Issue No. 05: “Isolation” Winter 2020

Mundelein Writes Issue No. 05: “Isolation” Winter 2020

Published by the Mundelein Arts Commission Table of Contents

WINNING ENTRIES

Resonance (First Place) ...... 1 by Deanna Krikorian Imagine (Second Place)...... 12 by Jessica M. Leong Where to Start (Third Place)...... 25 by Jerry Cornille

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Alone...... 37 by Mike Franklin My Covid Life...... 41 by Dorothy Bakirtjy Lost and Found...... 53 by Sonja Orentas

NOTE: These stories are recreated exactly as they were received for the contest. There has been no editing other than the occasional spelling or punctuation error. Authors retain their copyright, though the stories or any part thereof may be reproduced by the Village of Mundelein for publicity purposes with proper credit but with no payment given to the authors other than the contest prizes. Resonance By Deanna Krikorian First Place

Someone had left the lights on. Walking through the door, it was the first thing Lucy noticed, the only evidence that anyone but her had stepped inside the auditorium since school got out. The seats in front of her were empty, the wings barren of props or backdrops, the pit below her sealed shut. The stage felt abandoned, sealed away from those who would normally beg to use it. She’d forgotten how desolate it could look when it wasn’t cluttered with sets and scripts and instruments, packed to the brim with people. Summer left no room for performers. She had to give Amanda credit – she’d promised solitude, and she’d delivered. “I miss hearing you play,” her sister had told her earlier that morning. She’d been sitting cross-legged on the piano bench in their living room, taking up space usually reserved for Lucy. Lucy had rolled her eyes. “You can find plenty of piano music on Spotify.” “You know that’s not what I mean. You’ve been 1 playing almost every day since we were kids, and now you’re just done?” “Sorry to disappoint.” She’d hoped it would have ended there, but her sister had never known when to leave things alone. “Maybe it’s the house that’s stopping you,” she’d said as her eyes wandered around the living room. “Why don’t you go and play somewhere else?” “Amanda, how many places do you know that have grand pianos just out in the open for anyone to use?” “The auditorium at school has one. It’s not like anyone’s using it right now. You used to play there all the time, remember?” “I’m not in high school anymore.” “So what? I know some of the other teachers use it when they think no one’s listening. I can give you my keys, no one will even know you were there.” “Don’t bother – I’m not going.” “Would you just try it? I mean, seriously, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” “I could get caught breaking and entering, for starters.” “Don’t be dramatic. You know it’s always empty during the summer.” “I don’t care. I’m not playing.” “Come on, Luce. Just try.” “What’s the point?” “The point is, you always loved playing. Now the house is quiet all the time. It isn’t right.”

2 She’d looked away. “Nothing’s right anymore.” Lucy had heard Amanda sigh and stand up, but she’d kept her head down. Looking up to find pity in her eyes would have only pissed her off. “You know Mom wouldn’t have wanted you to stop playing.” “Well, Mom doesn’t really get a say anymore, does she?” “Could you please just try it? For me?” Lucy had heard it in her voice, the pain she usually tried to pretend wasn’t there. It didn’t come out very often. Amanda bottled her feelings; Lucy drowned in them. They’d spent months dancing around one another, Amanda forcing her life to stay intact, Lucy letting hers fall to pieces. They’d never talked about it. Lucy hadn’t let them. Every part of her had wanted to say no, but instead she’d nodded, taken the keys and walked out the door. She’d thought it would be a good excuse to leave, to get out of a conversation she knew was heading toward territory she’d rather avoid; now, standing on stage, staring out at the empty seats, Lucy wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice. Every step she took echoed across the hall, emphasized her own aloneness. She let the sound drown out whatever feelings might try to rear their ugly head and forced her mind to focus only on what lay in front of her. She hesitated when she saw it. There was something about the piano sitting center stage that didn’t feel right. It should have been wheeled to stage left, slightly to the back, with just inches of room between the bench and the curtain. It should have been sitting in the only way

3 that allowed for more people to fit around it, should have been thought of in comparison to other performers – an orchestra, a band, a choir. When she used to bring it on stage, when it had been hers, it had only ever been a tool used for accompaniment. This piano wasn’t meant to perform solos. Things had been easier, then. When her only worries were concerts and classes and Homecoming. When the future was distant and opportunistic, intangible in nature and bursting with potential. When problems could be fixed and wrongs could be righted with ease. When meeting expectations was as simple as looking up and playing in time, and she always had someone waiting for her in the audience. Her body moved without her mind’s permission, unlocking the wheels and pushing until the instrument found its rightful place. She acted on instinct, walking around it, locking the wheels into place, lifting the cover until it stood upright, until she could see each individual string. The desire to look inside, to see something that felt almost forbidden, was often too strong to ignore. It should have lessened the mystery, broken the magic of how every key found its note, but all it ever did was add to her own fascination. Something as simple as a string, wound as tight as deemed necessary, created beauty, not pain, when struck in the right way. Lucy wasn’t sure there was anything in the world besides music that worked that way. She sat down before she could remind herself why she didn’t want to. Her hands hovered over the keys for

4 just a moment before she let them drop, falling into their starting position. It felt natural. Familiar. Like a habit too deeply ingrained in her body to ever truly break. As she started, she kept her eyes on her hands, not trusting muscle memory to carry her through unsupervised. The key to success was focus. Her mind always wanted to wander, to search for something she could never quite find, but the music demanded she tie herself down, find the present and stick to it. People seemed to think performing was about unchecked expression, but she relied on a rigidity that felt almost contradictive. Emotions could come and go, were necessary, even, but only so long as they followed the linearity of the music, didn’t try and carry her anywhere else. Only then would she find her way to the end. The problem was, she’d never been one to listen to her own advice. Losing herself was all too easy. It didn’t matter how many other performances she’d had on this stage – this piece had a home. It didn’t exist in an auditorium. She’d spent months perfecting every inch of it, giving it life on a different set of keys, and now she could hear the echo of a memory, louder than any of the notes currently filling the space around her. She stared at her hands and saw an outdated version of them, saw everything that existed the last time she’d played. The deceptive winter sun shining through her living room window, promising warmth it couldn’t deliver. The glare on the stand in front of her, making it impossible to rely on sheet music. Her memory hadn’t failed her that day, not according to Mom.

5 She could always feel her listening, even when she didn’t make a sound. Her presence had been soft, but never unknown, never unrecognized. Lucy had turned toward her when she’d finished, eyes asking for approval. She’d given it. She’d always given it, even when Lucy knew she didn’t deserve it. She felt the error, her pinkie slipping past its target. The chord winced in response, punished her with dissonance, broke the mirage of an old performance. She’d been taught to play through mistakes, to let errors take their place and leave them be, but instead she went back for it, played it again until the missed note corrected itself. The music continued, but when she looked down, the illusion had faded, left as quickly as it had come. She didn’t see anything more than her hands on the keys, didn’t feel anything but the air conditioning sheltering her from the summer heat. No one else was watching. No one else was listening. She stopped again six bars later, went back for the sixteenth notes her right hand tripped over. Again, ten bars after that, for the butchered rhythm. Again, four bars, missed dynamic. Again. Again. Again. Each time the sound cut off, began anew, left a trail of lyrical carnage behind her as she fought to stay in time. This wasn’t music. This wasn’t cohesive, didn’t follow the basic principles of performing. She’d shot the piece full of holes. She’d fought for every individual note, but before she could even find the conclusion she knew she’d left herself with nothing worth listening to. Sound wasn’t music. Notes weren’t music. She

