Whispering Secrets

by Kim Wilson


A bit about me: I am a woman scorned loved cheated overlooked unique enjoyed under-paid depleted creative aroused, just to rattle off a few. A mother of one. The last of three daughters, one by Cancer, the other by murder.

I began writing that I wouldn't explode from living. I found out I was a writer when I couldn't breath without it; when my creative thoughts were summoned and presented. My bio is currently under construction. I have no formal literary education, just a lot of experience in living. I'm just regular smart but my creativeness, my ability to entertain when need be, I should be famous, but I'm just a regular; so I'd always return to labor.

I write and present out of my two compilation of poetry A LIFE IN NO SPECIFIC ORDER & A LIFE GETTING IN SPECIFIC ORDER. I read to my audience from my two short story collections PEACE, BE STILL & RUDE AWAKENINGS.


Karma; does she really exist; hell yeah!

Lovely's, Marie Mewigne's older sister, 16 year old Prima Donna ass is the crop block-bleeder Cameo, Terrence's bookish ass and Dallas, the OG with OCD wanted to pick; to be tending to, and her rebellious ass ignorantly led them on; unintentionally 'cause she a child, reaping the rewards out loud so the other ratchets could see. Whether it be for ice cream, groceries or garments, every time Ms. Brown took her daughters out, Lovely would be dressed in all things name brand, and on the skimp side.

Lovely receives on-time packages, the latest J's, plenty pieces of jewelry, plenty places to parlay and a few hundred dollars, nearly every couple three weeks from, Gerry Hillson, her materially attentive father, havin' this child prancin' around as if the world is beneath her feet; that was not his intention. Her upbringing spoiled her to believe, to even treat the one's around her, as mere critters; she's a savage.

The understandable animosity I hold against my sister is not the fact of her being flagrantly growing out of control per unnecessary 'ism, and her stank attitude about it; which she inflicts without remorse. My mother gave birth to this devil child just to torture me. The occasion could be as simple as a tall-tale move or slippin' yard bugs underneath her covers, I caught the 'unfair' end most times.

Kassandra has to consistently put-in 167 hours a week to sustain her and her daughter's comfortability; with passion, she absolutely does at her On My Own firm. Just in the nick of free time, she'd set forth refusing to have to depend on her ex-husbands for essentials.

Even though Troy Dover upper income 'Hood Realtor, allowed Marie to materially and financially compete with Lovely, it was in the attitude where shit got fucced up.

Being born as OMO was passed a running start, my father emotionally disappeared on me, but my mother, somehow, made up for it, giving me 27 hours a week to bond; learn love and live, including holidays; '...from where comest thou attitudest my dear Marie.'

When a particular set of eyes land upon her, you'd swear she could see some sort of light'; mylawdt. Her unaverage beautifulness is an unknown advantage she has over her sibling. One chose the Bling while the other changes things.

As usual being home-alone wasn't as peaceful and free as your thinking would believe. With a Monster-in-Sister hogging up the same air you need to breathe, shit gets stifling; well, here's to surviving the great early 2000's.

It was 4:50am exactly one Friday in the Summer. I'm in my bedroom as Lovely is in hers, following our own 'get-ready' morning's agenda before heading downstairs to be approved by mother.

For Marie, the week's ending with memories of blame and unnecessary words being sprayed at her, and for her sister words of unwarranted congratulations. We gon' see.

Back in my space of the 16,000 square feet, I recite affirmations from Eric Thomas aloud, which invokes me to praying to the Father out loud and, without ceasing; a routine I'm still perfecting.

Next door in her girl-cave Lovely Cornell, engages in her rendition of Da Baby's Babysitter- 'cause I'm da type a baby fucc da babysitta'; absorbing its hyped and convincing lyrics that blast from her $1300 player. Rappin' loops of baby's and sitters, not cha daddy and fuccin', sneak in and unsettle the calm ambiance of my space. Angels are blockin' though; 'Meet me at the Throne, leave me there alone...'

