27 June 2025, @mariannewest's Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2781: spinning too many plates

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Rarely did Sgt. Vincent Trent just look depressed, but a phone conversation had him feeling some type of way and his wife picked up on it.

“What's the matter, Vincent?” she said.

“There's two ways one can take a conversation like that, Melissa,” he said. “I'm going to choose to take it as more stupidity exiting our lives.”

Mrs. Melissa Trent held her husband close … much of the Trent family was such a problem that even eleven-year-old Velma Trent, their middle daughter, knew all the ins and outs, and younger siblings nine-year-old Milton and eight-year-old Gracie told stories to their friends about their father defending the home from cousins. They had actually moved to the Veteran's Lodge because of the greater security … it was too close to the Trent home for general population to be totally safe, but also on the side of the Blue Ridge where the sergeant's mother, Gladys Jubilee Trent, lived. That was on purpose. The Jubilees-of-the-mountain went over to the Tennessee side of the Blue Ridge after the latest incident and reminded them they were going to leave V.T. Trent's only remaining son alone because he was an adopted Jubilee because they did not want that level of trouble.

But there were the things you couldn't get around with open defensive strategies … like a call letting you know the family had lost another one, even before they were dead.

Sgt. Trent had gotten a call from a cousin who was upset about not being able to reach him.

“I stay busy, man – five kids ranging from 8 to 21 in age and a whole business – it's enough to do!”

“Man, you ain't got Melissa to take on those kids so you can build the empire yet – she ain't got no more gratitude after you took her back?”

“I went to get her, Ned – I'm grateful she came back, but some things are not going to change because we know what is going on and I planned for it.”

Sgt. Trent stopped short of saying, “Melissa does better when she doesn't have to handle too many spinning plates,” because Ned's statement was the death knell of the relationship anyhow. Why offer up any details to be repeated with resentment to people who just couldn't matter any more?

“As for the kids, you know those are my kids too, right? I am their father. I'm supposed to actually take care of them.”

“But we gotta hold the women accountable – they don't even want to be mothers any more!”

Sgt. Trent considered his answer carefully, knowing it would likely be his last to Ned.

“Get it straight that the women you know don't represent my wife, Ned. You don't get to bring your lack of discernment and accountability for the women you chose over here to talk about the woman I chose, and chose again. Get off my phone.”

Sgt. Trent hung up the phone and blocked the number, and then wept … not for him, and not for his father, was there ever a relief from moments like this – they in their generations had fought their way out of being associated with moonshining and later drug dealing under the name of Trent in the Blue Ridge. The sergeant knew that most of the survivors of all that, instead of following his and his father's example, were sniffing around to see how much money Sgt. Trent had made from the Ludlow Bubbly and if they could get some of it. That was all.

But instead, more stupidity had just exited the lives of Sgt. and Mrs. Trent, and they enjoyed their snuggle and drew strength from it to keep going.

“I love you,” Sgt. Trent said to his wife, “once, twice, and forever.”

“I love you too,” Mrs. Trent said, “once, twice, and forever.”