6 created no beauty from the hammers slamming down on strings beneath the surface, crafted nothing worthwhile from their pain. She created nothing. When it happened again, she didn’t fight for it. She shoved herself back, stood up, walked straight for the door she’d come in through. She’d promised Amanda she’d try; she’d made no such promises for success. Amanda could learn to live with the silence. They both could. She was halfway out the door when she hesitated. Looking back, she could see the empty space on the stage where she’d found the piano. If someone put it there on purpose, if they came back for it, if they found out Amanda had let her in… She groaned as she turned back, unlocking the wheels and shoving it toward center stage. She went back for the bench, put it in its place in front of the keys, but it still looked wrong. “You don’t belong here,” she whispered to herself. The words echoed across the stage, across the seats, disappearing long after they’d left her mouth. She wondered how she could have forgotten. The best part of performing here had always been the last note. It lingered, traveled across the room, before slowly evaporating into the air. Depending on how they played it, sometimes it took as long as ten seconds to truly fade. For just a moment, nothing else existed but the sound. It didn’t matter how it started – loud, soft, brash, gentle – it would always find its way back into the silence. In every piece, the audience held their breaths, the same way the performers did, as they waited for it to diminish on its own time. There

7 was no rushing it, no forcing it to stay or go. There was only listening. Her words did the same, echoed and lingered like the end of a symphony. She said it again, louder this time, and waited as they made their way through every aisle: You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here. Six months ago, she’d hated silence; now, hearing her words vanish, feeling the moment they stopped filling the space around her, she remembered why. There was nowhere to hide in the quiet. She’d spent so much time pretending, desperate to avoid anything that would force her to remember, to think, to acknowledge, but she’d broken a seal without meaning to, and now the build-up was too strong to hold back. “What’s the point?” She called out. What’s the point. What’s the point. What’s the point. The echo felt like a response, like they weren’t her words at all. Like someone was hearing her, talking back, but they had nothing to give besides what she’d thrown at them. Her anger came too quickly to be rational, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. “What’s the point of playing,” she asked the empty seats, “when no one can hear you?” No one can hear you. No one can hear you. No one can hear you. The echo taunted her, her own words twisting the knife in a wound she’d refused to let heal. “What’s the point of playing when she can’t hear me?”

8 She can’t hear me. She can’t hear me. She can’t hear me. She hated the sound of her own voice, but the silence was worse. “It’s not enough,” she yelled into the empty room, not giving her words enough time to bounce back to her before adding, “It can’t just be for me. I’m not enough.” She slammed the keys in front of her, drowned out the echo with a clash of cacophony before it could reach her. She didn’t want to hear those words. She didn’t want to think about those words. She didn’t want to think at all. The bench wavered just slightly as she sat down, her legs straddling over the sides, posture and position all wrong. She used to know exactly what to do when her brain needed a break, when she wanted to turn her thoughts off for a moment. For years, relief from the world had come in the exact same way, in sound and practice and melodies. She’d relied on it, more than she’d come to realize. And no matter what she did, what she told herself or Amanda or anyone else, she missed it. She felt its absence like an ache in her chest, fueled and strengthened by the pain that surrounded it. She’d let the two losses intertwine, felt them so inseparably that she hadn’t realized they weren’t one and the same until she was sitting here, in the quiet, desperate for the return of two things at once. Playing had never brought her pain before; it was months of not playing, of silence, that had attached itself to the hurt she already had. Even now, when she’d tried, it wasn’t the music that failed her – it was the memory,

9 the thing she couldn’t replicate, the echo she desperately wanted to hear when she knew it would never come back. She’d sat down and begged the music to heal her, to not just distract but fix the very feelings she longed to avoid, but maybe that was too much to expect from some strings and hammers, from her own two hands. She’d spent months telling herself that if she didn’t play, if she didn’t talk about it, she could stop herself from hurting even more. But if they were truly separate losses, if what she longed for was not one but two entirely separate desires, connected through experience and emotion but not inherently the same, then all she’d done was give herself something else to lose. Nothing and no one had taken the music away – she’d done that all on her own. Looking at the piano, she thought about the resonance. In her frustration, she’d almost walked away before she could get to the best part of performing here. She’d cut the piece short, deemed it irredeemable and beyond repair, not worth listening to, but playing and listening were two entirely different things. She’d let them combine, had let everything twist inside her until she was a web of incongruities and misperceptions, but sitting center stage, her only audience a sea of empty seats, she felt it again, stronger than it had been in months: the desire not to hear her own music, but to play it. She turned her body forward, let her hands linger over the keys before dropping back into place. She took a breath and started again. The mistakes didn’t go away. Her hands didn’t

10 remember every movement, didn’t catch every chord or dynamic marking, but she played on, let the errors breathe and take up space. She could fix them later, could spend hours fighting for each and every note in practice, but not now. It wasn’t the time for listening, for performing for anybody, even herself. It was just time to play, to let the sound into the world and leave it there. She let it all pass, every beat of every measure, until she made her way to the end. When she hit the last notes, her hands lingering on the keys even when the pedal below her kept the sound going, a part of her didn’t want it to stop. She knew what she’d be left with when the piece ended, but maybe silence was okay, so long as the music always started again. Lucy let go and listened to the echo, the final chord lingering, the sound begging to be heard one last time before it disappeared back into the quiet.

11 Imagine By Jessica M. Leong Second Place

Lyn Michaels, you never should have come back. But I couldn’t stop myself. As I crossed the width of the parking lot, the crunching of gravel under my boots ceased the moment I stepped onto the grass (not that one could see much of it). The once long, vibrant green blades were browning, half covered by autumn’s blanket of leaves from the maple trees. Still wet, the ground squished under my boots and I could see the dampness creeping up the edges as I ascended the hill. I knew where I was going now. It was the park near my childhood home. At the top of the hill, I took in everything. The sky—still filled with the rain clouds that had stubbornly blocked the sun every day for the last week, threatening to break open and drown the world. The grounds— the sprawling park that was the sole bright spot in the otherwise forgettable town. And the lake—with the

12 tranquil lap of water that once brought me comfort and strength. But as I looked around, I realized that while I had changed, nothing else in the last twenty years had. The gazebo was still in dire need of repair; the swing sets and merry-go-round in the far corner both still in need of new paint. Even the two sections of the playground looked just as I remembered. I crossed my arms over my chest as the chill wind picked up. Was it always so cold when you lost something? Despite my cardigan, I found myself rubbing my arms for warmth. I should have brought a jacket, I thought. But it never occurred to me to bring one when I left my house. I didn’t even know where I was going until I reached the parking lot. Ever since the grandmother who raised me passed away, there was no reason for me to be in the area. Yet here I was. This was where the promises started. I heard the light jingle of chains and looked towards a small boy, young enough to be seven or eight. His small hands grasped the chains tightly as he pumped his legs, the swing set groaning every time he swung forward, as if it weren’t sure it could hold his weight. A mess of hair blew from his face each time he completed a full swing. The wind stole the song he sang, snatching it before I could hear a single word. He was in his own little world, suspended there for an endless moment…just like me. The boy slowed his swinging. He looked down at his jacket, his small fingers grasping the zipper. Tugging, he tried to zip up, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried again, his forehead wrinkling as he yanked at the zipper forcefully.

13 “Do you need some help?” My voice rang out in the silence… a motherly voice that I had never gotten to use. The little boy stared up at me and slowly nodded. He walked closer, offering me the bottom of his jacket.

* * *

He was supposed to be there; he was always there. And I was late. I ran towards the dingy gazebo, my glittery shoes clattering against the wooden bridge. My new sundress flew behind me as I leaped over footprints tracked from the fresh overturned dirt left by the city’s gardeners planting lavender and tulips around the park’s edge to welcome spring. I felt the wind blowing escaped strands of my hair from my face as I made my noisy arrival onto the deck. Wasting no time, I hopped onto the railing’s creaky bottom rung and adjusted my yellow bow headband. Peering over the edge, I looked into the dark water, but there was nothing there. No open fish mouths, no stray fishing lines, and no Gabriel hiding over the side. There was only the rippling reflection of the cloudless sky that greeted me. I pulled myself back over the rail and stepped down, pursing my lips. Where are you? Every direction I looked, he wasn’t there. Facing the playground, I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Gabe? Gabe!” I called out. I strained to hear him calling back to me, hoping he would come running. He was always the faster runner.

