Friday’s Free-for-All (Dear Tallulah)

Lay your grammar obsessions aside, let your jaw relax, loosen your ears, take a long deep breath as you let your mind drift to the deep south and listen in to the privy conversation between Maggie and her dear Tallulah.

Chapter ElevenBOOK 1 COVER with title

“Are you gonna sleep all day Mizrez Lafont? Best try to git up a bit.”
It was the sweet southern voice of Tallulah attempting to rouse the exhausted Maggie. She tapped the rail of a lump beneath the bedding and continued.
“Ima open these shades now missy, better make yo eyes ready cuz it’s a mighty fine mornin’.” Tallulah warned. Her bedraggled vernacular seemed to come from every direction at once.

Maggie pulled the Egyptian cotton over her face and murmured,
“Thank you Tallulah but for the umpteenth time would you please call me Maggie, okay?”
“Okay Miss Maggie.” The drapes flew back and light filled the room. Maggie lifted the cover from her face and squinted at the morning sun. Tallulah studied the woman’s face which was no more than a shade darker than the snowy sheets. She planted her hands on her hips and stared into the hollow eyes of her mistress.

“Mr. Ray is comin’ home today. He’s gonna be here in time for supper, you gonna tell him?”
“Yes Tallulah, I am going to tell him.”
“Is you feelin’ sick this mornin’? I can fetch you some dry toast and warm tea. That was always a help to me and to Mr. Ray’s mama too.”
“Yes please.” Maggie strained to sit up and suppressed a gag as she spoke. “That would be nice.”

When Maggie heard the door shut she scrambled to the restroom, turned the cold water on and splashed her face. The wave of nausea subsided and she raised her head to inspect the figure before her. She hardly recognized the drawn, insipid person in the mirror.
Maggie had been ill since the last night of her honeymoon when Ray carried her from the beach. She barely recalled the long flight home and blamed it on the rum but there was something wrong and she knew it.
The illness quashed her plans to redecorate the beautiful old plantation house. It had been in the Lafont family for close to two hundred years. There wasn’t much Maggie wanted to change about the historical mansion, just a few personal touches to make it her own, their own. The home of Mr. and Mrs. Ray Lafont – Ray didn’t care one way or the other.
Mrs. Turner kept her word and came to visit at least once a week, usually staying for several days though Maggie hardly noticed with most of her days spent between the bed and the bathroom of the apartment sized boudoir.
Unable to keep much of anything on her stomach Maggie wasn’t surprised when she noticed her collar bones protruding like bowed timber at the base of her bony neck. Lifting her gown she could visualize the distinct outline of every rib then letting her eyes drop she observed the only thing that wasn’t recessed was her belly. Her abdomen looked like a basketball had been shoved beneath her flesh. “Ohhh god,” she moaned as her emaciated frame convulsed and heaved. Green bile splashed against the marble sink.

“Awe honey child!” Tallulah cried, rushing to Maggie’s side. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
“I’m sorry Tallulah,” Maggie swept a trembling hand across her mouth; “I’ve made another mess.”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout that none. That’s what I’m here for.”
Tallulah helped Maggie back to bed and softly washed her face then held the cup steady while Maggie sipped the chamomile tea.
Tallulah was a thick framed black woman who reminded Maggie very much of Aunt Jamima though she never said it out loud for fear of offending the angelic lady.
“You have gots to tell Mr. Ray Miss Maggie! You shoulda done told him a month ago. You done let this go too long, way too long.” She fretted, dabbing a damp cloth at Maggie’s face.
“There is nothing to tell Ray that he doesn’t already know. You know how he feels Tallulah – how we both feel about this. Now please…”
Without warning tea colored liquid spewed across the fine linens.
“He don’t know the doctor said you need to be shed of this or it’s gonna kill ya. It caint be he knows and let you lay up here wastin’ away.” The old nurse insisted, talking while she put a fresh damp cloth to Maggie’s neck and replaced the soiled sheet, “Mr. Ray is gone all the time, he don’t see what I see and when he calls you makes like ever little thang is fine.”
“Nature will take its course.” Maggie argued.
“That it will.” Tallulah agreed, “And maybe yo life in the doin’. Y’all can make another baby ma’am.” Tallulah paused to weigh her words and put her hands on Maggie’s gaunt ashen face, “They is somethin’ bad wrong with this one precious. I seen thangs like this here before. If ‘n it lives and you die…”
“I want to sleep now.” Maggie spoke abruptly to put an end to the conversation. Tallulah did not press the matter and Maggie sunk back beneath the cotton sheets.
You better take care of yourself and make sure this baby gets born healthy, do you hear me young lady?

