Let Us Remember Adah

Twitter Fiction Festival Flash Fiction #7. Epitaph by @KyleMunson, @SarahLoveSager@jessieopie. Fiction by Jennifer Wilson

 Far as we know, she never stopped. — @jessieopie

She packed her kit and continued walking. The thing was snug to her back, but it bothered her. She could deal with the tent just fine, even though it weighed at almost 50 pounds with stakes. Adah had always been hardy. Back in Iowa, her pop lent it to her knowing she could shoulder it like a weak calf in spring.

It was the less luxurious things she’d begun to resent. Pillow. Blanket. It was so damned hot this time of year anyway, and she didn’t mind the dew at night, closest thing to beauty cream she’d ever get. Toothbrush. She wasn’t kissing anyone in this war, wasn’t particularly interested in anything but writing. She’d been tempted to throw it out.

Adah had gone wild. That’s what it was.

Farm life was fine. Pop liked the help, but he didn’t need her. That’s what brothers were for. Everybody back home was always milling around and waiting for her to take up with that sad-sack Carl Crout.

Adah grimaced at the thought. Just because Carl Crout was the only fella to look at her didn’t mean she had to take that jackass. He only wanted to stick it to her and make a mess of kids to keep her home for good.

But life on the road was the life for her. Didn’t matter where! Hell, she’d cover anything they’d pay her for at the Bureau. Lady journos were scarce, and sometimes she was the only one who could get the story. Like when the pretty Swiss nurses got sick of the men gogging around the hospital and kicked them all out but Adah. She’d scooped them all on the gut-shot colonel that way.

Adah felt good today. The air was sharp in her nose and the sky was clear and she hadn’t slept half bad.

Milbourne chucked her on the back when he walked by.

“Saw your piece yesterday, Adah,” he winked. “Real good work. For a dame.”

Adah picked up some gravel and tossed it half-heartedly in his direction. Her eyes scanned the woods.

Pop was the only one she’d miss.

She couldn’t write or call or anything, though. He’d come for her, thinking she was out of her mind. Probably she was. But it sure felt fine to be that way.

“Milbourne,” she called. “You ever carry a calf in spring?”

Milbourne stopped and turned. He shook his head. “I never did,” he said.

Adah nodded. “You ain’t missing much,” she said. “Only need to do it once to know how you feel about a thing like that.”

# # #

Thanks, @TwitterBooks!