14 He was always funnier. And he was always there. Or at least, that was what he promised me. I tried again, a little angrier this time. “Gabriel!” No reply. I shuffled my feet, looking at the pebbles scattered over the old, chipped wood. Stupid… of course he forgot… I stared out at the big empty lake, and curling my hands into fists, I kicked some of the loose stones into the water. They made a satisfying plop, but quickly disappeared in the murky water. “Hey Lyn!” a familiar voice shouted behind me. I took a deep breath, almost scared to let it go. Scared he would disappear again. But my frown vanished as I turned around and saw him on the ‘kiddie’ side of the park. That was unusual; we’d normally hang on the older kids’ side, the one with the bigger swings and the larger jungle gym. That side was more fun, held more potential for adventure, but Gabriel, always looking out for me, reminded me constantly that it was also more dangerous. “You have to be careful over on this side of the world. You never know what could go wrong.” That day Gabriel was sitting on a swing, his brown eyes sparkling with the sun’s brilliance. He looked different. His auburn hair was short and no longer flopped over his eyes. He looked more grown up that way, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Grinning, he waved at me and pointed to the seat next to him. Letting myself relax, I beamed back and wondered how I could’ve missed him.

15 I sat down on the swing and pushed off, small woodchips managing to weasel into my shoes. We were silent for a while as I mulled over my thoughts. I felt Gabriel’s gaze on me, curious and concerned. “Why weren’t you waiting at the gazebo?” He didn’t answer for a while, absentmindedly swinging his legs. “I wanted a change of scenery. Change can be good. Besides, the others were there before.” Gabriel glanced over at the older kids’ playground, where a few popular girls from my class were playing. He frowned, still staring at them. When he looked at me again, his eyes suddenly widened. Slowly, he smiled. “Why are you wearing a different look today? You hate dresses… It’s not even your birthday!” “I don’t hate them.” “Since when?” I held back my retort. It was no use arguing with him. We knew each other too well; so well that I sometimes thought he could read my mind. I looked at my sundress again, wondering if it looked okay. Maybe the sundress was a bad idea…was it too much? I looked past him at the other girls. They were all laughing, playing tag with each other. None of them wore sundresses. None of them even had a bow in their hair. They were…carefree, pretty. And they didn’t even have to try. I grimaced, looking at my outfit.They were wearing dresses a week ago…

16 Gabriel turned away from the girls, shaking his head. “What?” I asked, offended because I already knew what he was going to say. “You’re still trying to be like them. They’re stupid.” “Everyone likes them.” “I don’t like them. Besides, you’re better than them. Pick any day of the week! I’d rather hang with you.” Not wanting to start a fight, I nodded. But how could they be stupid? They had so many friends. I had one friend—including Gabriel. It took me less than a week to realize girls weren’t supposed to gloat about catching frogs. They weren’t supposed to play with dirt, and they weren’t cool if they wore secondhand clothes. While Gabriel and the guys thought frogs were cool, the girls said it was gross and screamed when I held one. And when they found out I was friends with Gabriel? That was the last straw; my reputation was ruined. From across the park, I didn’t need to look over to know that the girls were already watching me and gossiping. They always did. I grasped the swing’s chain tighter, the metal biting into my palms, trying to hold back the prickling sensation behind my eyes. Finally, unable to help it, I glanced over to see my suspicions confirmed. Gabriel hopped off his swing and scowled at the girls. “Are you—” “I’m okay,” I automatically lied. What were they

17 saying about me? Did I really want to know? He gave me a long hard look. “Come on, I’ll show you something.” He motioned for me to follow, pointing to a shaded spot in the playground away from my schoolmates’ prying eyes. “I don’t feel like it,” I replied, getting off my swing. I was ready to go home. “Come on. Please?” he asked. “I’ll make it fun.” “Alright…” I relented. I made my way over with Gabriel trailing behind, wincing from the stabbing woodchips in my shoes. He clicked his tongue so loudly that I was certain the girls would hear it, and maybe they did, but I was too scared to check. I sat behind one of the large poles, my knees pulled up to my chest, and faced Gabriel, who was still clicking his tongue. “Stop it,” I hissed. “What if they notice?” Gabriel clicked his tongue once more, staring at me like I had grown another head. He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even like them,” he reminded me. I glared at him, putting my hands on my hips. “Yeah I do! ...Sometimes.” When they aren’t being mean. Gabriel sat down on the ground with a huff. “They make you feel worse about everything. You can’t like them.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. “You don’t understand,” I finally managed, trying to think of one kind thing they’d done for me, something that he didn’t know. Maybe one sat with me at lunch? Or maybe one picked me first for a gym team? But he already

18 knew it all. They never did anything like that. His voice was gentle. “You have everyone that matters.” I wanted to believe him, I really did, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have what the girls had. No siblings, no friends. Parents who hated me. I was alone, if not for him. Gabriel was waiting. Looking away, I busied myself by taking off each shoe and shaking out the woodchips before putting them back on again. “You’re naturally lovable. They just don’t see it yet,” he insisted. I picked up a thick woodchip from between us, fidgeting with it. After a while I gripped the wood at both ends and tried to break it in half. “It’s not going to break.” I ignored him. “Lyn, it’s not going to break.” “I could peel parts of it off,” I muttered. “But it’s a good thing it doesn’t break. It’s strong enough to survive, no matter how much pressure it goes through.” “Surviving doesn’t mean you have fun.” “Well, you can’t have fun if you’re dead.” I rolled my eyes and was immediately distracted by the sound of high-pitched laughter. Why couldn’t I be like that? And laugh like that? Would it be so bad to be happy? To have friends? I returned the intact woodchip to the ground.

19 Gabriel stood up. “Let’s go somewhere else.” I peered around the pole at the girls. They were like sisters, running around, telling secrets… having fun. I forced myself to look away and bit my lip to keep it from quivering. “I don’t have anyone, Gabe...” “Yeah you do.” Gabriel kicked the woodchips so halfheartedly that none moved. “You have me.” I carefully looked at him, framed by the sun’s rays, and shook my head. “But you’ll leave too. Like my dad and my mom and everyone else.” “No, I won’t.” “Yes, you will.” “I won’t. I promise. I’ll never leave you for as long as I live.” Gabriel puffed out his chest like some hero. “Do you mean it?” I asked, slightly skeptical. “Yes.” Gabriel sat down. I lifted my right hand, holding out my pinkie, waiting. “Pinkie swear?”

* * *

With some clever maneuvering and a forceful yank, the fabric finally came free from the zipper’s teeth. “There we go.” Zipper jams were frustrating, but they usually worked out without too much trouble in the end—that is, besides the indent they left behind. “Chilly, huh?” The boy nodded, his hair flopping slightly over his

20 eyes. “Bennett!” The little boy turned towards a stern-looking woman with long dark hair sitting on a park bench with a stroller. I gave the mother a warm smile. Bennett momentarily looked at me, his mouth opening for a thank you, but his mother called for him again, and he ran towards her. You’re lucky to have such a healthy son, I wanted to tell her. Don’t take him for granted. But she didn’t look kind. Her eyes squinted at me in suspicion, her lips pressed into a thin line. It was as if she was expecting me to try to take her little Bennett from her and run. As tempted as I was, he still wouldn’t have been my son. When Bennett was within her reach, she took his hand and walked away, her other hand firmly on the stroller. I watched them until they were out of sight—and long after—continuing to stare at the far side of the park, blinking and reminding myself to take deep breaths. I looked down at my empty palms, unsure what to do with them. “You’re welcome,” I finally murmured into the wind.

