Listening to What She Wants to Hear| #1000Speak

Bernie’s bare finger taps table top

Trying to bring a ring to life.

tap-tap tap-tap tap-tap

He talks of his work. Job.

Mom. Oh how his mother rails against him.

She’s on a fast track to a nursing home.

It would be better for him.

Out of his hair. For her too.

Someone else’s care.

His greasy angry lays heavy against

Bernie’s lungs. She’s not sure when she would breathe

if they were together.

But he’s single.

No kids.

Good job.

Isn’t she about that life?

She wasn’t sure,

The Wild Turkey was telling her to drink more.

With enough inside, she could go on a ride

Problems resolved behind closed doors,

back pressed against a wall.

As he went on about how mother’s lack of support,

zero appreciation.

But it rested on his shoulders,

younger siblings too busy being young- useless.

His fist balled, quick motion and he poured his anger out into the table. *crack*

The sound reverberated .

Forks clattering against dishes, murmured words,

shoes clacking against marble tile.

Ceased.

Eyes on them.

She excels at ignoring things.

Laid loving hands on him.

It’s going to be alright, she whispered.

Such passion, he had. Just needed it diverted into something positive.

Anyone with that kind of passion had divine right make things happen.

She could make them happen.

Mold him.

But he was such a kind man to want to take care of

everyone despite their failings.

A hero really.

He put family first before everything.

She respected that.

Respected him.

Even if there fear fluttered on the edge.

She assumed she would love him one day.

 

Hears

This month’s theme is Listening for #1000Speak for Compassion. I was thinking about Bernie from my WIP Blood Roses and Honeysuckles at the beginning of her dating her now husband. She had heard what she wanted to hear. And now things aren’t quite what she wanted.

There’s still time to link up. Go to the  for #1000 SpeakCompassion Facebook page and link up there.

 

Other poems in the Blood Roses Group if you haven’t checked them out already:

A Guessing Game

About Addy’s Mama

 

Aloha ya’ll!

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*ELIZA DAVID INTERVIEW ANNOUNCEMENT*

Today on my YouTube channel, I’ll be chatting with Eliza David, author of the Cougarette series. She’s celebrating the release of her fourth book in the series

Eliza David FB Banner 1

Over on Facebook this week is her book release party!  AND she’s letting lil’ ole me interview her. How fun is that?! If you follow me on Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram, I’ll be updating each with the link once we go live. I’ll update it here as well. Join us and learn more about writing on the naughtier side. *wink*

If you haven’t read any of hers yet, and you’re wanting to check out the series:

CougaretteFREETeaserBannerYou can ask questions at the hashtag:  on Twitter or in the YouTube chat.

We’re live!

Update: The conversation was fantastic. We discussed The Cougarette Series, black women’s representation in literature, the books that have influenced her and much more. Definitely a must watch!

Aloha y’all!

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The bait and switch | Short Story

I found this is my drafts you guys. I have no idea why I didn’t post it…so here’s something I wrote in February…

******

Bodies were sliding against each other, grinding and bouncing. The club was stifling, the air thick with expectations and cheap cologne. They were all young 20-somethings in the beginning of their lives, and loving it all. Slurping down ladies night cheap drinks and the boys drinking as much beer as possible to try to show they were the men there tonight.

Dani sat on the side, watching as her friends danced around. Forever the purse watcher.

“Dani hold my purse, you’re great!” said a blonde girl on her co-ed floor. She didn’t even know here name, but just added it to the pile. She  wondered why she hadn’t stayed home to read. This just wasn’t her scene. She preferred to go out and watch bands play. Drinking cheap beer with cheaper girls, partying until dawn.

This wasn’t her life.

Someone stumbled into her, and a drinking spilled on her shoulder. No apology. She gritted her teeth, but didn’t say a word.

She sighed, blowing the persistent curl from her light brown eyes. She wasn’t wearing makeup, she felt it was a waste of time. She wore Burts Bees lip balm to keep her lips soft and supple. The purple dress she was wearing was the perfect foil to her dark brown skin. It had a mod feel to it, with orange deco jewels circling her collar. Her legs were thick at the hips. She would never have the coveted “thigh gap.” Surrounded by all of the bodies moving, teaming, sweating in their size 0 bodies, she felt so incredibly out of place. She wanted to crawl back into her favorite dive bar, drinking cheap beers, smoking cigarettes behind the place and dancing to music.

But it was her roommate Sara’s birthday.

So here she was.

She’d quickly learned to get drinks with as few ingredients as possible. Who can mess up tequila, orange juice and grenadine? She took a drink and made a sour face. Apparently, that chick could. Did she put turpentine in there? She shrugged and kept drinking it anyway. Money was money and alcohol was alcohol. She couldn’t go through with this torture sober. The lame EDM wannabe music blaring in the background made her want to stab her eardrums with a toothpick. She took another drink and looked around.

That’s when she saw him.

He walked toward her with a self-confidence that she seldom saw from the boys around here. Dark hair, darker eyes, and a smile spoke of some possibly dark things to come. She stopped herself from glancing behind her to see if he was walking toward her. She was against the wall. There was no one else there.

He leaned down and he smelled like a spicy heaven.

“Hey I’m Chris.”

“Hey,” she said, putting her hand on his arm as she leaned forward to hear him. His forearm felt like it was made from bricks.

“I’m a Marine,” he voice had a low rumble to it. He leaned closer, trying to not glance down at her bared cleavage.

“Oh you are?” Her eyes sparkled. She’d always had a thing for a man in a uniform and from what she could tell, he would wear it well.

He nodded, “Yeah, I’m on leave before I head out to Afghanistan.”

She felt a pang of sympathy, “Wow, shouldn’t you be saying goodbye to your loved ones?”

“I don’t have anyone,” he paused his works, swallowing deeply. “I just wanted one night where I wouldn’t have to be alone before I left. One last night. You know?” He was so close to her, his breath tickled her neck. She could feel his lips gently shaping the words. and she wanted to taste them.

“Yea, I get it.”

And he leaned back and looked into her eyes. Paused a beat. Then patted her on the shoulder. “Yeah, I thought that would work, thanks!” He straightened and walked with that same single-sighted purpose to the busty blonde sitting at the end of the bar. He had practiced his line on her so he could get laid by some other chick. He probably wasn’t even in the Armed Forces. What a- what a-

She was choking with anger. She stood, the chair sliding into the wall with a crack. The people near her turned to see what was going to happen. She grabbed her purse and her half empty glass. She rushed at him, teeth bared. Letting out a warrior cry, she threw it in his face, the plastic cup bounced off his nose.

“Whydon’t you remember that while you’re in Afghanistan? Creep.” She turned and walked out the door.

Fuck these people. She needed a real drink.

***

This story is the incredibly late addition to the #writestuff TweetChat monthly prompt. February’s prompt was Anti-Valentine’s Day. Here’s what came up. Let me know what you think in the comments.

Aloha y’all! 

PS: Did you read Chapter One from the Just One Night serial? Click here and check it out. 

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Filed under Short Stories