabled me to pay off the car and two bills.

I spent the next four months paying down two other bills, working overtime at my job, dealing with Jernee’s health issues and endless vet visits, enduring my cousin’s death, and swimming slowly back to the surface.

It was a hellish journey, but I finally made it to a place where I no longer needed to go without a car. But what I knew was I needed to find a car comparable to my pay with insurance coverage that wouldn’t cost me an arm and a leg.

I researched a few dealerships and quickly found out this current season is not the best market for purchasing a vehicle in the traditional way. So, I began looking into Vroom and the company’s inventory, background, and benefits for me being a new consumer.

“We believe buying a car should be fun, easy, and affordable. Here’s how Vroom is leading the revolution. No haggling. No pressure. We’ve eliminated the middleman and made the entire car buying process more efficient, which allows us to pass the savings on to our customers.” — Vroom

During my research period, I also received a raise from work. Everything seemed to be falling into place. I prayed and spent some much-needed time running numbers in my head and reaching out to my closest friends for support.

I found the car I wanted after three days of searching and reviewing mileage, prices, down-payments, and financing options.

The vehicle I clung to like a fly to fresh manure is the car you see as the cover image; a 2017 Chevrolet Spark Hatchback.

The color captivated me. I’d never had a blue vehicle before. The mileage at the purchase date had been 31,401. Financing through Vroom and one of their financing entities had been calculated at 10.73% at 72 months. The vehicle also comes with one year of roadside assistance.

The monthly payments are considerably lower than my last vehicle’s payments, and I found insurance through Direct Auto through National General Insurance.

I still have my arms and my legs.

The entire process, although a lengthy one, was seamless. My Car Specialist was helpful every step of the way. When my vehicle was ready for delivery, I received communication from the manager at my local Vroom delivery hub.

She was thorough in her emails to me and kept me informed right up to the day before delivery. The delivery assistant/driver who brought the vehicle to my front door was beyond friendly, professional, and efficient. The vehicle had been delivered an entire two days ahead of schedule and four hours before its tentative delivery time.

Deciding to go this route opened my eyes to a brand new experience in the world of online vehicle purchasing. It has proven to be worth it and I’m saving close to $195.00 compared to my last vehicle and its accompanying insurance and roadside coverage.

They recently presented me with an opportunity at work that will catapult me to a higher position in radiology scheduling, which will also increase my pay (again). The impending change should be finalized in the coming weeks.

I would have never thought about Vroom without seeing their commercials. I am glad they prompted me to get to know more about the company, and that doing so, landed me with a vehicle equipped with the tools and bells and whistles I find accommodating.

I don’t think I’ll ever go to an actual car dealership again.

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.

After the Storm, There Is Still Hope

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A Prose Poem

From a harsh windstorm, we had in my area over the weekend. Friday, March 18, 2022. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I haven’t gone a full day without crying since your death. Some days, I think, “This could be the day. A full day with no tears”, and then I hear, smell, see, or remember something that has you all over it, and I begin to puddle. Triggers . . . I hate to dub them as harshly as I have, but that is what these things are . . . Triggers.

I haven’t been myself lately.

How can I be myself without you? I am writing more; fulfilling requests from interested people, doing what I said I always wanted to do. You have always been vocal about my writing and supported it undeniably.

The little things pump their way into my view, and I find myself trying to shun them without several blinks.

I don’t want to really see them.
I don’t really need to. Do I?

After I lost the part-time gig, I waited a few months and sold my car. We discussed this. It was best for me, and at the time, financially fruitful I was not. You listened intently, knowing I’d do what I needed to in order to get back on track.

Four months later, I am at a place where breathing is easier and above water is where my head seems to rest. The Powers That Be saw fit to give me a raise, and I paid down two bills significantly. I set my eyes on another vehicle, purchased it, and blended my life into the interior of a compact Chevy I call, “Solo.”

I wanted you to know, but I couldn’t tell you. Not like before. There’s no actual way of getting the news to you, but I speak to the air. I whisper to the clouds. I pray that you will hear my faint-barely-holding-on statements to you when no one else is around.

We have had several windstorms — weird for this time of year. A tree toppled my neighbor’s car. I’d just moved mine to venture out to the store, and when I came back, she and her sons were outside assessing the damage. My jaw dropped, as I’d not had Solo a full four hours, and had I not left for the store when I did, I would have been outside, alongside her, shaking my damn head.