* * *

Gabriel grinned. “Pinkie swear.” He held up his own pinkie with an air of pride, and

21 I moved to close the space between us. I paused, looking at him seriously. “Remember, you pinkie swore.” “I know,” he said, just as seriously. He knew what the promise meant. And looking into his eyes, I believed him. Why wouldn’t I? He had never given me reason to doubt him before. His finger came closer. I shifted, anxious and excited, and I curved my pinkie to go around his. It went right through him. I stared, confused. I didn’t feel his hand or skin. In fact, I didn’t feel anything. He sheepishly smiled at me as if he knew what was going on. As if he knew something wasn’t quite right. Maybe you did something wrong. Maybe you just missed. I took a steady breath and tried again, but his hand blurred as mine passed through. I stared at my own pinkie, my hand shaking. “G-Gabe?” I looked up. Maybe he could explain it. He always knew what to say. I turned one way, then another, searching. I scrambled to my feet, looking around. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Gabe?” He was gone. Laughter from the other side of the park filled my ears. I was alone. I stifled a cry. But you promised… The girls turned to stare at me, their noses wrinkling in disgust, but they weren’t looking at my face. They were looking lower. And like always, I followed their gaze. What I saw was a dirty dress, woodchips sticking to the fabric, ruined from sitting on the ground talking to a

22 friend no one else could see. Their laughter made my heart ache, my vision blur. And I knew Gabriel was right. I was never going to be friends with them. I glared at them and clenched my jaw. Ripping off my headband, I threw it to the ground and took off running, avoiding the tulips in my way at the edge of the park. All my attempts to blend in were wasted here. The only place to go would be a place where someone would want me as much as I wanted them. A place where promises didn’t end. I just had to find that place—and that person.

* * *

The empty swing swung on its own in the wind. Silently, I sat down where Bennett had sat. It was already cold even though he had been there only moments earlier. I sighed, dragging my boot over the dampened sand, my arm carelessly laid across my now-flat stomach. I looked down and saw the words written there: ‘Gabriel Michaels,’ a name that wasn’t just in my head anymore. It was the name of someone who actually existed once. Someone who belonged in my arms. Someone who, for the first time, looked at me with unconditional love only a month ago. I paused. Sand? I tapped the ground with my boot again, missing the woodchips. That’s… different. I guess things just… change sometimes. And not necessarily for the better. Looking around one last time, I found that I was truly on my own. I exhaled a breath I didn’t even know I

23 was holding. Carefully lifting each foot, I slowly brushed off the collected mud and sand lining the soles of my boots— knowing full well that it would return twofold. A flash of light came and left so quickly that it hardly registered in my mind before a soft rumble reached my ears. The world’s way of telling me it’s time to go home, I suppose. Not that there was much there to beckon me. As I reached my car, something made me look back. I found myself reaching into my cardigan pocket, my fingers wrapping around the small blue and pink striped hat that I knew was there. Suddenly overwhelmed, I felt like saying a million different things, wishing things could be different, but only one word came out in a soft whisper: “Gabriel.” Only this time, it wasn’t my imaginary friend I was thinking of.

24 Where to Start By Jerry Cornille Third Place

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage. —Anaïs Nin

How long have I been unconscious? Emma wondered. She was freezing and unable to crawl through the icy snow. Emma had hiked these mountains in her native Switzer- land in childhood. She knew their dangers as well as their pleasures---so, how did I fall into this crevasse? If I don’t get out of here, I’ll freeze to death, she feared while shivering uncontrollably. Each intake of breath caught like a knife thrust, and it took all her energy to crawl a few inches up the slick wall of crystalline ice. It was futile to call out. She hadn’t the strength to yell, and there was no one near to hear her anyway. She thought of her daughter living in America. And of her deceased husband. This place was so isolated. She resigned herself to her approaching demise. My hands are numb.

Mike Reyes, a mail carrier on the Northeast side of Chi-

25 cago, liked this neighborhood better than his previous route. He thought people were more friendly, less suspi- cious. There was no gang graffiti. There were kids in the parks, not tough looking characters to make him nervous. No fresh bullet holes. The new area, Andersonville, was a nice mix of people seeming to live in harmony. A better place for someone with PTSD, he thought, though he still felt nervous for no reason, encased in his bubble. It was a sunny Friday; Mike noticed a scent of spring in the air and felt as close to fine as he had in some time. This street with its arch of old trees was his favorite. It was the end of his rounds. Suddenly, a woman, about sev- enty carrying a plastic grocery bag in each hand, tripped on a piece of uneven sidewalk and tumbled onto the park- way. Mike instinctively dropped everything and rushed to her aid. “I’m fine,” the woman insisted, working her way up to all fours. “Go slow. I have your groceries,” Mike said, as he used his medic’s knowledge to support her without risking further injury. “I’m good at falling—been at it since I was a kid,” the thin but sturdy woman reassured him with a cautious smile. Then she was up, brushing herself off and looking at the young dark-haired man holding the Jewel bags in one hand while keeping the other by her arm, just in case. “Thank you—you’re the new mailman, aren’t you?” “No problem. Yep, I’m Mike, the new mailman. How are you doing?” He dropped his arm, satisfied she

26 was steady. “I’m okay. Fine. I’m fine. I live right down the block in the yellow house with the front porch—1637 is how you probably know me, so, you don’t have to worry.” Indeed, you look strong and steady. Mike thought as he picked up his things. “But I’m going your way and will carry these anyway.” On Sunday evening, Heidi talked on the phone to her daughter, Amy, who lived in Atlanta. Amy finished up with, “Mom, you’re too cooped up since Dad and Mrs. Bauer died. You need to get out and make new friends.” When Amy had visited a few weeks ago she was appalled by how shut in her mom had become. “It’s two years since Dad died. You need to make an effort, Mom.” Heidi thought that over. She had always been a quiet person, and her husband, Matt, and her neighbor Susie Bauer had been all the social life she needed. Now that they were gone nearly two years---passing within a month of each other—she recognized she was sliding into her old shell. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she finally responded. The next Monday, Heidi Larson summoned courage to ‘make an effort.’ She sat waiting in a chair on the porch with iced tea and a package of scented soaps for Mike the mailman. Her docile spaniel, Grover, sat at her side. The regifted soap was all she could find for a present. Mike said, “For me? Oh, man--- thank you.” Mike pushed down his anxiety and searched for something to say, “Have you lived here long?” They fell into a surprisingly easy con-

27 versation. Almost every weekday after that, she was on the porch with Grover when Mike arrived. She was the third to last stop on the route, but he changed his routine to make her house the last. On chilly days, Heidi wore the same heavy coat to insulate her slight frame, but Mike also noticed she changed her scarf from day to day. Sometimes, she had a pot of hot tea ready. They all became buddies. Sometimes, Mike brought a cinnamon roll that he knew Heidi liked. His approach would start the metronome of Grover’s tail. Over time they shared the details of their lives and how they had come to America. “I was nine years old when my parents told me we were moving far away and soon. It was the best day of my life up to that point.” She told him how she had felt like the loneliest girl in Switzerland. “Why?” Mike asked. “I lived so separated from everyone. I had no friends to play with except at school. I’ll have to show you,” Heidi said cryptically. The next day, Heidi had a couple of postcards on the table next to her chair. She showed one to Mike. “This is the mountainside where my family lived. You see the towns sprinkled here and there—lots near the bottom and fewer as you go higher?” “It’s beautiful!” “Yes, it really is. But you see this tiny dot of a town right under the glacier-top? That was our town.” Heidi picked up the other postcard. Unlike the first

28 one, this was black and white—essentially a photograph printed on cardboard. “This is the end of the road up, past the tree line. Our town was very small, as you can see.” Mike took the offered card and peered at the grainy photo. A church stood like a shepherd at the highest point with perhaps two dozen houses scattered beneath like a flock of sheep. Heidi then pointed to a tiny house sitting all by itself in the edges of the glacier high above the church. “That was the chalet where I grew up.” “Wow!” was all Mike could say. “A very long walk to school—to the nearest other people. You see why I was so lonely?” Heidi told him about her efforts to ‘get on’ in the States. She picked up English easily, but still had difficulty making friends. She retreated further into her shell at the age of eighteen when her parents were killed in a car crash. Orphaned in a new country, she forced herself to make her own way in the world. She was hired by the phone com- pany and did well there. “I worked hard and my boss com- plimented me for not being ‘chatty like the other girls.’” She looked up and Mike laughed. “I was promoted before others, but I always envied the other ‘girls’ who seemed so carefree.” Another day she told Mike about meeting her husband. “I met Matt when we were both in our mid-thirties.” She explained that he had understood her and had radi- ated protection. “I told Matt, ‘I’m not afraid to be myself with you.’” Heidi shook her head and exhaled slowly be-

29 fore starting again. “That was such a new feeling. When our wedding day arrived, I felt like I was glowing. Every- one said I looked like a new person.” She and Matt had lived in the little house for nearly five decades and raised their only child, Amy, there. Matt had been the last of his family still residing in the old Swed- ish neighborhood. Before they married Matt had dubbed her Heidi because of her Swiss ancestry. “I didn’t like it at first, but it caught on with everyone and I accepted it as part of my new life.” She remembered thinking; I am a new person. It seems all right to have a new name. “That’s why some of your mail is addressed to Emma,” Mike commented. “I think I’d like to call you that.” “All right by me.”

