Today, I’d like to share my final entry in last year’s NYCMidnight 500 Word Challenge. The final round had whittled down a field of 3,400 writers to just 88. The prompts for the final round were:
GENRE: Open, ACTION: Appreciating, OBJECT: Business Card
I woke up quite early, sat down, and this story poured out. It’s a personal one and I am very fond of it. I really wanted to fit as much as I could in the unwritten spaces between the words, to leave a lot of room for the reader to pick up on subtleties, so I spent a lot of time tweaking every sentence. While this story was not among the winner’s podium, I hope you can find something in it that the judges may have missed.
Recommended listening: Joachim Heinrich
After we’ve run out of things to paint & glue together, Charlie and I will go for a walk. Get out of the house. Burn off some energy.
On Monday, we wandered down the road and found an old graveyard. A large dog we couldn’t see barked anxiously as we passed the gate but the racket of its chain leash settled once we were through. We followed the path, looking at names and ages on gravestones.
“Dad,” Charlotte said.
“Yea kiddo.”
“Can we play hide & seek?”
“It’s not really the place, Charlie... Gotta be careful where we step.”
She leaned against a headstone, arms crossed on the curved top. I weighed the two—her disappointment against seeming disrespectful if anyone else came by.
“One game.”
“OK! You hide! But Dad, no jumping out and saying boo, OK?”
“Sure.”
***
On Tuesday, we agreed we’d play after the graveyard. The dog startled us again, but this time, we were less overwhelmed by the shock of its sudden howling.
“Dad?”
“Yea kid.”
“Are Papa & Opa here?”
“No. They were cremated. You can either sleep in the ground or get turned into dust.”
We’d lost two grandpas in one year. Charlotte understood they weren’t coming back, but the rest of dying meant little to a five-year-old. We’d cried deeply and then we’d made more crafts.
“OK, can we play?”
“After.”
A few gravestones had crumbling green foam bricks mounted on top, with plastic flowers stuck in. The wind had blown the loose ones across the hillside.
“How ‘bout we pick up those flowers and give them back to the people?”
We matched stray flowers to graves by colour, gathering pinks, and returning them to Clarence (41) & Elsie (82). Reds belonged to Bruce (84). Blues were Mildred’s (9).
“Good. I’ll bet they appreciate having those back…”
“Yea!” Jamming another in, Charlotte noticed something else stuck in the foam. A card with a golden horse emblem. “What’s this, Dad?”
“Business card. For the funeral home. Leave it, please.”
“I want one!”
“Alright, buddy.”
***
Wednesday was stormy. We stayed in and made our own business card. She carefully copied the letters I’d written down for her on some scrap paper.
The Old Old Unicorn
Flower Service
“Why’d you write ‘old’ twice, Charlie?”
“Cus the people are really old now. Maybe, 200 or something.”
“Well, no. You stop counting after someone dies.”
“You do? Oh, OK.”
She scrunched her face in disappointment.
***
On Thursday, we made the rounds again. The dog had grown more comfortable with our coming and our going. We left our card with Mildred, but made plans to draw more for everybody else.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Why is it sad?” Charlotte asked, struggling to get a bent stem in place.
“You know how you never want bedtime, but I say you have to, anyway?”
She nodded, tongue out in concentration.
“Same idea.”
She pinched the bent end off.
“But then, we do bath, brush teeth, get under blankets. Once you’re through all that, it’s OK, right?”
“Mhmm.” The shortened flower stood. “There, Mildred!”
“Good kid.”
“After flowers, can we play hide & seek again?”
“Sure…”
“No jumping out and saying boo…”
“Nothin’ scary, promise.”
Thanks for reading.
Aiyas
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