I prayed for her to have patience — for her to gain what she needs monetarily to get another car. I prayed for any emotional distress she will endure — for the will and fight to duke it out with her insurance company and our property manager.

I look at her deformed vehicle — and send a word of thanks to God for making sure she was not in it.

I come inside my quiet apartment, pat the dog on her head, give her a treat, and put the groceries away. It had been nineteen hours without one teardrop. I read an article and watch a commercial about a fellow artist who is taking her art to new levels and the tears begin.

Triggers. That is what these things are . . . Triggers.

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.

A World of Terror

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Musical Selection: Sarah McLachlan|I Will Remember You

A Revised Haibun (for Chrissy)

Photo by John Juice Harris via ReShot

I tell myself, I am glad you did not live to see this world as it unravels right before our eyes. Destruction is at every turn; children bombed, mothers, sons, families scrambling to leave home . . . the home they have always known. We would have talked about this — voiced our disdain for the evil of this world, yet we would have mentioned our gratefulness too. There is this gaping hole in my heart I have been struggling to fill, and the only thing I can do is write — write about you; about your smile, about your love, about the way you never bit your tongue.

All I can do is just write, and pray this hole fills itself with something — someone — anything else soon.

a piece of my heart
is buried in this cold world
my cousin is gone

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt, Originally published via Simily, revised version published in The Junction via Medium.

Deidrick

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Part VI: Getting ready to be a father

Photo by Jessica Thomas via ReShot

I get a text from Iesha’s mother at like midnight telling me to get down to Mercy City Hospital, and all I could think of were Iesha and the baby. Are they aight? Are they okay? I was tearing up so badly; I had to take a roll of tissue with me to the car. I put the key in the ignition and turned right. The car purred — started up with no trouble, and the sheer sound of it, for some reason, made me believe — all would be well.

I guess I don’t have to tell you; the car is mine. I love it! My homie Amar’s Uncle Khalil was true to his word. When I’m not hustling to take Iesha to her rec classes or to the ice cream shop to work, I am running errands for us and driving myself to and from work. These last few weeks have been so busy, I barely had time to breathe. Iesha’s been rippin’ and runnin’ too, doing far too much. I’ve told her on more than one occasion, “Babe, you’re getting too close to your due date to be doing all this. Let someone else lighten the load for you.”

But Iesha is stubborn, and she thought she could work here, study there, and hustle here without any of this catching up with her. My phone dings and there’s another text message coming in from Iesha’s mother, and I pull over to the edge of the road, away from traffic to read what it says.

“She’s five centimeters dilated — contractions every ten minutes, lasting about 45 seconds. This baby is probably coming tonight, Deidrick. Where are you!?”

Tonight?! What am I reading?! TONIGHT!!! Not tonight. We still have so much to do. She hadn’t even had the baby shower — that’s next weekend. The apartment won’t be ready until Thursday — it’s Monday. She’s only seven months now. Will the baby be okay? Why is she coming so early?! What are we going to do?

Man, listen . . . I hustled so fast those last four blocks to the hospital, it’s a miracle I didn’t get pulled over by the cops. I kept seeing Iesha’s smile flash before my eyes — like the happiest memories of her were loading up in my brain, and I felt like I was in the matrix or some shit, ya know?

I pull up to the parking deck, grab the entry ticket, find the closest parking spot on the first floor, and hustle to the side entrance of the parking deck to get to the main entrance of the hospital. At Mercy City, you sign in with the receptionist, give the party’s name you’re there to see, and then after scanning your driver’s license, you’re given the room number and if available, a hospital volunteer to usher you to their room.

I told the receptionist I didn’t need an usher — I knew exactly where I was going. I spent so much time in this hospital as a kid, I could map it with my eyes closed. Guess I didn’t tell you this, huh? I have sickle cell anemia. Iesha, as far as we know, is not a carrier and doesn’t have the trait. So, we should be in the clear with our little one. I think she’s just ready to enter this world — ready to give her Mommy and Daddy some work to do.

The last time I had been hospitalized was about four years ago. I don’t miss this place — not one bit.

When I step into the room, I notice Iesha strapped to some sort of device, wailing and screaming. I guess the damn contractions were getting the best of her. My girl has been telling us since day one . . . “I don’t want any drugs.” And I’ll be damned if she wasn’t keeping her word. She handled each contraction like a trooper.