Kass becomes alerted, from her home office that her darling teenagers are up, so she goes to prepare breakfast; it'd be an hour before she'd see their beautiful mix-breed faces. Lovely with Egyptian; Marie with Nigerian. Both marriages holding less than a year.

On the stained-glass Island, attired in a sheer red robe and fluffy slippers, she places beef bacon and sausages, Hawaiian-style roles and buttered biscuits, yolk-less eggs, grits and oatmeal; they can pour their own drink; hummin' her original tune.

     "Why don't you do all this prepping at night so you have less time in the bathroom in the morning" I yell at Lovely, standing at the shared, closed, door with toiletries in hand.

     "Why don't you move out and give your self the option of havin' to wait or not" she spit back through the locked door.

I walk away from this losing battle. I walk downstairs to the half-bath and get myself together; same thang.

     Back in my room, I decide on something simple. "This'll do."

     Lovely finally exits the bathroom with, "Really; is that what you doin'."

     "Breakfast's ready" sings from downstairs, just in time.

     "Hello ladies" Kass welcomes.

     "Hi mom, I smile. Thank you for this food, Amen" I say under my breath.

     "Hey mom" Lovely greets.

     "Well ladies; again, good morning, as the three sit. Bless this mess Father Jehovah Rohi, Kass utters real quick. Now about your attitudes going into the beginning of this necessary Summer program; and this's how it started.

      Interrupting, with a bacon strip hanging out her mouth, "I'll be traveling the last 30 days mother. I'ma do my damnest to do all of Spain and West Africa. It's big relationships in dem'dar parts" Lovely makes plain.

     I look at this asshole, shaking my head; wherever she lands ass's gon' be in trouble; she still banned all over Mexico.

     "Sounds exciting, mother ignoring her ignorance. Let me know after you've made your final arrangements so I can make sure you didn't overlook anything okay honey."

     "Sure mom. You gonna put somethin' on it right. I figure if I have a solid 29,682 on various cards, I'll be good; just in-case I get jacked. I got most of it; a little less than half, but..."

     "I got you honey, and give your Gerry a call for sure."

     "Love you mom, from Lovely" she always signed off when mother agreed with her fucced up demands.

     "Sounds interesting, I sneer. I'm entering Summer completing my thesis on City Elections; stuff's got to change within Cities across America. Like either everywhere has potholes or nowhere does. Either all bus stops are maintained or none of them are. Either police police the same on sides of town or they don't police at all. Also when a car is not running or a person is arrested a car should not be towed, and especially if it looks like they live in it, unless it's part of a murder scene, for at least 100 days; no it won't, because court is every 90 days. And it'll be known if they be out in 90 or less. Why do certain Cities think that shit is cool to add fines on to folks because they can, and not use the money to fix the damn community or, worse yet use poor folks' money to fix richer side of town; overlooking the bigger picture. To repair and rent out buildings long left vacant, from those who have moved on to bigger and better, or worse. How do the 'llected think it's cool to have to ride by a big ass building in visible disrepair, due to the fact that the owner let it, and mainly because of it's location, vacated years back for something more exclusive and know that there those in residence remission, housing hiccups, underpass people, home-less families about to die to live in such a space. That empty 1960's hospital building off New Braunfels, a couple blocks from Cemetery, that closed in the late 90's, could house several families or singles. Our elected be on some bull" I inform their listening ears.

     "Girl you shoulda been a rappa' the way you spit barely breathin'" Lovely laughs out loud.

     "All that sounds good and well, and necessary, but how are you going about getting the signatures you'll need, the support of the people, supportive leaders in said communities, the elected's attention" Kass inquires.

     "Mother, you just wait an' see."

     "That shit sounds tiring" Lovely states plainly, finishing all she's eating this morning.

