





































nal, 

D CREATIVE WRITING AWARD 

m - by Jacob Jones 

6 

BRANDI MILLER 
CHILDHOOD'S LAST SUMMER (an excerpt) 

The drive to the park took only about three minutes, even with 
traffic. There were only two stoplights between her quiet street and the 
popular park. But on this beautiful sunny day, as she gripped the steer-
ing wheel and drove as fast as traffic and safety would allow, it seemed 
to take forever. With heightening anxiety she replayed the conversation 
with her son in her head and hoped that between the time she hung up and 
arrived everything would be ok. 

"Mom, my friend fell in the river. He's been under water for four 
minutes," he said in a voice that sounded strangely normal to her ears. 

"You better not be joking around, she said as her pulse quickened 
in anger and fear. That's not funny!" 

"No mom. I swear. He fell in. He's drowning." 
"Oh, God! Did you call for help?" she asked, her throat tighten-

mg. 
"Yeah, we just got off the phone with them. Can you come down 

here mom?" he asked. 
"I'll be there in just a minute, ok?" 
She didn't even think to ask who ... what friend. It really didn't 

matter. Any of them being hurt or killed was equally bad. Her chest con­
stricted as the faces of each of his friends came into her mind. They were 
all so young and alive, and every one of them had special qualities that 
this world would surely miss if they were no longer in it. 

How did this happen? What were they doing? she thought franti­
cally. Her son loved to fish in the river; he had been doing it for a few 
years now. This was the first summer that he stopped wearing the funny 
nylon fishing hat that she bought him. The river was also so shallow 
because of the drought this year that his being down there so often didn't 
concern her as much as it usually did. Just like her, he had a healthy­
bordering on paranoid- respect for water. She didn't know why she felt 
that way, maybe because of her little sister's near drowning in the family 
pool when they were themselves young and she herself rescued her sister 
from the cold waters because she was the only one out there. 

As she made her way down the driveway into the park and saw 
a couple of emergency vehicles parked nearby, and the people lining the 
riverbank, she knew, with a sinking heart, that her hopes were not going 

47 



to be realized. There wasn't going to be a boy, soaking wet, sitting on the 
riverbank, scared but alive. She jumped out of the car and as she ran along 
the foot bridge that spanned the river, she saw her son walking toward her, 
cracking his knuckles-something he did when he was nervous. She ex­
pected high color on his cheeks, remnants of tears but he appeared like he al­
ways did, except for his eyes- they were no longer as bright as they always 
seemed to be. He had such beautiful blue eyes, but like someone with a high 
fever, they now seemed dull and old. 

Seven minutes had now passed. Time was moving slowly, yet all too 
quickly. 

"What happened?" she asked, out of breath, as she watched two 
police officers lying belly down, gun belts off, on the outcropping of rocks 
at the base of the dam, intently watching the roiling foam for a sign of the 
boy below the water-watching ... waiting for anything close enough to the 
surface that they could grab hold of and pull him out. 

"He walked out on the dam, and when he came back across, he 
slipped and fell. He yelled for help, but he slid down into the water," her son 
said as he rubbed his eyes with one hand and pointed over to the dam with 
the other. "He couldn't pull himself out. Then we thought he was getting out 
of it," he paused. "He came up twice and got farther away from the bad part, 
but then he went under again and we haven't seen him since," he explained 
in a quiet mechanical voice as he watched the police. He continued to crack 
his knuckles. 

He still sounded so calm, and there were no tears- just empty 
calm. Her heart was hammering. She couldn't catch her breath and her hands 
were cold and numb. She was afraid that she was having an anxiety attack. 
She felt that she was going to crumple to the ground. It was hard to hold 
back the tears, but she had to for his sake. How could he be so calm? She 
wanted to put her arms around him, tell him it was ok, that it would all be 
ok, but it wasn't, and they had long since stopped hugging. It made her feel 
sad because it was just another part of his growing up and becoming more 
independent, needing her less. But now, when she felt he needed her most, 
she knew he couldn't handle it if she did put her arms around him- so she 
didn't. 

