Once again our judges stepped up and read all the entries, compared them and made the difficult decisions about the winners. The stories that won the April Fiction in Five Contest are published below for your reading pleasure. Enjoy them and please leave your comments if you liked them.
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First Place: Grandma’s Stone by Judy Beglau
by Judy Beglau, who lives half the year in Austin, Texas. The good half. And she spends the summers in the mountains of New Mexico, where she and her husband Bob enjoy the fabulous cool weather and gorgeous scenery. Judy started out writing children’s musicals, working with a partner and writing twelve in all and producing them at schools in Austin. After burning off most of her fingerprints hot gluing sets and costumes, she decided to see how it works to just write the words. She attended a Highlight’s For Children workshop at Chautauqua in 2009, and has been working on picture books, magazine stories, and a YA novel since then. She also does write for hire work for the Lutheran church through Augsburg Fortress Press, writing Sunday School materials and adult devotionals. A recent collaboration with a symphony composer got her back into the musical genre. A Halloween play called All Hallows Eve may soon be coming to a concert hall near you!
Grandma’s Stone
John and I had been arguing so long, I had forgotten how it felt when we acted like we loved each other. Oh, I knew deep down somewhere that I still loved him, but I sure didn’t like him anymore. Every single thing he did irritated me. And evidently, judging by the way he spoke to me, the feeling was mutual.
We had fallen into a pattern of living that was more survival mode than anything else. Go to work, come home and do our separate things; TV, computer, reading until bedtime. We didn’t speak to each other unless we had to. Sometimes, when I knew he would not see me, I cried. I cried for the promise life held when we first married. I cried for the children we never had, the dreams of a full and strong family that had slipped away through the years.
When I got word that my grandma died, I never even entertained the thought that John would go with me to the funeral. I made my plane reservation, planned to stay with cousins in the area, and then let John know about my plans.
“By God, Sarah! How do you think that makes me look to your family? I am your husband, for crying out loud!” John yelled at me. His face was red and splotchy, and my mind did a little detour to the way his father looked before he died of a heart attack. “Did it ever occur to you that I loved your grandma, too?”
He was right. And I hated that. “Well, how do you suppose I would know you wanted to go with me? You have done nothing but fight with me for months!”
John was silent, staring at me with bulging eyes. He shook his head and turned his back on me. But not before I saw the most surprising sight. His eyes were filling with tears! I had seen nothing but accusing anger in them for so long, the sight was unnerving.
“Look, John. I’m sorry. OK? I’ll see if I can get you a seat on the plane,” I tried to sound nicer than I felt. I needed the high moral ground I usually felt in an argument.
“Forget it. I’ll drive up.” John slammed out the door. I figured he was heading to the bar down the street where he often went after we fought. He would stay out late, and be exhausted for the drive tomorrow. But that was not my fault. I didn’t make him go there and watch that stupid big screen with the words dubbed in the bottom of the screen till his eyes drooped. At least he had the good sense to walk both ways.
Just out of guilt, I checked the plane flight. Full. Great. At that point, I would have transferred my ticket to his name, but I knew mine was non-transferable since I bought the cheapest ticket I could find.
I was surprised to hear him come in before midnight. He quietly put his keys and coins in the bowl on the dresser, so I knew he wasn’t as far gone as I expected. He laid down on the very edge of the bed, an entire no man’s land between us in the king sized bed. I willed myself to breathe evenly so he would think I was sleeping, but I lay that way for hours before I finally drifted off.
Grandma’s funeral was a balm for my spirit. Margaret Stanton was a bit of a rebel and left instructions that she be cremated. So there was no casket in the church, just a big picture of Grandma. She did that her own way, too. Instead of the standard photo from her youth like most of the departed, she had a portrait taken of her in her favorite dress just the year before, wheelchair and oxygen tank in full view. It made me miss her so much.