The words of her mother ran through Maggie’s mind. It wasn’t as if Maggie had any control over it. If she did, if she could will her misery out of existence, the life sucking parasite would have been expelled weeks ago.

Maggie had just dozed off when the rumbling in her gut stirred her. It was not the usual churning she was familiar with and there was no nausea accompanying it. She lay still waiting for it. She placed her hand on her belly felt it again, a flutter followed by a tiny thump.
It’s kicking! Maggie stretched out on the bed and exposed her naked stomach. When the flutter started again she could see a slight rise in the protrusion on her withered frame.
“Hello in there.” She said quietly. It seemed to respond to her voice so she spoke again. “I’m gonna be your mother little man.” The communication went on for about ten minutes and when Maggie felt the thumps diminish she whispered, “You go back to sleep now, it’s going to be okay, your mama loves you.” A single tear of relief tickled the corner of her nose and she rang for Tallulah to bring her a full Sunday breakfast.

Tallulah entered a half-hour later with a smile and a tray loaded with soft scrambled eggs, bacon, French toast, grits and juice.
“I never seen you look so good Miss Maggie.” She laughed as the starving mother-to-be inhaled the platter of food and kept it down. “May be you gonna be alright after all. You and the young-un, yes indeed, may hap.” Tallulah practically danced out of the room with the empty tray and soiled linens in tow.

The fact that she had consumed every morsel without regurgitating bolstered her confidence as well as her energy. Maggie stood beneath the shower-head, stroking and lathering her stomach as she sang nursery rhymes to her unborn child. After showering she realized her endurance was not yet up to par and returned to bed for the best sleep she had had in months.
Two hours later Maggie awoke feeling exuberant and summoned Tallulah.

“Would you like to take a walk with me Tallulah?” she inquired.
“Not looking like you look.” The lady laughed, “`S’pose I comb them rats outta yo hair first.” Tallulah guided Maggie to the balcony. “You sit right here while I get a brush and lay out somethun nice for you to wear. You done got so po ain’t likely nuthin’l fitcha but we’ll make do.” Tallulah chose a light yellow poly blend dress from the wardrobe, laid it on the settee and shoved a brush inside her apron pocket. Before stepping back out onto the terrace she made the bed and turned down the covers.
“Here we go Miss Maggie.” turning Maggie so her back was to her, “Lawd child yo head is nappy!”
Maggie didn’t bother remarking on the comment. She knew she looked a fright in her current condition.
“How long have you known the Lafont family?” Maggie asked, as Tallulah stood behind her on the sun drenched veranda brushing out a mat of blond tangles.
“All my life.” Tallulah answered, “My Mama was maid to Mr. Ray’s Mama.”
“Really?” Maggie asked in surprise.
“Sho nuff and her Mama was employed here fo her. See my peoples was once owned by the Lafont’s.” Tallulah stated matter of factly with what sounded like pride to Maggie.
“Why on earth would you stay after the abolition – I mean why would your family stay on? Didn’t they know they could leave? Did anyone ever say?” Maggie asked, thoroughly intrigued by the information.
“Yessum, my mother told me what was told her — that they was no cause to leave. Said the Lafont’s made sure they had money, land and educated um too. Said they always gave um Sunday off and Saturday if need be. Wuddint no beatin’ and rapin’ goin’ on here like in tha other parts I heard tell of. I b’lieve her too cause they paid all three of my sons through college – called it my bonus. I couldn’t a got that nowhere else.”
“No ma’am I don’t believe you could have. So you’re fond of the family?” Maggie asked.
“Love um like they’s my own. I got one son is a doctor thanks to Mr. Ray’s daddy.” Tallulah beamed with pride and added, “The other two boys is teachers. Good teachers too.”
“I bet they are. You must be so proud of them Tallulah– all three of them.”
“I am Miss Maggie, I really am.”
“So tell me about Ray when he was a little boy.” Maggie urged.
“What’s be you wanna know?” Tallulah asked admiring and grooming the now smooth golden tresses of hair.
“Everything.”

