A Story Between Genres

The following is an excerpt from an unpublished manuscript I wrote in 2009, and whose final genre I have yet to decide. It is currently written in Close Third-Person POV, and diverges at the fork between Nonfiction Memoir and Literary Fiction. It could go either way. Whichever genre emerges, it is the authenticity of the story that is most important. The following excerpt is a passage written to add depth and context to a pivotal character. The story is a work-in-progress.    

Linda sat on the picnic table in the backyard, the collar of her denim jacket turned up around her neck, her hands shoved deep into the pockets.  Although it was a bit nippy for September, she was enjoying being outside and alone. A brisk wind whipped through the bare branches of the Sycamore and Magnolia trees, stirring the dried leaves on the ground into whirling dervishes of red, amber, and gold color. The flowers on the rose bushes may have long withered away, but the fall foliage was just as nice. This was a good time of the year. In a week's time, school would start again; and she was looking forward to being away from home for most of the day.

She tilted her head back and inhaled deeply. Burning wood. One of her neighbors was using their fireplace. She loved fireplaces. They reminded her of scenes on Christmas cards. A bright fire lit, with all the family gathered around; everyone smiling and drinking mugs of steaming hot chocolate. The Hallmark cards always evoked feelings of happiness, contentment, and a peaceful home. Mother never lit their fireplace, which  was such a waste. What was the point of having one?

There was a rustling in the hedges at the end of the yard, and she turned her head in time to see a squirrel dash across the leaf-strewn grass, dart up a tree trunk, and disappear among the branches. ‘Probably going home. I hope its home is happier than mine.’ She imagined a mother squirrel feeding nuts to her little squirrel babies. Two houses down on her left, children were playing king of the mountain, jumping off the back step, into piles of leaves. It looked like a lot of fun, and Linda smiled at the sight. Across from her and a few houses over, a group of older boys were shooting hoops and arguing over who had the better arm. She enjoyed watching children playing. There was a time when she had enjoyed playing herself, but she didn’t get to do it much anymore. Mother never allowed them to have fun, and she did not understand why. There’d been a few times this summer when Mother announced they could ‘go outside.’ Linda sucked her teeth in disgust at the memory of those events. Even though she should’ve known better, or at least learned a valuable lesson with each subsequent disappointment; like a fool, she’d gotten  excited every time. On each occasion, she’d found herself hoping that would be the day Mother would finally allow them to leave the porch and play with the other children.  It never was. She sighed and shook her head, muttering to herself.

She had a habit of talking to herself. As a matter of fact, she enjoyed talking to herself, as it was how she sorted things out in her head. She did it mostly because they always had to be quiet. “No that’s wrong,” she corrected herself out loud. “We’re not allowed to talk at all.” Mainly she talked to herself because she was lonely and had been for some time. It was very stressful to live here. She felt besieged on all sides, always. Thelma and Luther were never kind to her, and even though they hated each other, in spite of being brother and sister, they could always be counted on to unite in their mission to torture her.. “Always getting me into trouble,” she said, balling her hands into fists.

As for Mother? She was a whole other level of meanness. True, she  was nasty and spiteful to everyone, but it seemed to Linda that she mainly singled her out for the worse punishments. On rare occasions when the others were given a small privilege, Linda found that she was often assigned to some other area of the house, tasked with doing something else. Or she was always  ‘too late’, or ‘too slow;’ so that she never really knew if it was deliberate on Mother’s part, or if she’d missed out on a treat due to her own negligence. She shook her head in denial. “Nah. Most times it’s not,’ she muttered and cast a furtive glance at the house behind her. “This is not a nice place.”

It hadn’t always been this way for her.  The memories were growing faint, but she could still recall a time when she lived with her real mama. She’d grown up in Baltimore, MD, and her days had been filled with laughter, and play. Many an afternoon was spent in the kitchen helping Mama bake cupcakes or brownies. When her little sister Chelby was born, it only added to the fun, because Chelby was a happy baby, always cooing and babbling. Linda helped her learn everything, getting down on the floor with her, holding her hand while she learned to walk, teaching her the alphabet song, or braiding her hair. When Chelby was old enough to enjoy the kiddie swings, Linda would tuck her into her stroller, and they'd go to the playground. She would hold Chelby on her lap, as they zipped down the sliding board, screaming all the way.

But then Mama changed. She began sleeping a lot, and it became harder, and harder to wake her. Sometimes she even forgot they were there. Linda did the best she could to pick up the slack; fixing Spaghetti-o’s with hot dogs, and making Kool-Aid, so the two of them could eat. Linda cherished her little sister, enjoyed taking care of her, and never tired of her.  Chelby must’ve been about four or five years old at the time. Mama became different. “That’s right,’ she said counting backwards on her fingers. “I’m thirteen now, so I was eight years old at the time,” Her eyes were getting wet. “I told the best princess stories. Chelby loved stories about princesses,” she said softly.