Grandma was the only woman in the world who kept my grandpa’s feet firmly grounded when his mind was filled with lofty ideals. I think that was one thing John loved about her, because Oliver Stanton could be more than a little intimidating. He knew a little about everything, and loved to draw John into discussions that highlighted his own knowledge. Grandma could cut through his diatribes with amazing clarity and precision. And humor. She adored him, though. She outlived him by just a year.
John slid into the pew beside me just as the service began. We barely made eye contact. When my cousin talked about Grandma, telling stories that made us all chuckle, I felt the tears well up and spill down my cheeks. I sniffed quietly and searched for a Kleenex. Then John lightly covered my hand with his own. I was the first time we had touched in months.
The cemetery was beautiful this time of year. The dogwood was blooming, and the air held a tinge of warmth from the watery sun. Grandma’s ashes went into the ground, and as I laid a rose on the little mound of earth, I noticed for the first time that her tombstone was already in place. Then Grandpa was there with me, his voice the one I heard as I silently read the verse he had chosen for the stone. How many times I heard him read Spring Song, by Robert Louis Stevenson!
The air was full of sun and birds,
The fresh air sparkled clearly.
Remembrance wakened in my heart
And I knew I loved her dearly.
I felt John by my side even with my eyes closed. Silently, I held out my hand. He grasped it, giving it a little squeeze. Remembrance wakened in my heart.
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Second Place: My Electrified Nana, by Theresa Franklin, who grew up in Houston, Texas. After graduation she attended East Texas Baptist College. There she met her husband on a blind date. They married a short time later and moved outside of Beaumont, Texas where they raised their three children. Theresa taught school for 12 years. Students with disabilities won her heart and she became Director of Special Education in an effort to better serve them. She retired in 2010 and began writing children’s books. She has now broadened her skills and written for adults. She is the author of two children’s books: Don’t Forget Daddy and A Sunny Tomorrow. Her adult books include non-fiction Journey to Fulfillment and fiction Triumph Through Trial. She has written one curriculum guide for the novel Night of the Cossack, a historical fiction for young adults by Tom Blubaugh, titled Night of the Cossack, Lesson Plan. Soon to be released is another adult fiction titled Reflections of Rosalyn. Theresa is now making plans to build a new house that will serve her and her husband for many years to come. She is looking forward to moving to her chosen community and becoming active in the local church. That won’t be possible until after her daughter’s wedding in June.
My Electrified Nana
My Nana was always right, that is until the day she got her finger caught in the electric outlet. It happened last year when I was seven. Boy did she look funny. Her hair stood out from her head like a porcupine when it’s angry. She jumped up in the air and her legs went straight out the way those guys at my gymnastics classes do. Her toes curled in and out like that ribbon my mom uses when she wants to make a present look all fancy. Then I think she got religion because she kept calling God somebody, but I don’t remember his last name. Then she said a bunch of other words that I’d never heard before. I asked my mom what they meant. She didn’t answer me. She just took in a deep breath and her face got all red. Then she told me not to say those words anymore.
Since that day, my Nana hasn’t been quite right. The next Saturday I was sitting on the floor watching cartoons. Right in the middle of my favorite cartoon she walked up behind me and put something in my hair. When I asked her what it was she said it was fertilizer to help me grow. My mom was in the kitchen and I heard her yell, “You did what?” Then she came in my room and made me take a shower. I had to use my dad’s Head and Shoulders shampoo. Don’t tell my mom, but I didn’t put it on my shoulders. When my dad came home, my mom yelled at him about it. She screamed, “You better do something about her.” My dad told my Nana not to put anything in my hair anymore. I don’t know why my mom got so upset. If fertilizer will make the flowers grow, why wouldn’t it help me grow?
