I was shocked to find out one could major in Creative Writing. Ever since I've tried my hand at writing, and have had one short story, Akatonbo: The Story of the Red Dragonfly, published in NOTA. Below is a short story I've been working on off-and-on for over a year. (Do not copy, print, or post this story without my consent.)
Sweatshirt
And he ran until all he could feel was the wind against his face.
he walked like a stick figure, his arms straight down, shifting back and forth without bending. his legs barely bent at all, his knees stiff. he was walking like he didn’t know how to carry himself. Too baggy camouflaged pants just barely rippled in the wind as he walked quickly along the side walk. his dark blue sweatshirt clung to his body, the heat and humidity was making him sweat in the too-long-for-the-heat-clothing but he was used to it, used to the heat and sweat. People driving past him took him for an older man, his hair was buzz cut military style and gray hairs were forming around the lower part of his head, his short sideburns completely taken over. And yet he was only seventeen. Seventeen and trotting along the side of the street during the school day. Seventeen and walking like he didn’t know how. Seventeen and going gray. he bent a knee and started a slow jog, sweat collected on his cheeks. he started to run. The only noise that broke his silent thought was the sound of the cars and a college student on a skate board.
The Teacher had offered to give him a ride. But he knew the Teacher really didn’t want to. No one wanted to be forced to be in an enclosed space for very long with him. It was the same principal that had kept him as the only single person in Science without a partner, even though there were an even number of students in class, amazingly lab days always seemed to be an odd number short. The Teacher had said, “If you need a ride, I’m sure I could figure something out.” He knew the Teacher meant that he would see if someone in the office would do it.
“Come to the Hospital.” The voice on the phone had said. “I need you to come to the Hospital.” It repeated. It was distant, and monotone. “Please let my son leave class.” It had said to the Teacher. The Teacher turned to him and asked what was wrong.
He asked for it, for the one with the black and red design. It was only fifty dollars he said, only fifty dollars for a bike. When They talked about it when They thought he wasn’t listening They argued. He said it was too much. She said she could live if she missed a dose. He said it was the heat or the bike. She said they could take it out of her special fund. He turned away from Her and said the money was gone, that He had spent it on groceries last month. She turned away and put her hand against the refrigerator and grasped her chest. He asked if she was okay. She said she’d live. They sat back down and started discussing how they could break the news to him.
Sometime between the sixth and seventh grade he realized that things were different in his life. his friends stopped coming over to play, and They started to notice. She asked where his friends were, and he had no answer except the answers he made up. He asked why he was in his room so long, and he said it was because he was writing; He said it wasn’t natural for a boy to be alone in his room so long. he felt strange, things were changing and everyone seemed to notice. At school he was alone, his friends were no longer his friends and everyone seemed to turn their head away as he approached. And then he began to notice what he didn’t have.
he had broken his wrist. She was there as always, and took him to the hospital. She wrapped up his wrist in a tight bundle of blue and ice; She said she had wrapped him in it when he was a baby, and that he always loved it best of all. he smiled back at Her. She walked into the x-ray room with him and watched as a monolithic machine pointed right at his wrist. Without explanation she walked out of the room and didn’t come back. The Nurse came to him and said that his mommy was hurt. he asked what happened. The Nurse said that he wouldn’t understand, and that his daddy was coming to pick him up. his daddy came, and took him to Her. Don’t worry, She said, everything will be alright.
The First Morning he woke up in his mother’s arms. She was so happy, so happy to have a child, so happy to feel the life that had been growing inside of her for so many months out in the world. His eyes were so big She thought, so open. His head was unable to move, and She saw that his eyes were straining to see everything around him. She lifted him up in his tightly wound blue blanket made out of Her favorite sweatshirt and let him see everything around the room. He was looking at things he had no idea about, things that were colorful, things of so many shapes and sizes, it was frightening. But he felt hands around his body, he could feel the warmth from Her and the sound of Her voice, and in a way only a newborn can understand, he knew that everything would be alright.
And he ran until all he could feel was the wind against his face.