Runner Up: Sarah Jane Stratford
Brooklyn, NY
Congratulations, Sarah!
Sarah's Bio:
Sarah Jane writes stories and screenplays, including her contest-winning The Tale of the Torturer's Daughter, a medieval farce about torture, romance, and good hair. She's currently working on a novel about vampire espionage and a comic screenplay about LA, where she feels pleasantly obliged to write a play – subject to be determined, but probably fake history. Or, as she likes to say, ‘The Daily Show' of narrative form.
http://www.fictiondoctor.blogspot.com
The Cat Toy
By Sarah Jane Stratford
Even the box is cute. Green and pink. My favorite color combo. I love it, but it’s weird. Not that I don’t like weird. I draw comic strips for a living, so it’s sort of a pre-requisite, but there’s no return address and only one person would know about the pom-pom. And if it is from him, why not include contact info?
At least I can stop feeling guilty about the hat. I never told Auntie Ellen I lost its pom-pom, although by that time she’d stopped knitting and had in fact become a complete nudist, refusing to discuss all fabrics, so one less garment in the world would have pleased her. Still, I was sorry.
It was so stupid, anyway. Ellis Epstein and I were sneaking into the scary cat lady’s garden. She grew exotic vegetables in disturbing shapes and you could earn a lot of points at our school if you pilfered one intact. You carried it with pride for days, basking in the general adulation of your daring, and then consigned the specimen to the compost heap. If you were feeling especially adventurous, you might try cooking the thing, but that rarely went well.
Ellis was cute. Geek-boy cute, except he played a wicked guitar. I think he knew I had a crush on him, and I like to think he was too shy to ask me out. So I saw the spontaneous invitation to trespass and commit petty larceny as a trial date. It might have led to something more lasting, had we not been caught.
I’ve made a minor name for myself in the comics world with my character of Nightmare Woman, but no one ever believes she was real. The scary cat lady wielding her hoe like a javelin and screeching like a banshee as she charged us was a horrible thing. Ellis and I made it over that fence with seconds to spare, but the tip snagged my pom-pom. I yanked the hat just as the lady snatched the pom-pom. Through a hole in the fence, we saw her give the pom-pom to one of the cats, who was overcome with delight. Away it went to show off, and there I was – no vegetable, and my favorite hat unraveling.
I don’t know why the friendship with Ellis unraveled too – I guess because we were embarrassed about screaming so loud. I’ve wanted to write to him, but never have. The lead character in my strip plays guitar, though.
I turn the pom-pom over and see a tiny screw of paper tied to the center. A note.
“It’s taken ten years, but now your hat will be complete again. Maybe you’ll wear it this weekend? At the vegetable market?”
Ellis! And charmingly enigmatic. Freakily romantic. The pom-pom doesn’t even smell like cat. The market is Saturday afternoon. If things go anything like I hope, maybe by Sunday night the hat will be the only thing I’m wearing.
Auntie Ellen would be proud.
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