One day my mom picked me up at school to go shopping for new shoes. She hates it when my shoes get holes in them. I don’t mind though. If my toes get hot, I just wriggle them out of the holes and cool them off. On the way home, we picked up hamburgers and fries from McDonald’s for dinner. When we got home, my Nana was in the backyard trying to catch a butterfly with my mom’s frying pan. My mom got so upset that she dropped the bag with the hamburgers and fries. She didn’t mind about the frying pan, but my Nana had forgotten to put her clothes on before going butterfly hunting. That was the first time I’d ever seen my Nana without any clothes. Her tummy and behind were all wrinkly and she had two bumps on her chest that kept bouncing when she ran.
When my dad came home, my mom told him about it—well actually she screeched about it. My dad said, “Calm down. No one saw her.”
“I’ll calm down when I feel calm.” My mom told him.
“That makes no sense. You need to make yourself calm down.”
“Make myself calm down? How can I calm down when your mother does crazy things like run naked in the yard chasing butterflies? We need to send her somewhere.”
“It sounds to me like we need to send you somewhere. You are the one freaking out. Maybe you need a vacation.”
“I need an oasis.” My mom yelled with a red face and clenched fists.
My Nana heard them arguing. She called my aunt and told her my dad was sending my mom to the races.
“What kind of races?” Aunt Rene’ asked.
“I think the rat races.” My Nana told her.
The next day it rained and my mom found the bathtub filled with mud. “What in the world is going on?”
My Nana tried to explain that at fancy hotels you can take a mud bath so she filled the bathtub as a present for my mom. I don’t think my mom liked it because she yelled, “That’s it. I can’t take anymore.”
It hurt my Nana’s feelings and she walked out the front door. My dad found her walking down the street. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to live with the leprechauns.” She was crying when she answered him.
“The leprechauns? There’s no such thing as leprechauns.”
“Oh yes there are. They live on the other side of the rainbow.”
My dad brought her back home and called my Aunt Rene’. They talked for a long time about what to do with Nana. I didn’t think we needed to do anything with Nana. I thought she was funny, but my mom didn’t. My mom and dad and Aunt Rene’ decided that she needed someone to take care of her. I thought I could take care of her, but they said I had to go to school. I said I could quit, but they said I couldn’t.
We had to send my Nana to live in a special home for people with All Timers. They take good care of her there. They let her catch butterflies in their backyard, but she has to wear clothes. I miss my Nana, but my mom says that she might herself if someone doesn’t take care of her. I love my Nana and wouldn’t want her to get hurt. So I’ll just go see her at the All Timers house and remember when she was right.
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Third Place: Sakura Returns, by Ariana Jauregui, who grew up near Los Angeles, California before moving up to the bay area to get her B.A. in Latin American History at UC Berkeley. Being Mexican-American herself, she has always been interested in issues of multicultural awareness and loves making new friends wherever she goes. Currently living and teaching English in Japan, Ariana is also working on her master of TESOL Education at the University of Tasmania via distance learning. She has just rediscovered her passion for writing, and she couldn’t be more thrilled. She thanks her boyfriend, her family, and her dearest friends for their support and encouragement. They truly are her inspiration.
Sakura Returns
Neil could not believe that a year had passed since he had been on this scenic road to Ino, a suburb outside of Kochi City. Sakura, cherry blossom trees, were on display. Light pink and in full bloom, they looked even more beautiful leaning towards the clear, green Niyodo river.
Sights like these reminded Neil of why he decided to stay in Japan despite everything that had happened. This would make a beautiful picture, Neil thought to himself.
An avid photographer, Neil had spent the last nine and a half months taking a lot of pictures, particularly of nature, as it was one of the few activities that he could enjoy alone. He preferred solitary activities, since being around people–especially happy ones–only reminded him of his loss.
But Neil was ready to enjoy the present. He parked his car outside of QRAUD, a modern coffee shop that he had never been to adjacent to the Tosa-washi museum.
Wow, this place changed so much, Neil mused, stepping out of the car, I used to sometimes come here with Amy when she used to make washi paper.
