Short Story by Grace Kameyo Griego, 9th Grade, Union High School
2015 Met Awards - First Place for High School Fiction
I like to believe that I am in complete control of my life. The idea of destiny or that God has a plan for me is simply laughable. This is my life and I choose what to do with it. I chose to fall in love with my girlfriend, I chose to have sex with her to have a baby, I chose what career I wanted, and I will choose when I want to die. Yes, I am in control.
I saw something hilarious today. While driving to work, I saw a little boy trying to get a cat down from a tree. What a stupid boy. That cat won’t listen to you.
My boss fired me today. That’s okay though. I chose to slack off in my work, so it was my decision. I didn’t care for that job anyway.
On my way to an interview, I saw that boy again. The cat was sleeping and he still tried to climb up to reach it. Foolish.
I am choosing to drink alcohol. It is my decision despite what my girlfriend might tell you.
I go for drives now. Interviews are not my style and I could use something to take my mind off things. The boy got a ladder and tried to get the cat, but it scratched him and he fell. I smirked.
It wasn’t fate that made my girlfriend have a miscarriage. I think I wasn’t ready to be a father anyways. My girlfriend slapped me and cried when I told her this. She insisted I see a therapist for my “control issues.”
This is absurd. I don’t have any issues. I am just more in control of my life than she is. However, I will go to cheer her up. On my way there, I saw that the boy has given up on the cat. The cat still sleeps.
I told my therapist about that cat and boy and how funny it is to watch them and he looked at me worryingly. I hate that look. He asked how often I see these visions. I scoffed at him. How dare he suggest I’m crazy. Me, crazy? I’ll refuse to see that looney doctor ever again.
I’m not an alcoholic. I’m not. I like how it makes me feel. It makes me feel in control.
My girlfriend left me today. I shouldn’t say that. I’m the one who left her. While it’s true she’s the one who broke it off, I was the one who wasn’t happy in this relationship. It was my choice.
I haven’t seen that cat in a while.
My money is disappearing. I think someone stole my credit card. No matter, I’ll take care of that after one more bottle of whiskey.
I miss that cat.
I was evicted from my apartment today. I shouldn’t say that. Considering the situation and my lack of funds, I decided to seek shelter elsewhere. It was my decision. I’m in control.
My ex girlfriend came to see me today. She wept when she saw me and insisted on taking me to the hospital. On the drive there I saw that cat again. It looked frail as it stared at me with those bright red eyes.
The doctor stuck a needle in me and I stared at my bright red blood. I felt vulnerable and I hated it.
The doctor told me I was suffering from alcohol poisoning.
I yelled at my ex girlfriend for taking me there. I took a taxi home. It was my decision. I am in control.
After a morning of vomiting I decided to go on a walk. I went to see that cat. It looked so calm. It was barely breathing. It turned to me and spoke, “You are not in control.”
I was enraged.
“I have made every decision in my life. Me. No one else but me!” I screamed at the creature. People passing by stared at me. Mothers shielded their children’s’ eyes.
“Oh? You chose to be born? You chose to lose your love and job? You chose to have your first-born die before birth? You chose to be controlled by mere alcohol?”
I screamed and punched the tree. The cat fell.
“Yes! I am in control!” I cried out. The cat looked up at me and died without another word. I picked up the limp creature in my arms. I began to stroke its fur. Raindrops fell to the cat’s lifeless body. I wiped them away as I looked up with blurred vision at the clear, sunny sky.
Monday, August 31, 2015
Monday, August 24, 2015
We Are Gathered Here Today
Short Story by Jennifer Jones of Cerro Coso Community College
2015 Met Awards - First Place for College Fiction
Uncle Dewey is crying as he talks about how much he’ll miss Mom’s terrible jokes. Julie remembers the one about the used car and chokes out a laugh. Her fiancé doesn’t say anything. He just quietly reaches for her hand. It’s when he begins rubbing his thumb across her engagement ring that Julie remembers what exactly she’d been considering before getting the phone call about Mom.
It’s not that she doesn’t love him or anything. She does. Well, will eventually. She does really like him. Just that morning, before they got dressed in these clothes they’ll never wear again, he brought her coffee. It was made with just enough creamer. But those small moments of domesticity are outnumbered by something else. No amount of perfectly made coffee can help her when she is overwhelmed with that unnamed feeling that constricts her lungs. Like now, as she contemplates making a human-shaped hole in the cream-colored wall behind her mother’s casket. Her staring contest with the wallpaper is interrupted by Uncle Dewey clearing his throat.
“Gloria is …was a great sister and friend. But she was also a wonderful mother. I remember when she first had little Julie. She was so happy. Being a mother was all she wanted.”
Julie bows her head, feeling the room’s attention being directed at her. She doesn’t risk looking at Uncle Dewey right now. Her mother was wonderful. She was lucky to have had the mom that made school lunches and led the P.T.A. But Uncle Dewey is telling everyone the version of the story that has a fairytale ending. Behind the smiling and warm hugs was a woman that gave up her dreams for her husband that didn’t want to leave their hometown. Her mother gave up her hopes of an acting career so she could make honey hams and scrub the linoleum sparkling clean. Julie remembers every time her mom’s façade broke. She remembers every single time her mom had a bad day and talked about what she could have been. But the next morning she’d be making a full breakfast for Dad and singing along to the radio as if nothing had happened.
