We are excited to announce the winner of the February 2023 Chattanooga Writers’ Guild Monthly Contest is Sherry G. White with the submission “Challenges of Parenthood”.
A native of Chattanooga, White is a single mother of two adult children and she lives life with chronic illness. She finds reading and writing to be great ways to pass the time when she is confined to bed.
Although she focuses primarily on short fiction, Sherry is currently writing a paranormal romance novel. Like herself, many of her protagonists tend to be single mothers with chronic illness. She was always told to “write what you know” so that’s what she’s doing! She also hopes to contribute to diversity in stories by putting more characters with physical challenges into print.
Challenges of ParenthoodThe light from the flames cast an orange pallor over the toddler. She sat on a fine layer of sand, covered in a spiderweb-sticky mass of black strands. “Robert!” the child’s mother screamed. “Get the fire extinguisher!” She knelt in front of the little girl and cooed, “What happened, Cassie? Did you fall down and go bump again?”
She began gathering the black threads, dropping them into the smoldering mess that used to be a coffee table. “Poor baby,” she comforted the child. “Did you get an ouchie?” She pulled the last thread off of a chubby little arm and examined the appendage. “No booboo there. How about the other one?”
“What are we going to do, June?” Robert’s lips were pressed into a tight line. He set the used up extinguisher in the box of empties to take for refills and placed a fresh one in the brackets.
Still smiling at Cassie and picking threads out of her hair, June said, “Well, we’re not going to raise our voices, are we? No, Cassie doesn’t like that.” She blew kisses at the toddler, still gathering strands.
“Of course not,” Robert agreed. He sat on the floor next to his wife. “Cassie! Look at Daddy!” He stuck his tongue out and crossed his eyes.
June smiled when the girl giggled and soap bubbles streamed from her mouth and nose. “Isn’t that nicer?” she asked. Cassie giggled again and reached out a finger to play with a bubble, bouncing when it popped. “Do you want to clean this up or bathe her?”
“I’ll run the bath water,” Robert decided.
June watched a line of bubbles follow her husband and giggling daughter to the bathroom. When she was alone, she collapsed on the couch, contemplating the mess. She hadn’t expected raising a child to be easy but she had never heard of a child like this. What kind of child cried sand, had things around her burst into flames when she was angry, or had this sticky gunk seep out of her skin when she was scared?
They tried, oh how they tried, to keep Cassie happy but it wasn’t possible. Children have emotions. It can’t be helped. With a heavy sigh, June stood to find the broom, vacuum cleaner, and a box of heavy-duty garbage bags. Allowing normal, saline tears to fall from her eyes, June began by picking up the large chunks of table and putting them in bags. How were they ever going to take her out anywhere?
Large pieces tied into bags, she started sweeping up the medium-sized bits. What would Cassie’s first day of school be like? Oh lord, what if she had a bully? She could set another child on fire! June bit her lip and gave her head a shake. That was too far in the future. She had to take care of right now and right now she had to empty her dustpan and sweep up some more detritus.
Obviously, she couldn’t go to daycare. June and Robert tried to split the responsibility but it was challenging to have two incomes when your child had such extraordinarily special needs. June briefly wondered if this was how parents of disabled kids felt.
She stacked the garbage bags by the front door. Robert would help her take them out after Cassie was asleep. Maybe they should get a truck. Then they could cart the remains of their furniture off to the dump instead of filling up their bin all the time. She made a mental note to bring it up to Robert later.
At what age could children start anger management classes? Was there a specialist who worked with pyro-kinetic toddlers? Why did she cry sand? Wouldn’t salt make more sense? She scoffed at that. Nothing about this situation made sense. Why not sand?
Listening to Robert singing Cassie to sleep, she plugged in the vacuum cleaner. She cleaned up the sand and the ash and the other particulates missed by the broom. Maybe they could live in a cave. It would need to be big enough to shelter them and allow them to run around but not so big as to attract spelunkers. Awkward!
Do brick buildings burn? They could invest in a company that makes tents and single-handedly keep the profits up! Or not. Camping was never her style. The charred carpet brought out another sigh. Couldn’t the child just spit bullets or some other metaphor for anger?
Oh no. Puberty! Deep breaths, June. Puberty is a decade away. At least. What to do, what to do. Oh, what a to-do! She remembered reading that somewhere but couldn’t remember where. Something about giant owls, she thought. It hardly seemed important now, anyway. Did the hardware store stock fireproof flooring?
She had never noticed if the fire shot out of Cassie’s eyes or hands or where. Maybe that was the key to controlling it. Sunglasses? Gloves? God help the first person to break Cassie’s heart! She could immolate them or turn them cold as ice.
“Hey.” Robert interrupted June’s musings. “Are these ready to go out?” He picked up the top garbage bag.
“Yeah. Think they’ll fit in the bin?”
“Maybe we should buy a truck,” he said then raised his eyebrows at her when she started laughing.
“I was thinking the same thing earlier. Then we can take it to the dump instead of filling the bin all the time.”
“Dance with me.” He grasped her hand and started to waltz, humming softly in her ear.
They danced over the newly emptied center of the room. Robert jerked to a halt when butterflies and cartoon hearts started flying around them. “What the heck?”
June covered her mouth with both hands. Eyes wide, she stared at her husband as she opened her mouth again, allowing more butterflies and hearts to emerge.
“Well.” He pulled her back into his arms and started dancing again. “I love you, too.” He smiled at her when a butterfly landed on her nose. “But maybe you should call your mother.”
June laughed then popped a newly formed bubble.
.
Congratulations, Sherry!
The Monthly Contests rotate through a pattern of Poetry, Fiction, and Creative Nonfiction throughout the year, with a new theme each month.
Go to the 2023 Monthly Contest Series Info page to view the genre and theme for each month.
This contest is free to enter for members of the Chattanooga Writers’ Guild. To become a member, click HERE.