One day Mike got up the nerve to begin his own story. He was surprised how easily the repressed saga came out. He didn’t feel at all defensive in the presence of this nice lady. “I was born Miguel Reyes. My father and mother came to the U.S. in the 1970s to get medical attention for my younger brother Emilio. They sold their restaurant in Chile to finance our trip.” Mike took a sip of his tea, hesitated, and wondered at what he was doing. He shook off a chill. “I turned nine the last week we were in Santiago. I was leaving my home, my school, and my friends--for an unknown future in an unknown country.” Mike paused, looking away as though there was something at the other

30 end of the block. “My first time in a plane—supposed to be exciting, right? But when I looked out the window of the airplane, I had tears in my eyes. It was the worst day of my life.” “How different our lives were at that age!” Heidi remarked. “--or maybe not.” “ My father took a job working long hours in a restaurant, and my mother spent all day at the hospital. So, much of that summer, I was often alone in our apartment. In the fall, I was sent to a Catholic school—my dreams of returning to my friends in Chile were crushed. But school helped me learn English. I became a good student. But it took a while, you know, cuz I didn’t fit in.” He snorted, “My math teacher ignored my name on the seating chart and just called me ‘Mike.’” “Which do you like better? Heidi asked. “Oh, I answer to both!” Mike laughed. “I let the name stick at school—to feel more normal. With my family, it was a novelty at first, then it was, like, you know--my American name...but I still think of myself as Miguel.” He told her how his family followed the path to citizenship and stayed in Chicago. Mike’s father opened a neighborhood restaurant. Mike graduated high school and went to college part-time while helping in the restaurant. Emilio worked there, too, but his parents still treated him as fragile, so the heavier work landed on Mike’s shoulders. He envied the attention his younger brother received from his parents and the fact that Emilio made friends easily. Mike didn’t. To his classmates, and even to himself, he

31 was still the boy who grew up in Chile. “So, when a couple of guys I knew at school enlisted in the army, I did, too. I thought that maybe that’s how I’d find my place in this country.” Heidi knew enough about men and war to remain quiet. He’d tell her what he wanted to tell her. Mike told her the bare bones of two years in the service and serving as a medic in Afghanistan. “I came back to find my family had closed the business, and Emilio had moved to California. He didn’t say more than that, and after a suitable pause, Heidi changed the subject. When he was leaving, Mike remarked, “I like talking with you, even though maybe we don’t have that much in common,” Mike chuckled. “Seems to me, we have a lot in common,” Heidi said. Mike chewed on that on his way home.

In fact, Mike had been a skilled medic, but couldn’t face a job in the medical field. Raw battlefield memories from Afghanistan gave him nightmares. He told himself, maybe later. Meanwhile, the VA counseled him to get help with his anxiety and sense of isolation. One evening at his group therapy meeting he admitted, “I have trouble meeting people.” “You ever think ‘bout getting a dog?” another vet asked. “I don’t know if I can do that,” Mike said. “I work long days and, well, it might be too much for me.” He saw the dying soldier rapidly bleeding out, asking him in a weak

32 voice, “Can you hold me?” “Then, maybe a cat?” “What? A cat? Man, I hate cats. When I was a kid, my neighbor had one that used to scratch hell out of me whenever I tried to pet it.” But mostly, he felt anxious about letting a pet into his life.

When Covid-19 arrived, things became more difficult. Mike’s job put him in contact with lots of people, and even though he was always cautious, many other people weren’t. Now when he would visit his parents, they had to sit outside to talk. On the job, there were new procedures and things on the route changed subtly. Friendliness became politeness. Some people pretended not to notice him, and he felt like a plague carrier as much as mail carrier. It in- creased his anxiety. I won’t be able to sit with Heidi and Grover, he thought, and was surprised by just how disap- pointed that made him feel. But Heidi was still there most days, but now sitting inside in a chair she had moved next to her front window. Grover kept watch and barked happily to signal Mike’s approach. They talked through her screen. Often her gray cat, Louie, sat in the window frame. Louie rubbed against the screen, and Mike actually wished he could pet him. One Tuesday Mike noticed she looked unusually tired. He asked, “Are you feeling okay?” Heidi started to answer, then coughing a little bit, just nodded her head yes. When she recovered, she said, “Just allergies. I get like this every spring.” He left a bag

33 with another cinnamon roll. Wednesday, Mike brought a bag of Ricola cough drops for Heidi. Knowing she had been born in Switzer- land, he thought perhaps these Swiss cough drops might make her happy. He heard Grover’s muffled bark as he climbed the porch steps. Louie jumped up onto the window sill. Mike waited a minute. When Heidi didn’t show, he put the Ricola bag on the chair. The bakery bag was still there. Should I leave? He decided he would ring the bell- -something he had never done before. His finger hesitated, then pushed the bell. Grover ran to the door barking. Louie disappeared from the window. Glancing inside, Mike saw Heidi’s foot in a slipper on the floor behind where Grover had been sitting. Mike dialed 9-1-1 and rang the bell a couple more times. The ambulance arrived. Mike told them what he knew, adding that he had been a medic in service. Police arrived and broke the door lock. The EMTs went to work. “How is she?” Mike anxiously called through the doorway. His voice muffled by his mask, the tech replied, “Delirious with high fever, but we’re going to take care of h e r.” “Do you know if Mrs. Larson has relatives near- by?” a policeman asked. “She has a daughter in Atlanta...maybe family somewhere in the Chicago area?” The cop clicked his phone, “Yeah, and we’ll need to

34 transport a dog.” Mike knew she was going to be worried about Gro- ver. He took a deep breath, “I’ll take care of her dog—and she has a cat, too,” Mike heard himself saying. The cop looked surprised. “A mailman offering to take care of a dog—well, that’s a first! Do you know her?” In a voice that didn’t seem to be his, Mike said, “She’s...my friend.” In the ambulance the tech asked the semi-con- scious woman, “Can you tell me your name?” “Emma.” “Do you know where you are?” “In the mountains...I’m so cold...who found me?” “Relax, you’re doing fine. Your mailman called us,” the tech whispered as he placed the oxygen mask back over her face. The words ‘my friend, Miguel’ were lost in the mask.

A week later, Heidi’s daughter, Amy, called Mike’s cell. “Hi, Mr. Reyes? This is Amy Larson--” “Hi, Amy—call me Mike” he said nervously. He had only spoken with Amy once before, on the day after Heidi had been taken to the hospital. Amy knew he was taking care of her mom’s pets. He steeled himself against bad news. He saw the dying G.I. “My mom is doing much better and the nurse told me she wants to call you. Can you do a video call?” “Sure!” He started breathing again. Amy made the arrangements. In the hospital a

35 nurse held up an iPad up for her patient who looked at the screen and smiled. “Hi, Miguel.” “Hi, Emma,” he replied, sitting between Grover and Louie.