As she stood there with him, she heard sirens in the distance. 
There is a surreal feeling that comes over you when you hear the sirens; such 
an everyday occurrence in a city, but when you realize they are coming to 
your emergency it causes a fear in you, knowledge that after they arrive, life 
would never be the same again. [The previous sentence should be rewritten 
because you switch from third-person narrative to your own feelings.] She 
had only experienced that once before in a life-and-death situation, and that 
was when her grandpa died. Her parents had found him face down on the 

48 

floor of his kitchen where he had laid 
heart attack. Since she herself lived sc 
police and rescue vehicles. It seemed 
that time, because they knew he was i 
with every minute that passed she knt 
just like that summer day, they would 

The atmosphere at the park b• 
There were kids flocking from every • 
walking, some pointing and crying, sc 
ing pictures with their cell phones. A~ 
the fire department rescue boats were 
who were just moments before laughi 
away from all of the chaos. They 1001 
day. They seemed hollowed out, olde 
disbelief on his face, like shell-shock< 
once in awhile one of them would sh< 
trying to wake himself from a nightm 

Kids began saying that they I 
sibility that there were air pockets uni 
therefore, he could live, that perhaps • 
weren't they trying to get him out? Tl 
the river-it was that shallow, to hop< 
firemen in the boats, jabbing at the ri 
they slowly moved along the deeper I 
sentence into the previous sentence­
police were talking to the kids that w1 
when she learned that her son was th( 

One officer told her that, poir 
shoulder. 

"That was a good thing he di1 
jumped in to help him. No one could 
She supposed it was meant to make h 
anything could make her feel better e 
happen. 

As members of the media she 
nal group refused to talk to them, whi 
Other kids who weren't even there ta 
ders, waving and smiling to the came 
"Hey! I'm going to be on the news!" 

"That's so cool!" said his frie 
more friends. 



! a boy, soaking wet, sitting on the 
i out of the car and as she ran along 
he saw her son walking toward her, 
lid when he was nervous. She ex-
nts of tears but he appeared like he al­
:re no longer as bright as they always 
ue eyes, but like someone with a high 

l. Time was moving slowly, yet all too 

out of breath, as she watched two 
el ts off, on the outcropping of rocks 
tg the roiling foam for a sign of the 
ting for anything close enough to the 
d pull him out. 
id when he came back across, he 
t he slid down into the water," her son 
id and pointed over to the dam with 
t. Then we thought he was getting out 
nd got farther away from the bad part, 
aven 't seen him since,'' he explained 
lied the police. He continued to crack 

there were no tears-just empty 
ouldn't catch her breath and her hands 
1at she was having an anxiety attack. 
to the ground. It was hard to hold 
ke. How could he be so calm? She 
l him it was ok, that it would all be 
ice stopped hugging. It made her feel 
his growing up and becoming more 
v, when she felt he needed her most, 
id put her arms around him-so she 

she heard sirens in the distance. 
ver you when you hear the sirens; such 
then you realize they are coming to 
, knowledge that after they arrive, life 
1revious sentence should be rewritten 
narrative to your own feelings.] She 
in a life-and-death situation, and that 
ts had found him face down on the 

8 

floor of his kitchen where he had laid for a few hours after suffering a massive 
heart attack. Since she herself lived so close, she had gotten there before the 
police and rescue vehicles. It seemed strange to her that they came with sirens 
that time, because they knew he was gone. Here it was happening again, and 
with every minute that passed she knew with a sickening sense of reality that 
just like that summer day, they would again not be performing a rescue. 

The atmosphere at the park began to have a circus-like appearance. 
There were kids flocking from every direction. Some were running, some 
walking, some pointing and crying, some laughing, and some were even tak­
ing pictures with their cell phones. As the police blocked off the bridge and 
the fire department rescue boats were put in the water the original five kids, 
who were just moments before laughing and having fun, huddled together, 
away from all of the chaos. They looked so different than they had earlier that 
day. They seemed hollowed out, older, somehow. Each had a faraway look of 
disbelief on his face, like shell-shocked victims of a war-tom country. Every 
once in awhile one of them would shake his head or rub his eyes as if he was 
trying to wake himself from a nightmare he couldn't escape. 

Kids began saying that they heard the police say there was a pos­
sibility that there were air pockets under the dam that he could be in, that, 
therefore, he could live, that perhaps he was alive down there and why 
weren't they trying to get him out? There were firemen in wetsuits walking 
the river-it was that shallow, to hopefully find him. And then there were the 
firemen in the boats, jabbing at the river bottom with their long pike poles as 
they slowly moved along the deeper parts of the river. [Work the marked out 
sentence into the previous sentence-3rd person. It could be powerful.] The 
police were talking to the kids that were there when it happened. That was 
when she learned that her son was the one that made the call to 911. 