The first memory that came to Tallulah’s mind of the young Lafont conjured cruel pictures. Images of the puppy Ray had found in an old grain silo. Tallulah could not bring herself to tell the ailing lady of how her husband had broken the legs of the tiny cur at every joint and tied its muzzle so it couldn’t cry out. She diligently searched her memories for something more pleasant. The imposition was cut short when Maggie abruptly slouched forward grabbing her waist.
“What’ a matter Miss Maggie?”
“I’m not sure.” Maggie replied, straining to speak through the enervating cramp, “Can we go in now?”
“Yessum. But you gots to tell ole Tallulah what’s wrong? Is you hurtin?”
Maggie nodded her head and tried to stand but found her legs would not support her.
“Let me help you.” She said, lifting Maggie to her feet.
“Oh lawdy lawd child, better let me carry you.” She swept Maggie up and carried her like a child back into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. “Ima get some towels – just you lay real still now.”
Maggie pulled her knees toward her chest, a natural maneuver to relieve the unrelenting spasm.
“Oh no.” She whimpered, “No, no, no little baby.” She cried when she noticed the bright red stain on her gown.

“Up here Mrs. Turner.” Tallulah yelled. Maggie lay motionless staring up at nothing as the nursemaid removed the bloody towels from between her legs. “Looks like that’s all of it ma’am.” Tallulah told her.

“Good lord have mercy! Look at all the blood. Tallulah were you able to stop it?” Mrs. Turner spoke frantically as she stood at the doorway and stared at the sharp contrast of crimson against the white bed sheets.
“Tha bleedin’ is slowed to nearly nuthin but she ain’t with child no mo ma’am.”

“Are you sure. Maybe we’d better call an ambulance and get her to the hospital.”

“For the girl may be, but look here.” Tallulah said, opening a towel for the grandmother to be, “Woulda been a boy by tha looks of it.”

“Dear god, that thing is hideous! Throw it away!” Mrs. Turner screamed as the salty rivers ran from her daughter’s silent face.

Get a copy from your favorite retailer here. Google has the series lined up for you here

 

Mad Monday (Break the Rules)

You know I mentioned going to Benton Arkansas last Friday.
It was a nice break. We shopped a little, ate too much, chattered like magpies and — well, I just had to see the old sanitarium/asylum aka “nervous hospital” where Karl spent most of his life.
Thank goodness my family is as adventurous and crazy as me.
There were no observable signs that forbade us from entering, so…
We considered going in a window but oddly enough we did not have to.

The doors seemed to beckon and willingly opened without the slightest resistance and ta-da, we were in.

and we are in... (800x533)

Exploring the dilapidated history in search of answers and ghosts and what-ifs.

And possibly inheriting a demon or a deadly disease. :/

What does this story have to do with writing?
This: Every now and then you have to break the rules to spice things up.
Of course you need to know the rules before you break them and sometimes the rules are not obvious.

Write On!!

