By Danny Menter
This Story Won Second Prize in Our Contest
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6: Mrs. Fields shows us how to polarize a needle by rubbing it on a scrap of silk and placing it on a leaf above an inch of tap water in the bottom of a tin can. The needle is supposed to guide us north, through a copse of oak trees to a line of orange cones set up on the far side of the playground. My needle spins around wildly, wobbling indecisively on one point then twirling away. But yours is steady, and you appear like a fairy child, giggling beneath the trees, slipping your hand confidently into mine.
You always knew where you were going.
17: We go to prom separately, but find each other instead and sneak outside to the golf course with Solo cups of spiked punch. We talk colleges, moving away, your parents’ divorce. The sprinklers erupt, molten in the streetlamps. Your eyes shine huge and wet, but then someone calls from the parking lot, and I turn, distracted. When I look back, you’ve drifted away.
22: You’re a North Star, fixed as crystal. I’m a drowning sailor grasping for buoyancy. You have a long-term boyfriend who plays Lacrosse, whose family skis in Banff, whose skin stays orange in winter. We lie on a deflated air mattress in my dorm, graduation robes kicked somewhere around our feet. For years this is what I wanted, waving my lantern from the cliffs, and now that you’re within sight, I’m afraid I’ll shatter you against my shore.
You stare stonily at the ceiling. You’re ready to leave him, start this with me. You hold your phone out, offer to cancel the flight if I just say yes.
We pack, silently. When I drive you to the airport, you slice your palm on my trunk, leaving a crimson handprint on the door handle that lingers for weeks.
23: Two letters after six months of silence. The longest we’ve ever gone. Dread feels a lot like hunger. The first is a cream-colored envelope, you and the boyfriend standing in a field of wildflowers. It must have been his idea. You hate these kinds of things. A date I vow immediately to forget. The second comes a month after the wedding and is harder to unsee: your hands cupped under your belly.
Later, I watch flames swallow the announcements on my stove.
28: Nothing these five years but recurring landmarks and tracks that circle back. Then, at the reunion (thought you would be there) I heard about your divorce, and the worse news, and I fly out the next day. I stand by your bedside in the oncology unit while your son waits outside, trying to triangulate this pain. I hoped he would resemble me, needing that to be a connection we shared, but I know he’s not mine. Too sure of himself. I try to tell you I’m sorry, that my compass has always been broken, that I should have found my way to you long ago.
My tongue’s a beached canoe, but after a flutter of eyelids, your hand finds mine, navigates it to your lips, and you ask what took me so long.
Excellent.
👍
Innovative and compelling. Good work.
Wow. Thank you for this, Danny. I think I read without even taking a breath. I don’t think much more needs to be said.
Love the tone and exquisite details. Lovely but sad…
An excellent story. One critique: while I understand the use of numbers att he beginning of the paragraphs to indicate age, why not just say, for example, “When we were six…”, etc.? To my mind, less clunky. Unless word count was a problem. Otherwise, very nice piece!
Completely agree with you, Tom. Early on, this was a way to structure and organize the piece that simply wound up in the final version. Later versions used transitions instead, and I think those worked better. Thanks for reading!
I bet to disagree. The number structure added a book for me. At first, I didn’t know what the 6 referred to, then it became a clear, simple way to navigate the passing years without needing filler.
I absolutely love it!
Lovely.
So lovely and real. Thank you for this.
Loved this! So human, so universal…My heart was engaged the whole time I was reading. Thank you!
Beautiful.
Excellent story even though I felt annoyed with both the characters.
Great. I loved it.
Nicely done. Congratulations on a well-earned award!
Just beautiful.
Enjoyed this story it made me want to shout can’t you see the two of you have such magnificent waves to view from your shore. What else do you need?
The more I read it the more I love it.
This is very very good!! Kudos!
That was a lot in a few words. Congratulations.
Beautifully crafted. I loved the how you used the repetitions and how their meanings deepened each time.
What a lovely way to build regret! When they were in the dorm together, I wondered, “how’d that happen?” and it took me out for a split second. Other than that, smooth and emotional.
So beautiful. Such a clear, simple structure in which to leave the breadcrumbs of a deep relationship. Thank you.
Wow. Beautiful story. Painful and sad – and the regret and grief and sense of loss are palpable. So well-written. Thank you.
So beautiful. The frustration and angst within this story is palpable, which, coupled with the sadness makes it all the more real. A bittersweet ending and so sad that death came when the character was so young. The ‘compass’ element works so well.
Well done for writing an amazing piece 🙂
I teared up reading this. Beautiful.