I grape-jelly a biscuit, shove bacon on it and grab a small bowl of oatmeal, which'll hold me until school lunch; and a bottle water.

In love with the tune, as her daughters stated their cases, her morning ritual complete, she cleans up, excuses herself, and gets back to her On My Own business.

According to the "now-a-day" definition of being a ratchet, and a dime piece, Lovely fit the description of the role, to perfection, as a young person, performing varies acts that would enrage the ones who actually had her back, as she loved the skin she was in. 5'8, 115 pounds of more Egyptian features then American, she stood out in any crowd. Especially since her eyes were a cat-green on slant. Her dentist-maintained smile showed her small gap with pride. Her goddess curves were for every eye to see and sex, and the men couldn't get enough, because she had plenty.

My Nigerian heritage shows mostly in my fabulous dialect, giving me an attentive audience at all times, per the community-elected City officials being non-factors; devoting herself to impress the ones that surround her in and outside of school, who can assist her in immediately, permanently changing things.

     "Bye ladies. Remember, not on your own will you stay motivated to change situations and circumstances surrounding your selves; you'll need the masses my dears" Kass admonishes as her daughters get their Summer started.

     "Later mother" is all Lovely says closing the door, seeing I'm right behind her retarded butt.

     "That cow could'a; see you on later mother" I say, linking it with a big smile.

We hug every now and then, but no kisses; smiles, mandatory.

Once aboard the long, black and yellow, well-maintained ISD school bus, the sisters become complete strangers. I communicate amongst my Freshman and Sophomores as my sister gossips amongst hers; Juniors and Seniors. Fortunately our high school is situated on both sides of E. Houston street so we easily know one another's school business, as we both stand out in our own right, to be admired and followed.

Arriving at Matthew Carver Educational Center for the Gifted, half an hour later, for the 60 day Summer school edition of stimulating our educating, and evacuating the District's afforded transportation that was once drowning in negative 'hood rhetoric and foul content about after curfew, liquor and cigarettes, pills and marijuana, disturbing sexual encounters of the nasty kind; we were grateful to have it, as most of our parents' work schedules demanded their undivided attention.

In the meantime, the school day passes without much incident. Darrell's country-bumpkin butt got sent to Principal Ward's Office for cursing while telling one of his outlandish stories. If that boy isn't telling about how his grandpa accidentally set his uncle on fire at a family bar-b-que, because his grandma screamed when two big ass, oops, roaches crawled across her salad, then he's telling about his step sister having sextuplets in the house when she was by herself and the only thing she had to use was a flat-iron and some left over Orange soda that was sitting on her dresser; I tell you the truth. Pepper and Stasy sit in the back of the class polishing their fake nails, stinking up the class. Mr. Brunson never tells them anything; wonder why. Them 10th grade heifers do seem to get 'special' treatment in here; starts with a P.

     "Class, your homework please; pass it forward. Marie Wenigwe, might you give us your interpretation of a debate between a civil and social matter."

     "Yes sir; I'll repeat a small bit from a Nicole Trian text, dated December 2020. Civil matter- In a year of general upheaval, 2020 also gave rise to mass protest, tackling themes like democratic freedoms, women's rights and racial injustices as others find new causes ie Covid 19 demonstrations against government lockdowns and mask mandates, imposing strict lockdowns, social distancing; Germany has emerged as the epi-centre of the anti-lock-down movement attracting an eclectic mix of young and old, far-right extremists, sceptics, anti-vaxxers and conspiracy theorists. Supporters of Trump, who played down the severity of the virus, joined forces to protect the claim of assault on individual rights, despite skyrocketing infections. Trump's tweets spiked, urging Americans where leaders had imposed restrictions to liberate themselves.