Life, Cats and Conundrums (Snapped)

I do love to write some mystery but after finishing Cloud Wrangler, The Sharecropper’s Son and Greed I decided to take a break from writing for a bit and since it is getting too hot to grow much here more than weeds y’all know that means I’ve been taking more pictures.

Well…

I was telling a few friends (because, bless my heart, I only have a few) on my Facebook  page about Pretty Kitty Puddin’ Jam wanting to be a star.

You see…

I took a few photos of her and they were accepted at Dreamstime and now she thinks she’s an icon!

I don’t mind her being a little prissy about it, I get it. I was cute once. I have a beautiful daughter and granddaughters. Heck all the women I know are beautiful and sometimes we get a little “full of ourselves” – it happens. BUT, it is not okay to be cheeky and mean. At least not to our own clan – our tribal members – our own sisters and that is what [not so] Pretty Kitty did. They usually play so well together. Usually.

So here’s what happened…

I thought it would be adorable to get a few pictures of Mia Bella (aka Mimi or Mimi-fifikins) and Miss Puddin Jam playing in a basket outdoors.  After all, who wouldn’t smile at the image of a kitten and a Chihuahua playfully scuffling in a white wicker basket that just happened to be sitting in shade of jasmine ivy?

So I situated the basket, helped the two inside and told them, “just have fun.” As I turned back to take my position for the shoot I heard a belittling remark followed by a peculiar plluuhh. I whipped around and snapped.

DSC_0008 (1024x702)

Oh my goodness, I snapped alright – in more ways than one! I told Miss Pretty Kitty Puddin’ Jam that she was the ugliest cat I had ever seen in all my life. A knock-kneed, cock-eyed, dull-witted, poor excuse of a pet! I gave her the “pretty is as pretty does” lecture and told her she should be ashamed for spitefully hurting her sister.

The truth is she has all the makings of a star and maybe on some subconscious level I am jealous? Maybe I expect too much from a kitten? Maybe I need medicine? Oh lord, we can analyze it later but I told her I would never [ever] take her picture again unless she kissed Mimi and said she was sorry.

DSC_0007 (1024x760)

Like most stars her apology appeared reluctant and less than heartfelt but what can I say? This is my crazy life… obsessed at the moment with cats and conundrums.

Hold on, there is a point to this — Help!

This is the fourth consecutive year I have been honored to be a judge in the FAC annual teen scholastic/literary/poetry event. This year was even more exciting because I am still alive and it was the first reason I have had to shuck my pajamas since last year. Just kidding! But seriously, FAC added a short story contest. Yay!the-pose-533x800.jpg

FAC logoA little aside: Forney Arts Council hosts the annual event but an invitation to participate is extended to several surrounding cities. Just FYI Forney is a booming little town about a stone’s throw east of Dallas Texas.

Just look at the beautiful poets and writers of our future.

Some of them receiving their first check for following their passion.

winners FAC compition

The winners

I am so proud of every single one of them. I know their parents and teachers are too; and the fabulous lady (Tiffany) with a passion for art that keeps this thing going.

Hold on, there is a point to this post —

What was it? ….

Oh yes, Help!

I need your help. It won’t cost you a dime and only a minute of your time.

What? Why? How? You ask?

Well, you see I am scheduled to give a talk/presentation next month on the art of the short story. Actually it is The Art of the Short Story & Micro/Flash Fiction.

The problem (other than the typical butterflies) is I know why I read and write short stories/flash fiction but I would love some input as to why others do.

Is it attention span? Time constraints? Challenge? Amusement? Something else?

If this thing works right I have inserted two polls, one for writers and another for readers. If not…  the comments section is always open.

Thanks Y’all.

Why do you read short stories?
(polls)

Why do you write short stories?

(polls)

The Final Friday of April * Farewell NPM & Hello Mice

There are a few days left in April but this is my farewell to 2017’s National Poetry Month.

(Cue the mice in the attic!)animated-mice gif

Thank you to everyone who participated and to everyone who endured the participants.

