Second place

862 words

I tried to think of something besides a prize, but honestly, I didn’t want to complicate this. So this is just a straightforward story about a little girl winning second prize at a minor school event. I know I didn’t get to the prompt itself, but if I were going to continue with this story, it would be kind of the “punch line” of the thing.

By the way, I really did win second prize at the long jump, and I really did choke on my last turn. To this day, I’m still proud of that ribbon. I still have it. The next time I’m in my storage unit I’ll see if I can find it and post it here.

Maddie checked her pocket to make sure it was still there. It was, of course. She paused her walk long enough to pull out the ribbon, unfurl it, and read the words stamped there in cheap gold ink. She had never won anything at an athletic competition before, but there it was. Her ribbon for the long jump. She didn’t even know she could do a long jump before that afternoon—what opportunities did she really had before then—but it turned out she had a knack for it. Her long legs and stride didn’t hurt either.

They’d been given three tries, and her first two were really good. She botched the third try because she’d gotten too much in her own head and broke her stride before lift-off. Her teacher clucked his tongue and said, not unkindly, “Kind of choked on that one, kid.” She’d laughed, agreeing. But she had still won a ribbon in a Field Days event, and after a lifetime of hurled names like, “spaz,” “doofus,” and “klutz,” she was proud. Even Alicia had to congratulate her, because after all, she was the only one in her classroom to win a prize for that event. Well, it was sort of a congratulations. She guessed “You finally did something good, doof,” counted. 

These solitary afternoon walks home were the favorite part of Maddie’s day, where she could walk as slowly or as quickly as she wanted to, glancing into people’s homes when they’ve left the blinds open. She wasn’t doing it to be creepy, though she supposed it kind of was; she was just intrigued by other people’s lives. It was a never-ending source of fascination that others in the same neighborhood or even on the same street could have such different-looking living rooms to the one she had. Different people, different cars, different favorite colors or choice of furniture, and yet, they all chose that neighborhood.

Maddie turned down her favorite street, the one where the houses were all large with stuccoed facades and red-tile roofs, set back far from the road with expansive, well-watered lawns separating her from a peek inside. These people never left their curtains open anyway, so Maddie was left to imagine what might be inside. She loved these houses; they seemed exotic in a way that her own traditional home was not. She imagined refrigerators with ice dispensers and satellite TV and walk-in closets. On that day, with the beginning of a chill gathering in the air and the sun lower than it was even a week ago during her walk home, Maddie thought living in one of those homes would be the pinnacle of human achievement.

She shuffled through the hand-sized oak leaves that gathered in the gutters; they hadn’t yet dried enough to make a satisfying crunch sound yet. But she knew when the trees surrendered their leaves to reveal spiny, accusatory branches pointing to the sky, the sun would shine through and the now-soggy leaves would crisp beneath her feet. 

She stroked the satin in her pocket. Her mom would not be home yet, so she had time to position the ribbon where her mom would be sure to see it and create the biggest surprise. Mom liked a cup of tea when she got home. Should she tape it to the kettle? But what if she was super tired and she didn’t see it, and when she turned on the kettle her ribbon burned up? She could put it on the dining room table, but it was already loaded with mail, flyers, and toiletries from a week-ago shopping trip. Maddie thought she could put all of that away and leave the ribbon right smack-dab in the middle, but she didn’t really feel like putting all of it away. In the end, she felt like the best thing to do was to hand it to her directly, and Maddie practiced what she would say before handing over the ribbon. She’d wait until her mom was settled on the couch with her cup of tea, flipping through the day’s mail. She’d say, “Hey mom! Guess what?” Her mom, delighted, would say, “What?” and then Maddie would present the ribbon, “Ta dah!”

No. Lame. And what if mom said, “Chicken butt!” in response? She hadn’t said that in years, but what if this one time she did? Then what would Maddie do? Okay. What if she sat down next to her with a very serious look on her face—Maddie tried out her serious face—and said, “Mom, I need to talk to you about something really important.” And then when her mom got all scared, she’d say, “Psyche! I won a prize!” And her mom would sigh with relief and they’d laugh.

But what if Mom had a really hard day, and Maddie really scared her? She’d get mad, and then Maddie would have to apologize a lot, and that would ruin everything. Maddie made up her mind. She would keep it short and sweet. “Mom, look what I won!” and then she would tell her the story, even the part about choking on her last turn because it was important to tell the truth.