One officer told her that, pointing to her son as he patted her on the 
shoulder. 

"That was a good thing he did. It's a miracle that none of them 
jumped in to help him. No one could survive that water,'' the officer added. 
She supposed it was meant to make her feel better. It didn't. She didn't think 
anything could make her feel better except reversing time and making this not 
happen. 

As members of the media showed up, the kids who were in the origi­
nal group refused to talk to them, which only made the reporters try harder. 
Other kids who weren't even there talked, arms slung over each others shoul­
ders, waving and smiling to the cameras. 
"Hey! I'm going to be on the news!" one hyper, excited boy shouted. 

"That's so cool!" said his friend as he dialed his cell phone to call 
more friends. 

49 



Kids began playing tag. They were eating food, laughing-she didn't think 
her son would ever laugh again. Parents of other kids were standing along 
the riverbank just like she was--probably thinking just like her, "That could 
have been my kid. Thank God it wasn'--,'' and breaking off the thought then, 
feeling guilty and saying a little prayer while looking over at the parents of 
the boy in the river. She didn't know the parents, barely knew the boy-she 
remembered that he was quiet and polite and his nature didn't make him 
stand out among the circle of friends-because she usually got to know the 
louder ones since they tended to draw more attention within the group. 

Grabbing the arm and getting in the face of one boy who was run­
ning around like it was any old summer day, "You need to stop screwing 
around or go home!" she told him. "Don't you realize that your friend is 
dead, in that river? They are searching for his body! He is not coming out 
alive,'' she yelled at him. 

"They said he's in an air pocket,'' the boy responded. "He's just 
waiting for them to come down and get him," said the boy. "I don't know 
why they are taking so long." 

"No! He's not going to come out alive!" she told him, intensifying 
the sound of her voice. "You need to show some respect for his family over 
there,'' she said, pointing at the family huddled together on the other side of 
the river, on the other side of the police barricade. "They can see you acting 
like an idiot while their son is in the bottom of the river!" she nearly shouted 
as she pushed away from the boy and his friends. 

That was when the tears spilled over. She didn't just cry for the boy 
in the river, or just for his family: She cried for the kids who watched their 
friend struggle for his life and lose, the kids over there as she watched them, 
away from everyone else, the ones who refused to talk to anyone. They 
lost, as their friend Jost his footing and went under-never again to breathe 
fresh air, the last of that childhood innocence that had been barely hanging 
on. This was the last summer they would have before they went off to high 
school and they had, up to this point, anyway, spent it the way kids were 
supposed to-sleeping late, playing at the park, hanging out with friends. 
They shouldn't be sitting by the river trying to understand how and why this 
happened, thinking about what they could have done differently or how they 
could have maybe saved him. They talked quietly to each other, each one of 
them saying he wished it were himself instead of the boy that loved to fish 
in the river. It's what boys were doing for years and years. They weren't out 
getting into trouble, they were just fishing. How ~an something bad happen 
when you are doing something innocent like that? 

(an excerpt) 

50 

GLENN LYVERS 
THE DAY I BECAME 

I was another Mexican gi1 
with a dying father. Papa was lyin 
best white sheets. We were too po 
did not want to go anyway. Mam2 
hour she would say, "Isabelle, go 
would not have warm water by hi 
gold rosary beads - the way she c 
cramped and looked twisted. She 
tortillas with the other. Her lips w 
the dough, and I knew the prayen 
head, reading her lips while she p 
turning downward. 

Before Papa got sick, our 
orange stucco ranch, set so closel: 
block the porch. My friends woul 
our tiny living room and out the b 
ephants, stampeding on the clattei 
our house belonged to everyone. l 
we knew he was only pretending 
his face. He would shake his heac 
that?" and she would answer, "Of 
She said that she married Papa be 
made her smile - he was the centc 
sick, so did everything else. 

My friends no longer ca 
still. I was tethered to that plact: 
moments, sitting by Papa's bed, 
had never seen before. Papa wa 
suffered with him, needing repc 
had cracks, and I could see blm 
by his bed, tracing those cracks 
ers on a globe, cutting across th 
The window by his bed allowec 
sometimes, they were all that rr 