36 Alone By Mike Franklin Honorable Mention

He was alone. He was the last of His kind and He was alone. He’d been pursued across the galaxies by the ‘Tor- mentors’ who were intent on eliminating His kind forever. Single-mindedly following His trail across the vast- ness of space. Never stopping. They had hunted Him to the end of the universe. To this dismal, barren, solitary planet. The last planet He will ever be on. He took refuge in a simple structure on the edge of an impossible cliff overlooking a vast alien landscape hundreds of meters below. The ship that served Him so well in His flight across space was finally out of power. The sturdy craft had valiantly given all it could to get Him this far. There was no escape. There would be no reprieve. He knew His time was short. The ‘Tormentors’ would come to the door. He had to get ready. There was a pos- sibility He could get out of this, but it was a long shot. “Everything was so wonderful!” He protested, as He set up His meager defenses. “How did it come to this?” There was nothing more to do. He sat in the corner of the

37 structure, His head in his hands, trying to remember when it all fell apart. “Oh, it’s been so long ago”…

A warm, bright day. They were a family, doing things that families do on lazy afternoons… Me, Sister and Little Brother were behind the house in the backyard just fooling about on a Sunday afternoon. Throwing frisbees and impromptu games of tag. Little Broth- er was always ‘it’. Mother and Father were sitting on the front porch, having a cool drink, enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of the neighborhood. We got the bat and ball and began playing bounce or fly. Sister was hitting soft grounders to Little Brother. I started taunting, “Hey Sister, you can’t hit very far, can you? You can’t even hit it past Little Brother.” “I’ll pitch a nice easy one to you. See if you can get it a little further.” “Ha!” she taunted, “you just pitch one to me, I’ll show you what l can do.” I let the ball go in nice high arc. Sister hit it. WOW! She blasted the ball almost to the house. But not quite. “Boy oh boy” I laughed. “that’s not far! I’ll do a lot better.” “Oh yeah? You think you can do better?” Sister said derisively “So, what do you wanna bet?” “I’ll bet you a week’s allowance I can hit the ball further than you!” “It’s a bet!!” She pitched the ball. Swing and a miss! Almost fell down. Sister started laughing, “STRIKE ONE!” she hollered. “You can’t hit nothin!” “Yeah! You’ll see. Just pitch!” I shouted back. Sister pitched again. I MISSED AGAIN! I couldn’t believe it.

38 “STEERIKE TWOOO!” “I think you’re throwing me spitballs. Cut it out and pitch it right.” “Well,” she said, “you just can’t hit. In fact, you swing like Little Brother!” “Just pitch it! I’ll show you what I can do.” She pitched. SMACK!! I hit that ball with all my might. You could see it sailing out farther and farther, “Go- ing, Going, GONE!” quickly followed by “OH, OOHH!! It’s too far, IT’S TOO FAARR!” Then came the horrible sounds. Shattering glass. Angry words. Screams. Yelling. BETRAYAL! CRYING! Then nothing…

Nearly paralyzed with nostalgia, He came to with a shud- der. “Got to stay focused. What more can I do?” He muttered. How much more time before they arrived? As if to answer, the proximity alarms sounded. Weeooo-Weeooo! He wasn’t ready! Frantically He checked all His defenses one last time. He knew that this was going to be His last stand. There was little more He could do except wait. THEY WERE HERE! He stood up. He straight- ened His uniform. This was it. ‘BY GOD’ He was going to make them pay fiercely for everything they’ve done to Him. He would make them suffer for their endless pursuit of Him and, most of all, for making Him SO ALL ALONE. He strode up to the barricaded opening, listening to the breathing on the other side. He removed the last barrier to the door. He marched out facing oblivion. His

39 chest swelled proudly. With all His righteous might and all the crashing thunder that He could muster, He bellowed belligerently at his ‘Tormentor.’ To him, it sounded like a mighty shout of defiance. A WAR CRY!!!! In reality, it was barely above a whisper. “Mother? Can I come out of my room now?” “Yes Henry.” she replied. “Wash up for supper.” He ran to the kitchen following the smell of dinner and thought to himself.

“I’m not alone anymore.”

40 My COVID Life By Dorothy Bakirtjy Honorable Mention

Julie smiled as she left her twin boys sitting at the table in the family room. Each boy had a computer for their schoolwork with their books stacked neatly beside it. As her boys started their school day, she went to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee to take to her new workplace – the living room. Julie relaxed in the silence of the house and began to organize her day. The smell of the freshly brewed coffee filled the room. Almost as good as Starbucks. Her husband was working in his study. This is my Covid Life, Julie thought. Suddenly, a blur of activity caught Julie’s attention. She looked up to see two puppies chasing a cat with her two sons trying to catch them. The cat leaped out of the way, jumping on the end table. In her frantic attempt to escape, she knocked over the table lamp. As the lamp hit the floor, there was a burst of light followed by a loud pop as the light bulb exploded. A burning smell filled the room. The cat was perched on top of the end table with her back 41 arched in alarm. Her twins each scooped up a puppy. They looked at their mother and then at the mess on the floor. Julie looked up shell shocked. How can things change so quickly around here? she thought. “Sorry, Mom. We took them out of their pen, and they ran after the cat. It’s not their fault. The cat was teas- ing them.” Brian looked down at the floor as he muttered his apology. His brother, Nate, held tightly to the puppy in his arms, his lower lip quivering as he tried not to cry. What made me think I would be able to work from home? Julie thought. “Take them both outside for a few minutes and then it’s back to your studies. You have a Zoom session in half an hour. You both need to be ready. I’m tired of texts from your teachers. No more missed classes,” Julie emphasized as she directed the boys to take the dogs out. They just have too much energy to be cooped up in the house. Both boys ran outside with the dogs. Julie began to clean up the mess when she looked at the clock on the wall. Her stomach dropped to her feet. She had an important teleconference call right now. Julie dialed the number and waited for the conference to begin. “Julie Peters,” she answered as her work conference call began. While on the phone, Julie walked into the family room to see if the boys were on their Zoom class. No puppies. No boys. How am I going to get through this? Where are the boys and why aren’t they in class? Julie rushed into her husband’s study. Her husband,

42 Robert, was typing away on his computer. Julie frantically motioned for his attention. “What now?” Robert put his head in his hands. “I’m on a conference call, and the boys are missing their Zoom class. Can you get them back on track for me?” Julie begged. “I’ve got a report due by this afternoon,” Robert whined, “and I was finally getting somewhere on it.” “I know it’s difficult, but I really need your help right now,” Julie pleaded. “Why is it always my job?” Robert glared at Julie. “It isn’t! We both need to keep the boys on track.” Julie glared back. “I liked it better when you handled the kids,” Rob- ert stood up to go find the boys. “Thanks for helping.” Julie smiled and kissed him on the head. “You owe me.” Robert raised his eyebrows for em- phasis. Julie went back to the living room and watched as her husband rounded up the twins and puppies. She smiled and went back to her phone call.

***

“Dinner is ready,” Julie announced loudly. No response. “Hey, guys, dinner’s on the table. Come get it!” She shouted. No response. “Where are you guys?” She shouted even louder. She looked out the back yard, nothing. She walked

43 around the house. The dogs were gone too. Great, a family dog walk without me. Am I not in this family? She walked upstairs to see if Robert was with the boys. She was surprised to see Robert in his study. He looked up as Julie entered the room. “I heard you call me, but I’ve got to finish this report. I had a lot of trouble getting back into it after taking care of the boys. I’ll be down shortly.” Robert snapped. “The boys are both gone with the dogs. I was hoping you had gone with them. Now I’m worried,” Julie responded. “They probably just went for a walk,” Robert commented as he returned to his work. “We are in a pandemic. They shouldn’t be wander- ing around alone,” Julie snapped. “Can you look for them while I finish this? You do owe me,” Robert winked. Julie smiled at how fast Robert had managed to collect his debt from just a few hours ago. He was right. She was overreacting. How much trouble could two seven- year-old boys get into in their quiet suburban neighborhood? “Deal. I’ll go look for them. You finish your report. Dinner is officially delayed,” Julie said. “Thanks, honey. Take your phone. I’ll call you as soon as I finish here,” Robert promised. Leaving Robert in his study, Julie went out to walk the neighborhood.