Then one bright and sunny day, Mama said she could go to the playground, and knowing Chelby would be excited about going too, she dressed her in a cute pink romper and brushed her hair. She remembered she'd laughed when Chelby requested ballies for her hair - she was such a girly-girl. Mama was lounging on the sofa watching TV. She looked in their direction and said: “No, that's OK. Leave her. She’ll be alright with me. You go on Linda. We’ll come by in a little while.” Linda paused to put the ballies in Chelby's hair before leaving but Mama became upset, telling her to ‘Stop babying Chelby. She’ll be fine.’

Even though she was disappointed, Linda went ahead to the playground without Chelby, but when they hadn’t arrived at the playground by late afternoon, she decided to go home. She found Mama sleeping on the sofa. It looked to Linda as if she hadn’t moved all day. There was no sign of Chelby. ‘Perhaps she’s taking a nap,’ she thought, and ran upstairs to their bedroom, but Chelby wasn’t there. Concerned, Linda ran downstairs and shook Mama awake. "Where's Chelby?"

Mama had to focus, but she got her act together and with a dazed expression mumbled: r

“She’s gone.”

'I didn't hear that.'

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone;’ Gone where?” She grabbed Mama’s  arm. “Where’s Chelby?” she said raising her voice. That tipped Mama over the edge, and she became angry.

"She’s gone, I said! They took her away, now leave me alone!”

‘No!’  Linda grabbed Mama by the arms and shook her.

“Who Mama? Who took Chelby away?”

Mama jerked away from her.

“Get off me! Who do you think? DHS! Now leave me the hell alone!”

Then Mama lstretched out on the sofa again and turned her back to Linda; effectively shutting her out; and leaving her oldest child alone, devastated, confused, and feeling as if her soul had been ripped from her.  

Linda backed away from the sofa and collapsed to the floor. She didn’t speak again for weeks. She barely ate, and slept even less.  Instead, she wandered the streets around her neighborhood during the day, looking for Chelby. When she staggered home at night, weak from hunger and fatigue, she sat in a corner keening and rocking; her arms wrapped tightly around her knees in a miserable attempt to reassure and comfort herself. Climbing the stairs to the bedroom she once shared with her sister was an unthinkable task. She didn’t want to see Chelby’s clothes, or her doll babies laying side-by-side on her bed, as if she'd just put them down for the night. She didn’t want to smell Chelby's scent on the pillows. Instead, she waited downstairs in the dark for daylight to arrive, so that she could begin the search again. Day after day, week after week.

No one ever told her where Chelby had gone, or why they’d taken her away; not her mama, nor any of their relatives; not even the social worker who eventually returned to take her away, too. It was as if Chelby had never existed. Linda never saw, or heard from her sister ever again; and it grieved her soul.

Years later, her most treasured memory would be of that last day when she’d headed off to the playground alone. She recalled that for some unknown reason, she’d turned around to look back towards her house, and there was little Chelby, standing behind the screen door. Her hair was pulled into two soft afro puffs, secured with pink and white speckled ballies. Ballies she'd selected herself. She was sucking her thumb and waving bye-bye. She’d smiled at her little sister and waved back.  It all seemed like ages ago to Linda, and like an old photograph, the memory was beginning to fade around the edges. Already it was becoming harder for her to recall the details of Chelby’s face. Linda was crying now, and she didn't care if it was the 'ugly cry.'

“I should’ve taken you with me. You always  loved the merry go-round.”

  “Linda?”

The sun was beginning to set, and the wind was really kicking up, but Linda didn’t seem to notice She quickly dried her face with her jacket sleeve and turned to look behind her. Thandie was standing in the doorway looking worried.

“Yes?” Linda asked.

“Are you okay? Thandie replied, concerned. “You’ve been out here a long time, and I was getting worried. Mother will be back from church soon.”

Linda stared blankly at Thandie. When she made no effort to move, Thandie opened the door, looked over her shoulder, and quickly walked to where Linda was sitting.

“Umm, Linda? You might want to be inside when Mother gets home.”

She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts, it took a second for Linda to register exactly what Thandie was saying, but she finally grasped the urgency in Thandie’s tone. She looked at Thandie as if seeing her for the first time.. Aside from the skin-tone, Thandie reminded her of Chelby. Linda imagined Chelby growing up to be just like Thandie; all fire and spunk; not taking crap from anyone. “Chelby,” she said in a soft voice, and suppressed a sob.

“Huh? Did you say something?” Thandie asked leaning forward.

“No, I was just talking to myself,” Linda replied, hopping off the picnic table.

“Come on, we better have the table set by the time she gets home.”

Shivering, Thandie ran ahead. “Girl aren’t you cold?” she asked over her shoulder.

Linda trudged back toward the house, head hung low, her shoulders slumped in despair. “No,” she said wearily. “I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel anything at all.”

NeorahYah Germaine McGuffie

January 5, 2026