Global protests against racial injustices, deaths in police custody, repeat after me, 'I can't breathe.'; Breonna Taylor, went to check a noise in her home and was murdered for it, and numerous others as the BLM was in full steam. Adama Traore, France, died after being restrained by police. Social matters include voting rights, climate justice, social responses as the environment changes; ie wildfires, record-breaking temperatures, nearly extincting polar bears for one. Healthcare, refugee crisis, income gaps, gun violence, hunger and food insecurities, overall equality, and how they affect and infect our community on this day; thank you."

     "So how do you plan on playing your part in change Ms. Wenigwe" he had to ask.

     "I plan on securing a team of age-appropriate supporters to reach out to them that support them, conclusion, to confront the heads in charge."

     "Well count me in because you my dear, are going to bring about change. Dorenthia, you're next, and then Karli, then Jenipher. The last for today is Willington. Tomorrow, it'll be Keyonna, Eemanique, Kamiya, Khiya and Carlos."

Class is dismissed seconds before the bell blares. All four grades mix and mingle for the allotted hour. Renisha walks up to me, knowing I can't stand her rude butt, to tell me my sister got into a fight with Brenda, and she slashed her face with a razor.

     "Wait! What? Who slashed who with a razor" I nervously ask.

     "Lovely slashed her with a razor. Girl it was crazy. Yo' sis definitely got hands, but how she was swingin' that blade was epic. The police took yo' sista away while Nisha got an ambulance ride."

     "Ain't nothing I can do. I hope she figures stuff out on her own; her and my mom'll handle it. They definitely don't need my help" I end sadly.

After seven or eight more students fill me in on the fight throughout the day, I listened, but still didn't care.

I finish my last class of Economics For Dummies Ages 12-14, and make it home to Lovely and my mom sitting at the kitchen table. Lovely glances that 'momgavemeapass' expression, but per the paperwork my mother was referring to, I think not. Look a little truancy related to me.

     "You just going to keep it up until, they throw yo' black ass completely out the school system; you are a 16 year old child; forgot that part didn't you. Now you know I'm a fair dealer with my parenting, so here's the only deal on the table, I won't kill you, if you won't give me a heart attack, trying her best to be as firm as she needs to be; you got me all the way fucced up child of mine. I begin a small smile as I know my mom's about to go nigga on her ass. You truly got the game fucced up. You are living this spoiled-brat bitch bullshit far passed out of bounds. You've been in so much shit this school year it's pathetic. You know they were kickin' yo' ass out until I cut a check to keep you in; trust me, it wasn't your beauty; damn school full of beauties. I'ma put this on your plate my darling. This is the camel that's breaking the straw's back; damn, the straw on the camel's hump; you know what the fucc I mean. No more nothin' until further notice."

     "But mother, she purposely knocked my food off the table. I was there, you weren't" Lovely yells a bit to loud.

     "The straw, the camel, your ass; all broke the fucc up " as my mother silences away from the confrontation.

     "Well guess what fucc da straw da camel Brenda and that school."

     My mother stops in her tracks; "Say fucc one more time."

     "You know what I mean mom, they actin' like I started it. If I'm a Junior and she a Senior why she over by us at lunch; she has no family in our grade. She a damn bully and thought that shit was gone work with me; I showed her ass otherwise is all."

     After taking that bit of information in, "And you had to slash the poor child..."

     "Mother, I've watched Brenda her homegirls Renisha and Sean's soft ass beat up, punk out, take from students for three years; not I was a fact. On the day she chose it to be my turn, I had my razor for Science class, we were 'bout to dissect some shix; and I said shix with an X, and her ass caught it. How dare she'd think this pretty face would sustain a bruise."

     "Did teachers and others know about this bullying."

     "For three years mother."

     "Well that changes things. I'll take that to the table, but your black ass still on straw and camel duty; and you sure don't won't to elevate to eggshell. Now y'all leave me be."

     I just couldn't help including, "I didn't get into trouble, and passed two pop quizzes with 100; if that helps" I add with a dose of sarcasm.

     "Good" and pushes her office door closed.