If you have read, written or shared a poem this month congratulations – you have truly expanded your mind as well as your horizons. Now [for me and the mice] it is back to the surreal world. Speaking of mice (urrumm) this is one of my favorite scenes from August Wolf which happens to be zero dollars right now. Yep, $0.00 April 28th – April 30th.

Excerpt from Chapter 3

“What do you think he meant?” Dale asked, running his thumb over the mouth of a half-empty bottle. “What could they do to you that would be worse than killing you?”

“I can think of a few things.” Jason answered, as he slowly pushed away from the table. “Any number of things.” His eyes remained fixed on a dim corner of the kitchen while his hand quietly seized the shooter at his side.

“Like what?” His friend asked, following the bead of his gun.

“Oh, they could…” Jason slowly cocked the pellet rifle and braced it against his right shoulder. “They could lock me up and throw away the key.” He squeezed the trigger and the pellet landed with a dull ping, leaving a miniscule hole near the baseboard.

“But your record was wiped clean. The bogus charges are gone, the punk that caused the trouble is gone and heck Jason, I think the judge is a goner too.”

“That doesn’t matter. They have more punks and more judges – they always have more.”

Dale craned his neck in the direction of the shot. Between the barrel of Jason’s gun and the hole, lay a small brown mouse. The creature immediately rolled onto its side; its tiny chest rising and falling; its caviar eyes staring frantically at nothing while its front legs scratched hopelessly at the air. Jason propped his rifle against the chair, and walked toward the mouse.

“They could cripple me.” He said solemnly as he picked up the tiny crippled mammal. Jason stroked the mouse with the pad of his finger, studying the wound he had inflicted. “They could torment me.” He clasped his palms around the animal and pressed. “They could mess up my mind and lock me away in a nursing home… just like they did August Wolf.” Dale watched the color drain from Jason’s face, saw his eyes glaze over with tears as squeezed until the panting and twitching stopped. Jason snorted, cleared his throat and regained his composure. He gently laid the mouse inside the garbage can. “I can imagine a lot of things that are worse than being dead, old pal.”

Okay, that was just one mouse but you know there were more lurking in the shadows – or the attic. There’s always more…

You should hear S. Scott Berger narrate the story! He is very entertaining. Hey, you could get the book free [April 28th -30th] and read along as Scott tells the story.

How I met Maggie and Almost Killed Clara

I was wading in the surf on Matagorda beach one warm, sunny day exchanging dialogue with Clara.

I had known Clara for about ten years and I have to admit, conversing with her was like pulling teeth. I don’t want to say she was dull, but she was too quiet and a tad introverted. Don’t get me wrong, she is a lovely girl. She is smart and pretty and sweet and kind, but she was just too darn nice for the most part. Too calm, too reasonable, too… dull! There, I said it!

Anyway, as I was wading in the surf, dragging my feet (literally to scatter the sting rays) I was thinking how I might kill her. I know that must sound horrible, we had been comrades for so long, but she wearied me. Her unspoiled, hoity-toity, prim and proper, everything by the book personality made me want to send her sailing face down with the outgoing tide. I think she knew it (she has a sixth sense thing, you know) and I figured she wasn’t going to fight me. It wasn’t in her nature. I thought maybe she wanted to die?

I had mulled it over and finally come to terms with the decision when a perky little blonde came running down the beach waving and shouting,

“Hey y’all wait for me.”

Oh my lord, I thought, while trying to ignore the thin, tanned Mississippian’s approach. I quickly shoved Clara toward the incoming wave but her feet were planted too firmly — she didn’t budge, and to my surprise she pushed back!

“Do you know her?” I asked.

Clara shook her head slowly and replied, “No but you do. You met her on a trip to Biloxi once.”

I was speechless.

“Hey, I’m Maggie,” the lady smiled as she looked past me and held out her hand, “you must be Clara.”

I suppose it’s true that opposites attract. I watched Maggie come alive and in doing so she saved Clara.

