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Challenge of the Month VI: April
Something to Lose. What does it feel like to cherish something or someone with every fiber of your being? Is it terrifying, as though any second it could disappear? Or is it a source of comfort, solid ground to stand on, an anchor? Write about having something to lose. $100 purse to the winner. The best entries will be shared with publishers. Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or Prose.

THE LONGEST GOODBYE

“I’ll pick you up from school every Friday and drop you off at your mom’s Sunday morning. We’ll spend the weekend together.”

Denial

Fifth grade ignorance, dancing to Spice Girls in my frizzy pigtails.

Weekend visits with no bed time, movie nights full of giggles

Renting movies inside the kiosk at Albertson’s; I’m allowed a Snickers and a Sprite.

Watching and loving Shrek, even though the boy down the street I had a crush on told me

it was terrible. You knew better though.

“I’ll pick you up every Saturday morning and take you out to breakfast. Then we can spend the day together and, if I’m not too busy with work, I’ll drop you off at your mom’s Sunday morning.”

Anger

Gone are breakfast feasts on Saturday; no watermelon or sweet cantaloupe.

Lost is your presence here on holidays; gained is stress from two Christmases and two

birthdays.

No more bedtime tuck-ins or stories about you surfing in Hawai’i,

So I’m left with nightmares devoured by monsters.

“I’ve got work over the weekend, so you can watch TV at my place and be done by dinner. Then I’ll have to take you back early Sunday morning.”

Depression

Short awkward silence on the phone, unable to say “come home.”

Crying in the closet dampens the sound of guttural gasps.

Wrapped in the black coat you gave me, not sure if I love it or hate it.

The green in the envelopes bearing my name each month doesn’t compare to seeing your

sandy black hair.

This void feels different than I thought it would, less chill, more fire.

“I can’t see you this weekend. I’ve got too much work. Next weekend…your mom doesn’t want…I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Bargaining

I can meet you without mom so you don’t have to see her.

You can meet me at school for lunch, like you used to on Sloppy Joe day.

Unarmed for this battle with no negotiations in sight.

Two Sides.

One ME!

Nothing to barter anyway.

I won’t give mom your new phone number; I promise.

You can trust me.

“I’m sorry. He doesn’t work here anymore.”

Acceptance

I donated the black coat but claimed the memories, like the Father Daughter dance.

Remember the woman who came over for chocolate ice cream that one time, with the

thin brown hair and the beautiful figure?

Your arms enveloping her, strolling down the hall to your room.

I felt like you had replaced me in your heart with her.

You never said if that was false or true.

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