Her fiancé’s hand on top of her own feels like a lead weight. Sometimes, when they are sitting at home and watching television, Julie feels like he’s taking all the air out of the room. She imagines he’s taking deeper breaths on purpose. As if he’s conspiring to turn her into a shell of herself. Or maybe into a pretty corpse that’ll follow her future husband around and drive a big, red S.U.V.
“Julie. Hey, are you okay?” Her fiancé is gripping her hand, and the movement pushes the engagement ring on her finger sideways. The flawless diamond is stabbing into her skin. It’s enough to put a stop to thoughts of being a smiling, Stepford-zombie.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Do you want to go up and see her?”
Uncle Dewey is already finished with the eulogy and sitting down. Julie looks around and sees everyone is hugging, crying, or a sad combination of the two. And she realizes that she’s doing neither. Julie nods and lets herself be led by her fiancé out of the pew and up the carpeted walkway. It feels like a slow eternity by the time they are both standing in front of the casket covered in several bouquets of roses. Julie pulls away from the grasp of her fiancé to pick up a stray petal.
“You know, she always said that she wanted daisies. I didn’t like to talk about funeral stuff, but she made sure that I knew that. I should’ve remembered.” Julie’s fiancé looks up from studying the roses, biting his lip before saying,
“Julie, I-“
“No, it’s okay. The roses are just as good. I’m sure she would’ve liked them.” They continue to stand there, looking down on the closed casket. Julie thinks about how her mother didn’t really get what she wanted in life. Even at her own damn funeral.
She feels her fiancé trying to take the petal out of her hand. She looks down and sees that it’s been crushed in her palm.
2015 Met Awards - First Place for College Fiction
Uncle Dewey is crying as he talks about how much he’ll miss Mom’s terrible jokes. Julie remembers the one about the used car and chokes out a laugh. Her fiancé doesn’t say anything. He just quietly reaches for her hand. It’s when he begins rubbing his thumb across her engagement ring that Julie remembers what exactly she’d been considering before getting the phone call about Mom.
It’s not that she doesn’t love him or anything. She does. Well, will eventually. She does really like him. Just that morning, before they got dressed in these clothes they’ll never wear again, he brought her coffee. It was made with just enough creamer. But those small moments of domesticity are outnumbered by something else. No amount of perfectly made coffee can help her when she is overwhelmed with that unnamed feeling that constricts her lungs. Like now, as she contemplates making a human-shaped hole in the cream-colored wall behind her mother’s casket. Her staring contest with the wallpaper is interrupted by Uncle Dewey clearing his throat.
“Gloria is …was a great sister and friend. But she was also a wonderful mother. I remember when she first had little Julie. She was so happy. Being a mother was all she wanted.”
Julie bows her head, feeling the room’s attention being directed at her. She doesn’t risk looking at Uncle Dewey right now. Her mother was wonderful. She was lucky to have had the mom that made school lunches and led the P.T.A. But Uncle Dewey is telling everyone the version of the story that has a fairytale ending. Behind the smiling and warm hugs was a woman that gave up her dreams for her husband that didn’t want to leave their hometown. Her mother gave up her hopes of an acting career so she could make honey hams and scrub the linoleum sparkling clean. Julie remembers every time her mom’s façade broke. She remembers every single time her mom had a bad day and talked about what she could have been. But the next morning she’d be making a full breakfast for Dad and singing along to the radio as if nothing had happened.
Her fiancé’s hand on top of her own feels like a lead weight. Sometimes, when they are sitting at home and watching television, Julie feels like he’s taking all the air out of the room. She imagines he’s taking deeper breaths on purpose. As if he’s conspiring to turn her into a shell of herself. Or maybe into a pretty corpse that’ll follow her future husband around and drive a big, red S.U.V.
“Julie. Hey, are you okay?” Her fiancé is gripping her hand, and the movement pushes the engagement ring on her finger sideways. The flawless diamond is stabbing into her skin. It’s enough to put a stop to thoughts of being a smiling, Stepford-zombie.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Do you want to go up and see her?”
Uncle Dewey is already finished with the eulogy and sitting down. Julie looks around and sees everyone is hugging, crying, or a sad combination of the two. And she realizes that she’s doing neither. Julie nods and lets herself be led by her fiancé out of the pew and up the carpeted walkway. It feels like a slow eternity by the time they are both standing in front of the casket covered in several bouquets of roses. Julie pulls away from the grasp of her fiancé to pick up a stray petal.
“You know, she always said that she wanted daisies. I didn’t like to talk about funeral stuff, but she made sure that I knew that. I should’ve remembered.” Julie’s fiancé looks up from studying the roses, biting his lip before saying,
“Julie, I-“
“No, it’s okay. The roses are just as good. I’m sure she would’ve liked them.” They continue to stand there, looking down on the closed casket. Julie thinks about how her mother didn’t really get what she wanted in life. Even at her own damn funeral.
She feels her fiancé trying to take the petal out of her hand. She looks down and sees that it’s been crushed in her palm.
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