*This is a story about a story. Clara and Maggie are safe and sound (for the most part) inside a fictional series.

Read about their meeting in Book 1

Finding What Was Never Lost

A twenty dollar bill stashed in your wallet, old friends on the Internet, the other sock and a favorite book. What do the aforementioned have in common you might ask? They are all things that were never really lost but simply overlooked for a span of time.

Isn’t it like finding a treasure when you’re reunited? The mingled relief and excitement of rediscovering something so precious you find yourself doing the Hercules hand-clap. Hercules! Hercules! Hercules! You’re doing it right now aren’t you? Me too! Because Joy! Rapture! Look what I have found. My old friend Webster’s Encyclopedia of Dictionaries. Not being able to do much for the last week (thank you influenza) I was rummaging through the library in search of couch entertainment and voila!

I seriously love this book. I should be ashamed of its broken binding and battered appearance but I’m not. It has been over handled and shared with children before they could even read. It was my firstborns Good Night Moon. It has been my friend, my coach and my counselor. If someone had a question the answer was only pages away. Well maybe not the answer to the missing sock but we all know that’s not really a mystery. They typically return after they tire of hanging out in alternate universes, sipping martinis with wayward thongs. Of course their mate has usually moved on but that’s another story for another time.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Illumination

Illumination

This week’s photo challenge is titled Illumination. While looking around for a shot that aligned with the challenge (defined as light, brightness, radiance, brilliance, clarification or enlightenment etc…) I came across a souvenir from the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus. It’s a softball sized globe that sits atop a stick and reminds me of the Reunion Tower in Dallas, except the souvenir spins a lot faster. Maybe that’s exactly what it’s supposed to be; heck I don’t know I stole it from a grandchild just found it lying around. Anyway, you press a button and this gadget puts on a fascinating little light show which by the way reminds me of an enlightening story my grandmother once told me about her trip to the circus.

First allow me to shed some light on my grandmother. She was a tad peculiar by some standards. Correction she was outright odd, offbeat and utterly deranged at times. I loved her dearly but come on, who in their right mind tries to gnaw the head off of a screaming gray squirrel? In her defense I must say the rodent did bite first – she merely wanted to teach him a lesson. She was a tough cookie who didn’t take guff from any creature and as hard as she was there beat a tender childlike heart within her bosom.

I wish I had been there under the big top when my uncle took her along with his family to see the circus when it came to town. I know she was mesmerized by all of the excitement; the delight was still in her voice as she recounted the day’s events.  She laughed about the trained elephants and giggled at the silly clowns, held her breath when reminiscing about the trapeze artists and shook her head and shuddered in disbelief when it came to the high line exhibition. “It was the darndest thing you ever did see Jennavenay.” That’s what she called me. Not because she couldn’t enunciate Janna René, she preferred Jennavenay and that is all she ever called me. I asked her once if she knew my name, she pronounced it plainly and just as plainly added, “I don’t like it. I call you Jennavenay and you answer to it-that’s good enough.” And I suppose it was.

It took a moment or a few chuckles before it occurred to me she had a tooth missing from her upper denture. “What happened to your tooth Grandma?” I asked. “Spot light did it.” She said matter of factly.

“Oh my goodness, someone hit you with a spotlight?”

“No silly girl” she says, “They had beams of light like magic shooting all over the place and one come right across my face and knocked my tooth out.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” I replied with all due respect but my doubt alone ruffled her feathers. I should have heeded uncles warning when I saw him shaking his head in the background but it was too late and Granny was on a tear. She’d heard they had “lasers that could burn holes plum through metal and doctors were usin’ `em to cut folks open for surgery. It shouldn’t surprise anybody that if one hit you just right it could knock a tooth out by golly!” I seceded with a modest “I suppose stranger things have happened.” Besides, how could one argue with such clarifying logic especially with a woman who would go tooth to tooth with a wild squirrel?