Amy; not a day went by when he did not think of her. How could he not? She had been dead almost a year, killed in a tragic drowning accident the previous summer which he replayed in his mind daily. Ironically, he had accompanied her on the Japan Exchange and Teaching (JET) program nearly two years prior due to her interest in Japanese culture, especially washi–Japanese paper. Since she had loved Kochi so much, Neil did not want to return to his hometown on the outskirts of San Francisco; by staying in Japan he still felt connected to her. The truth was, Neil was still very shaken up about what happened; and he just didn’t know what to do about it.
Forget taking pictures, Neil concluded. Walking into the QRAUD cafe with as much composure as he could manage, he took a seat alongside a big window overlooking breathtakingly splendid cherry blossoms lined along the path leading to the museum. He had to take pictures later. First, he was going to take a look at the syllabus and create a lesson plan for his first class; something to look forward to. Spring vacation had been really brutal for Neil, as he had too much time to feel lonely and ruminate about his deceased wife.
You have got to be kidding me, Neil shook his head while sipping coffee and reading the syllabus for his junior high classes, I have to teach about this depressing love poem the second week of classes????
“Spring Song,” he recited aloud, “By Robert Louis Stevenson.”
Neil took a deep breath and tried to keep his hands from shaking, “The air was full of sun and birds, The fresh air sparkled clearly. Remembrance wakened in my heart…And I knew I loved her dearly.”
Well, I definitely still love her dearly, Neil reminded himself, To think that this used to be one of my favorite poems while I was majoring in English at UC Berkeley…when I met Amy.
It had been love at first sight. He dated Amy throughout all of college before they got engaged, married, and eventually moved to Japan two years after graduation. Neil sighed, putting away his materials while trying to gulp down his coffee as quickly as possible so that he could escape the coffee shop. He was suffocating in all of his emotions.
“Are you all right?” a concerned Japanese girl approached him, speaking in fluent English.
“Yes,” Neil retorted in frustration, “I am just in a hurry.”
“Okay, well sorry for bothering you,” the young girl apologized, “But I overheard you reciting that poem, and then I noticed you getting upset, so I thought you were having a panic attack or something.”
“What do you know about panic attacks?” Neil inquired, clearly puzzled, and then asked confusedly: “And why do you speak English like a California girl?”
“Because I was a therapist back home,” the girl said, chuckling, “And because I am actually Japanese-American. I grew up near Los Angeles. Are you from California, too?”
“Yes, yes,” Neil paused, suddenly recalling how he met her. “Wait, I just remembered that I met you at the teaching orientation back in August. You’re on the JET program, just like me!”
“Yeah,” the girl grinned, “And I am also teaching that poem, so I feel your pain.”
Neil smiled, in spite of himself. He could use a friend.
“So,” he started, “I forgot my manners. Thanks for your concern. What’s your name?”
“Sakurako,” she responded, showing off a radiant smile, “My parents love sakura.”
“It suits you,” Neil observed.
Come to think of it, Neil noticed for the first time, Sakurako is an incredibly beautiful girl. Should I???
“So,” Neil hesitated, suddenly nervous. “Do you want to look at some sakura outside of the museum? Maybe take some photos?”
“That sounds great,” Sakurako nodded enthusiastically before blurting out, “And afterwards, do you want to come to a hanami party with me outside of Kochi castle? It starts at four.”
Pleasantly surprised, Neil remained glued to his seat in silence, although he was flattered. Well, “Why not?” he finally proposed, “Let’s go have some food and drinks under the sakura. Friends?”
“Friends,” Sakurako answered, smiling widely. “I really want to take some pictures of the sakura. Ever since moving to Kochi, I have added photography to my many hobbies. I love it.”
“Me, too,” Neil added, pointing outside the window, “Let’s go look at these.”
He had a feeling that he and Sakurako were going to get along just fine.
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Honorable Mention: Sunday Morning, by Tim Noonan. You will be able to read Tim’s story in the 2nd Annual C4WE Anthology, due out in July, 2012.
Center for Writing Excellence 
Excellent stories, ladies! Really well done!