I had to slide some hospital gear over my clothes, and some shoe covers, too. The cover on my head looked funky and out of place. I settled in next to the hospital bed and held Iesha’s hand. Her mom was talking to her, telling her to breathe through each contraction just like she had learned. She was squeezing the hell outta my hand, man. I can laugh about it now because it’s all said and done, but I was scared as shit that night. Scared as shit.

Two hours later, we had a screaming baby, who was letting the world know she was alive. She was 4lbs, 11oz, amazingly so. Iesha’s mom said, “Lord child, had you carried this baby to term, she would have been at least seven pounds.” Iesha was a week shy of being eight months pregnant. We’d made it close enough to a “safe place” for the baby to survive on her own outside of the womb, but you know . . . all precautions had to be taken. Her breathing was a little labored, but she was calm otherwise.

No real causes for alarm, they said.

She spent nine days in the NICU, her weight fluctuating, but she was eating and sleeping normally. On her last day in the hospital, me and Iesha walked up to the NICU and sat and took turns holding her — loving her — letting her know who Daddy and Mommy were.

We both decided she would be Aida Miracle Miles because here she was — our little miracle.

I’d known this day would come, so I was ready, but I wasn’t ready too. If you dig what I’m sayin’. But man . . . I take one look at Aida and another at Iesha and I can’t stop smiling. My two girls — my world in one room. I love them so much my heart explodes at the thought of losing either of them. I am a father. A father . . . I am someone’s father. I don’t think I’ve ever known this kind of happiness before.

So look, that’s all. Stay safe out there, man.

*This concludes the Deidrick series. Thank you so much for reading.

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, and Part V

Hello Again, Death–You’re Uninvited

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Photo by Cecily Ward via ReShot

A Lamentation

the last breath cuts
sharply — aims for
the heart

we all feel it

amazingly, suffering comes
in waves
no longer tortured by
the machines that
kept you breathing, you
can soar

how fragile the human
life — how glass-like;
the cracks and piercings
dangle as cautionary tales
to be told in the future

I said the only words 
I could muster, “I love you — 
I love you so much.”
and I did and I do and 
I always will

this world was too blind
to see a gem shining
before it — God knew this,
didn’t he?

I give myself excuses
and blink on blips of 
memories loading to keep
me above water

a foreign concept — picking up
my phone to never
hear your voice again;
no more conversations engrossed
in hilarity or tears or common
reflections of family ties

I ache all over

this is pain — the kind
that creeps in unexpectedly 
with death at its heels — uninvited
I need the calmness of 
your presence and I 
will never have that again

there are some still
adamant about this
treacherous virus being
a hoax, but let me
testify

I’ve lost the sun
moon and stars and
nothing about it
is fake

yours was a love that
held me when I 
needed to be held, that 
comforted me in all
my weariness

who will love me 
like that again?
there are no replacements;
I knew the greatest
familial love there is next
to a mother and child

and I am glad I did

maybe you’re my angel
and if it is true — spread 
your wings around me,
ensure my actions won’t 
be what they shouldn’t

I long for you near and
can’t have you — never, 
ever, again

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.

I Understand True Love Doesn’t Sleep

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A Prose Poem

Photo by Dasha Pats via ReShot

The day of love approaches — savored lips flaunt in the midnight air — an enticing invitation for feelings swaddled in blankets too tight for release.

I have my ways, I know. You tell me this often, and I do hear you. I do. But I find my ways to be risky if I veer too far away from them — they’ll find me. They’ll seek me out.

And once I’ve been repurposed and re-homed, they will betray me. You have been my ruin for different shades of many moons — I want out.

I understand true love doesn’t sleep, but this feels like death — pre-meditated. I don’t remember signing up for this. *“You were light, but you were never my sun.”

I gave you a place at the table of my world — you sopped at every morsel, buried your woes at my feet. I welcomed the torment. I opened my door to the revolution and it struck me without warning.

I am burned by the light of a star.

Here . . . there are scars that refuse to heal. Here . . . there is pain that continues a cycle. Here . . . there is a heavy cross to bear.

I am broken from carrying it.

I wait for you — afraid that if I move forward in time with someone who walks on high heels and flashes deep dimples in my direction, I will fall and won’t be able to stand and steady myself in an upright position. She makes me weak.

And while the lovers of this realm ululate at the sight of a full moon on a day more special than your favorite sin, I will bite my tongue, don my adulting garb, and thank God for the new pair of balls I’ve grown.

I don’t believe in true love. I did believe in you.

I don’t anymore.

*Taken from the indomitable Sarah Doughty.

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.