Two eyes, haunting. Ten fingers, gripping. You hike your Elmo backpack higher. Elmo’s mouth is small and tight. The airport is sleek. Sure of itself. Eleven crayons. Your one-eared bunny. The things you can’t live without. “Why can’t you come, mama?” “Because I can’t fit in your backpack. But I'll be right here.” I tap your heart. Elmo looks skeptical. Your father and I are taking turns. You are half of each of us. What will become of you, now that our halves don’t fit? When he takes your hand, I walk away. Elmo bops along. You don’t look back.
Second Place Fall Contest 2023. Michelle used compression so effectively to convey the mother’s emotional angst in a five-minute scene. The pivotal question encapsulated her complex inner anguish, while the final gut-punch sentence showed her dawning realization.—Contest Judge Karen Zey
Michelle I Linder is a graduate of the Augsburg MFA program, with a concentration in Fiction, and a member of the Indiana Writers Center.