I know I keep saying that I’m going to post more and then not doing it. Sorry, I’m a liar. I’m actually finishing up my senior honors thesis right now on children’s fantasy literature and I’m trying not to fall into an academic writing coma. That being said, I am really sorry for consistently breaking my promises. Here is a work of flash fiction, unedited, that I wrote for a class and may be submitting (after further edits, of course) for a competition at my university early next month.
Your Word Is…
“Divorce. D-i-v-o-r-c-e. Divorce.”
Richter Academy’s Annual 3rd Grade Spelling Bee, May 4th, 2003. My dad said that my mother was sowing too many oats. He said the only thing good about her was her fiber intake. My mom said the only thing my father wanted more than money was a perfect score in racquetball. Neither came to see me lose to Maria Pacardi after misspelling the word “separated.” Who knew there was only one p?
“Funeral. F-u-n-e-r-a-l. Funeral.”
Grandma Marge died of a stroke, January 22nd, 2009. Mom made me wear a black jumper and my brother’s hand-me-down loafers. They weren’t meant for girls, but my feet were too big for anything my sister Claire had worn when she was my age. I set my white lily on the coffin with red heat in my cheeks, avoiding glances at my feet, like everyone could tell mom hadn’t earned enough tips from the salon last week to buy me new shoes.
“Can I have the definition please?”
“To grant a diploma at the close of a course of study, as in a university, college, or school.”
“Part of speech?”
“Graduate. G-r-a-d-u-a-t-e. Graduate.”
Solely High School Graduation Ceremony, June 18th, 2011. Both mom and dad managed to show up but they sat at opposite ends of the auditorium, only dad had to leave halfway through the fight song because he got an emergency call from work. Mom said it was a call from the blonde floozy at 231 Maple, the apartment next door to my father’s. I tried to pretend my mother hadn’t said anything. I tried to pretend that I hadn’t known it was probably true.
Walking across the stage to shake hands with Principle Phillis and accept my degree, I remembered my acceptance letter to the University of Maryland with a hefty scholarship attached. The first person in my family to go to college. Work functions and blonde neighbors could not impede me. My bags were packed two weeks ago.