***

44 Julie stepped outside and looked down the street. No sign of the boys. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her facemask. While she put on her mask, she tried to decide which way to go. Did the boys go to the playground or to the skate park? Lately, they had grown interested in learning to skateboard and liked to watch the older boys performing their tricks. She decided to try the skatepark first. As she headed in that direction, she watched for the boys. Maybe they just took the dogs for a walk. The rush of the wheels on the concrete ramps reached her ears before the park came into view. She relaxed as she noticed the puppies tied to a post. The boys were definitely here. The puppies both whined when they saw her approaching them. They had gotten themselves wound around the post and could barely move. Their little tails were wagging a greeting. Julie bent down to pet them. She untangled them from the post. They started to jump in their delight to be free. “Let’s go find the boys!” Julie told the puppies. They pulled at the leash as she walked and scanned the park. It was crowded with teenagers. She spotted her sons talking with two older boys. The older boys were showing them how to balance on the skateboard. No masks. No helmets. No social distancing. But at least they are alive. “Brian. Nate. We need to go home,” Julie shouted. “Aw, Mom. We’re having fun,” Brian complained. “Yeah, Mom. Can’t we stay a little longer?” Nate pleaded.

45 “No. We need to leave - now,” Julie demanded. “See ya,” Brian said to the older boys. “Thanks,” Nate added. Julie pulled the boys to her and bent down to their level. She breathed in their boy aroma of sweat and bub- blegum. She felt relieved that they were both safe, and angry that they had put her through such torment. “You are both grounded,” Julie announced. “We’re already grounded,” Brian protested. “Yeah, we needed to get out of the house,” Nate added. “I know it’s hard to be stuck inside all the time, but you need to stay safe,” Julie insisted. Julie gave each boy a puppy and stood up between them. “Let’s go home and have dinner,” Julie directed. “I’m hungry,” Brian announced. “Me too,” Nate chimed in. “Dinner is ready. Let’s go,” Julie encouraged.

***

When they arrived home, Julie directed the boys to the kitchen sink. “You need to wash your hands for twenty seconds minimum. Do you remember how long twenty seconds is?” Julie looked at her boys questioningly. “Happy Birthday, sung twice,” both boys answered together.

46 “Great. You remembered. While you both do that, I’m going to let Dad know we’re home.” Julie rushed up the stairs to let Robert know that the boys had been found. He looked up from his computer, running his hand through his hair. He looks so tired. He smiled when he saw Julie. “You found them,” Robert confirmed. “I told you not to worry.” “Yes. The good news is they are OK. The bad news is that they were at the skatepark. Crowded, no masks, no social distancing. They are both grounded.” “Maybe we need a family meeting,” Robert sug- gested. “That’s a great idea. They just don’t get it. Let’s have a meeting when you are finished,” Julie said enthusiasti- cally. “Do you want to wait that long?” Robert laughed. “Come downstairs when you can take a break,” Ju- lie smiled back.

***

Thirty minutes later, Robert was rounding up everyone to join him in the family room. Both boys walked into the room like they were walking to the gallows. They knew the family meeting was a direct result of their recent excursion to the skatepark. Julie had been warming up dinner. The smell of garlic, onions, and ground beef wafted from the kitchen as Julie entered the family room.

47 “Your mother and I want to talk to you about why we are both upset with you,” Robert explained. “We are in the middle of a serious epidemic with no cure or vaccine to protect us. You need to follow our rules to keep everyone in this house safe. Our rules are you don’t go out of the house alone, except for the backyard. When you do go out, you wear face masks and keep six feet apart from other people. Do you have any questions?” Robert looked from one boy to the other. “How come no one else is wearing face masks?” Brian questioned. “Because they’re stupid,” Robert answered. “Will you take us to the skatepark?” Nate asked hopefully. “No. It’s not safe. It’s crowded. No face masks. Sor- ry, boys.” Robert answered. “What you can do is ride your skateboards in the driveway and on the sidewalks when we go for walks. That’s the best I can do for now. If you follow our rules, we can build some small jumps for the driveway.” “Sweet,” Brian responded. “Can we help build them?” Nate asked hopefully. “If you boys follow the house rules for two weeks, we can go buy some lumber and build them. You are both grounded for two weeks starting now,” Robert stressed.

***

Four days later, Brian and Nate didn’t get out of bed. Julie

48 went to check on them, and found they were both very warm. Julie took their temperatures and found that they had 102-degree fevers. She ran to talk with Robert. Robert looked up as Julie entered his study. “What’s wrong?” Robert recognized the panic in Julie’s face. “I think the boys have Covid. They both have 102-degree fevers. I have a call into the doctor. I gave them Tylenol. We need to keep them isolated.” “It might just be the flu,” Robert offered. “Let’s hope so,” Julie responded. “Let me know what the doctor says,” Robert motioned for Julie to come closer. “I may have it too. I was at the park. Maybe we should stay six feet apart.” Julie warned. “I hate this. I can’t even hug my wife. I know this is stressful, but we’ll get through it. I love you,” Robert pledged. “I love you, too,” Julie responded. “You and I are on puppy duty now. The boys are in quarantine.” “It just gets worse, doesn’t it?” Robert paled. “It’ll do you good to take a break from work. At least we have a break from school for now,” Julie smiled.

***

Julie’s cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. “Hello Doctor Miller,” Julie answered. “Julie, I know this is a scary time, but most chil-

49 dren don’t have severe symptoms with Covid. You need to keep them quiet and well hydrated. Give them Tylenol for the fever. I would quarantine them together for four- teen days and call me if they get worse. In rare cases, kids can have some severe reactions, so we’ll monitor them for these. It’s extremely rare and happens about ten days after the initial infection.” “Should we have them tested for Covid?” Julie asked. “Testing right now isn’t necessary. I would just watch them closely, keep them quiet, and hydrated. As a precaution, the entire household needs to quarantine,” Dr. Miller advised. “Thank you, doctor,” Julie ended the call and crum- bled to the couch. How do I keep everyone safe?

***

Julie knocked on the boys’ bedroom door. “Masks on,” Julie announced loudly. “Just a minute,” Brian responded. Brian opened the door wearing a Spiderman mask. His brother, Nate, was quickly donning his Batman mask. Julie entered the room wearing an N95 mask and carrying a breakfast tray. “How are you guys feeling?” Julie asked as she set down the tray. She took the thermometer from the tray and checked their temperatures. These no touch air ther- mometers are great.

50 “I think I’m okay,” Brian announced proudly. “Your temperature is lower, but you still need to be in your room,” Julie advised him. “When can we go back to school?” Nate asked. Julie raised her eyebrows in surprise that Nate wanted to start his classes so soon. “Do you two feel well enough to do your Zoom class?” Julie asked. “No way,” Brian quickly responded. “Maybe not yet,” Nate quickly supported his brother. “Mom, Nate and I want to tell you something,” Bri- an fiddled with his hands and looked down at the floor. “What?” Julie asked. “Mom, you were right about staying home and staying safe. We were wrong to go to the skatepark. Now we’re sick and we’re worried about getting you and Dad sick too.” Brian looked up and met his mother’s eyes with tears in his eyes. “We’re really sorry, Mom,” Nate chimed in. “I’m sorry you both had to get sick, but I’m glad you learned from it,” Julie smiled with tears in her eyes. “You’re keeping Dad and me safe by staying in your room and wearing your masks. We appreciate your help in keeping us safe,” Julie emphasized.

***

Julie entered Robert’s study. Robert looked up and smiled.