Three morning's later, back on the school's bus, having left the house alone, I didn't notice if Lovely even got on. In the co-cafe I anxiously search for her, worried because of the verbal attack on her last night; yes, sometimes I ear-hustle her calls, and knowing that if someone claims Lovely's spot, consequences will be unleashed; with her savage behind. Suddenly in my direct line-of-sight, I catch my sister staggering about; a moment of silence please.

    "Move" Lovely screams.

Ignoring my sister's wishes, I get my sister and support her through the crowded co-cafe to the closest restroom. We enter the last stall, the objective being to wipe-away the dirt from my sister's appearance. Lovely slides down onto the toilet. Extreme concern is expanding far past normal, pounding as it begins to hammer at rapid intervals. Ever since a baby, Lovely would fall into overpowering spells for which doctors could not provide a diagnosis. The mission was to get her oriented before a grown-up spots her.

     "Love you can't keep on doing this; yo' sanity and your insanity can't be friends; skipping class to get doped up isn't why you're here. You better than this. Mother is going to kill you! No comprehensible reply, just groaning. Love; you hear me!?"

     "You seen your sister" my mom questions, seven seconds after I get in.

     "No ma'am; she left the dance with Jerome or Jeremy or something like that is all I was told when I went looking for her."

     "That child just isn't going to get it until somebody colors her hardhead ass."

     "Let's hope not mom."

So distant from the real world, Lovely still couldn't imagine why she ended up where she had ended up; along side the street like a bag of garbage. During flashes of memory she catches glimpses of a real life, after being knocked the fucc out at a mid-month's dance by a boy who wasn't havin' it, has her weaker than the drugs she'd just snorted with him. Looking around trying to find some sort of landmark to pinpoint her location, the only things that meet her eyes is the urine-muddied dirt.

The emotional lethal weapons that fill her to the brim takes all it's ever wanted time and time again; unwilling to let go, as an unforgiving cap is lodged into her. My sister was dealing with demons, my mom and I just didn't understand, or see coming.

The crystal powder still smeared against her top lip, forces her to drain every once of energy she has to rise from the ground, while placing the occurrences into the right sequence of events, to maybe tell.

Bits and pieces of juvenile insanity replaces the matter at hand; although her brain knows where she is suppose to be going her body is unable to get there; safety. Seemingly use to the feeling of there being nothing and everything around her at the same time she maneuvers to her destination; left out.

     Falling through the front door, "Mom, Marie, help me please" I hear.

     "What the hell happened to you, my mom screams. Call 911 Marie."

     "No, please don't. I just need to get to my room."

     "Well what the hell happened" my mom keeps quizzing.

     "This is what can happen when you do the stuff you be doing" I add.

     "Shut your damn mouth. You don't know nothin'" she screams at me.

     "Should have stayed in the dance" I end, leaving my mom to deal with her daughter's mess.

     "I'm calling your father. You have got to get away from here before you end up dead on my watch" Kassandra admonishes, leaving Lovely to gather herself.

A week later, having closed out the Lovely's gettin'-the-fucc-away-from-us insanity, remembering the many attacks she fought through while the two were home alone; the solution was never predictable, whether it was the praying, the home remedies or the may-knots they'll never know, my mom concentrates on watching me grow into greatness.

I use to could stop sister's physical attacks with a teaspoon of honey and a napkin over her mouth, just until the arrival of their mother; but this time mom couldn't come to the rescue, because Baltimore never let Lovely her back home. Frantically Gerry searches for Lovely's inhaler that never really seems to do the trick; bye bitch.

      A year later, the contractions of 18 year old Lovely Cornell didn't seem to be letting up, she gathers just enough strength to muster her last words "Get away from me".

This would be the last command she would ever bark at me; as the Grim Reaper came to collect a debt her father had to pay, due to promising and swearing on his life, that if he could get out the projects by any means necessary, he'd give anything; sold!

Whispering Secrets is a poem infused short story; Thank you.

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