51 “They’re better,” Robert stated. “How could you tell?” Julie asked. “You’re smiling,” Robert responded. “Not only are their temperatures down, but they both admitted that they were wrong to go to the skatepark. They are worried about infecting us,” Julie smiled. “What? They must be dying!” Robert joked. “Nate asked about going back to his Zoom classes,” Julie added. “They must be feeling better. That’s great news!” Robert laughed. “You look like you want to tell me something too,” Julie batted her eyes. “Is this the time that I tell you that I was wrong too?” Robert asked. “What were you wrong about?” Julie asked. “I thought you were overreacting when the boys were missing. You were right, and I was wrong,” Robert confessed. “Can you forgive me too?” Julie beamed. “Wow, three apologies in one day! This must be a new family record,” Julie laughed. “If you can get the puppies and cat to apologize too, it will be an amazing day,” Robert joked. “I’ll settle for the family record of three. By the way, it’s your turn to take the puppies out,” Julie left the room laughing.

52 Lost and Found By Sonja Orentas Honorable Mention

She woke at the first hint of daylight after broken hours of fitful sleep and moved to the dresser mirror to find the reflection looking back at her to be that of a stranger. Though the physical was unchanged, there was a parallel sense of not recognizing the woman who seemed to peer at her through the dimness. Terrified, she turned sharply away. How could her own image provoke such a sense of separateness? An unsettling feeling of disengagement had followed her for months as she mechanically put one foot in front of the other despite the torment of too often feeling she was watching herself as an outside observer. This strange phenomenon descended intermittently and without warning. The fear that she was slowly losing herself was an unwanted and steadfast companion. She moved into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, hoping to clear her head. Holding the carafe carefully in place, she waited for the water to fill. Though it was part of her daily routine and one she found comforting in its 53 predictability, this morning even the mundane task could not be cherished for its simplicity. Instead her mind was mercilessly slammed with a rapid and repeated replay of what had happened just moments earlier at the bedroom mirror. By the time the carafe was full, she had begun trem- bling, making the weight of the glass surprisingly heavy in her unsteady hand. Sloshing water across the floor she set it down on the counter with a clatter and unnecessarily clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream she knew she would be unable to release. Her eyes wild, she looked around the tiny kitchen bursting with brightly colored ce- ramic mugs, candles scattered in all sizes and shapes, their melted waxy overlays a testimony to being well-used, and framed photos she had so carefully hung with an appre- ciation for the memories they held. Things she had once seen as cheerful reflections of herself had become taunting reminders of the life that had once been hers, before. Feel- ing suddenly like an imposter in her own home, she forgot the coffee pot and bolted like a startled animal through the back door. She moved quickly, nearly keeping pace with the few joggers who dotted the horizon along the sleepy two- lane road. Her breaths were urgent, fueled with the energy of fear, but because they sprang from within her, at her will, to punctuate the air and make their mark, she listened with a dark sense of satisfaction as they were brought forth. She walked on, and as her steps rendered an in- creasing distance from her home, she thought sadly of the

54 way in which she had so often come to feel lost there, the place meant to be her refuge. At home she was surrounded by things, by scents, by ordinary sounds, and even by the complete stillness of the space when she dared to allow it. Familiarity no longer offered solace but instead seemed to mock her, only sharpening her sense of detachment. It had been close to a year since it had happened, changing everything, and she had nearly come to accept that nothing would ever remove that invisible, unnamed barrier that had moved in to take root, the one that shadowed and eluded her sense of self. Even so, she had found that being near the water was the one thing that almost always pro- vided temporary relief. She crossed the road seeking out its soothing powers. The steps she forged along the beach were plod- ding, made heavy with the effort required to lift her feet from sand saturated by the tide’s forceful rush across the shoreline. The footprints she left were soft and deep, seeming to fight her forward movement with a thick and demanding pull to remain. She stopped to rest and let the water lap at her ankles for several minutes before walking on with a sense of purpose she could not name and with an awareness that no matter how far or how long she walked, it would never be enough. Daylight was strengthening, illuminating the sky in gentle persistence. Sea gulls cried out to herald the morning’s arrival. Far from shore several fishing vessels could be seen advancing to meet the day, their movement so gradual it was barely perceptible. She slowed momen-

55 tarily to turn and watch, grateful for the light breeze that welcomed her from a new direction. The peace of the moment was just that, a fleeting bliss; thoughts of the unfor- givable way in which she had betrayed herself were a force more powerful than the ocean’s undertow and colder than the growing warmth that filled the air. As the sun rose in its glory, the sand brightened in response, so she had a hand raised to shield her eyes when in the distance she could see a child, alone, walking toward her. She took several more paces, her concern accelerating as she could see the child was small in stature, too young to be left without close supervision. Her pace quickened; she was now anxiously looking for an adult who might be shepherding the child, one who was not yet in her field of vision. She strained to push faster against the sand, then realized if she stepped away from the water’s edge to dryer ground, she could move more freely, so she made the ad- justment and gave silent thanks when it put her on a more solid path toward her objective. An urgency she could not fully understand seemed to be propelling her toward this child with a force that was nearly beyond her control. The tiny child was still moving as well, though she knew it was her own strong paces that would serve to close the gap between them. Becoming a bit breathless, she looked wildly around for someone who might claim this child. There were only the two of them. Feeling frantic and angry that someone would ren- der the child so vulnerable, she fixed her eyes on what she

56 presumed was a little girl by the outline of her hair and the clothes she wore. They moved steadily toward one another while she thought with a bit of desperation about what she would do once she reached the child. The girl was just several long strides away when each of them stopped in their tracks. She had been pre- pared to ask the child where her mother or father might be, but thoughts of how to help fell away when she saw that the little girl’s face was familiar to her. Her heart pounded with both the recognition and the fear that sprang once again from a confusing sense of unreality. It was the little girl who moved first, and as she came toward her, the woman saw that inexplicably, this petite waif was actually herself as a child; her soft wisps of hair, hazel eyes and shy smile. The little girl approached with caution, yet remarkably, she seemed unafraid. Stricken, the woman dropped to her knees and opened her arms to the child who went into them willingly and was still against her, giving no evidence of discomfort or impatience before wrapping her thin arms around the woman’s neck. Her grasp around the little girl was both gentle and fierce and she held her without speaking. The woman closed her eyes, savoring the sun’s radiance as it pressed reassuringly against her back while the tide rolled in to christen their feet. As she clutched the child without words, she let her silent remorse pour freely into the little girl’s soul; it was both her confession and her chance at redemption. Though it made no sense, as nothing had for a long time,

57 she knew that the little girl would understand that this was also her plea for forgiveness. The little girl used her slim arms to nestle herself even closer and let the delicate beating of her heart press against the woman’s chest. The woman’s words against her small ear were simply, “I’m sorry.” When the woman began to cry, the child simply held on, knowing it was all that was required of her. Suddenly, or not – it may have been only minutes or many hours – the little girl had vanished, and the woman was alone once again. Her eyes were raw against the fullness of daylight as she took in the beauty of the sun dancing across the surface of an endless sea. The brilliance was nearly blinding, but she welcomed it despite the physical discomfort. The scent of saltwater mixed with the child’s lingering essence and she stood to relish the tranquility it brought her. She remained this way until she knew it was time to return home, at last.

58 Judge Bio

Joyce Becker Lee earned her MA and MFA in Creative Writing from Northwestern University and has been a freelance writer and editor for more than 40 years, publishing fiction and features in print and online in the U.S. and Canada. Her varied career includes teaching Writing and Theater at the middle school, high school and college levels. She also worked as a newspaper reporter and editor, commercial copywriter, theater reviewer, and magazine contributor, and she served as a developer/ writer/editor on a series of writing textbooks for grades K-12. Theater is her passion, and she looks back fondly at a lifetime of directing and performing, and is the author/composer of ten children’s plays and musicals. She currently chairs the Mundelein Arts Commission. The Village of Mundelein Arts Commission, established in August of 2016, hosts writing contests for Lake County residents. Winners and Honarable Mentions are featured in issues of the Mundelein Writes publication. If you would like copies of the publication or are interested in participating in a future writing contest, please visit the Arts Commission website at: www.mundelein.org/mac for more information, or contact:

Village of Mundelein Community Development [email protected] (847) 949-3282 Photo: “Hanging Out Red” by David A. LaSpina