Writing Contest

Our spring 2016 contest winner is John P. Green of Buffalo Grove, Illinois.

 

John’s passions are writing and the creation of unique pen-and-ink art with his inspiration derived from world travel. Through his background as an Architect and Planner, John sees beauty in the details of life and the world-at-large that he uses to texture and enrich his writings and artwork.

 

John is currently the principal partner of the Buffalo Grove, Illinois architectural and land planning firm, Groundwork, Ltd. His professional design work extends across the United States from Massachusetts to Arizona. John is also a registered interior designer in the state of Illinois.

 

John has penned several long stories, but is keenly devoted to the short story and poetry as a challenge to “maximize written imagery with minimal words.” He believes stories, as with his drawings, should touch the eyes, ears, fingers and lungs of the reader as well as their heart and mind.

 

John was a founding member of the “Friends of the Park Foundation” for his local Park District. Many of his architecture projects have been public service facilities. To help foster and encourage the appreciation of the Arts, John serves as host at the Art Dinner Experience; held three times a year at the Arboretum Club in Buffalo Grove, Illinois.

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John's winning story, "Cassie's Things" follows in its entirety.

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CASSIE’S THINGS

 

“Things: they was just things. Things can be replaced.” Cassie spoke flatly while trying to keep her face and eyes aimed toward the red “On” light over the camera lens. Then, ignoring the earlier instruction, gazed briefly at the reporter over the top of her bifocals. Cassie shrugged. “That’s what you wanted me to say…ain’t it? I guess everyone says that after a thing like this happens. What else you gonna say when you come home and find your home ain’t there no more?”

 

She turned her head slowly to look at the remnants of a century-old Chicago brick tenement building. “The important thing is we was all out at the time…me and my two grand kids. I watch them so my daughter can make extra money with Uber working evenings. Effie, the littlest, wanted to go to the playground. We was lucky.”

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The camera followed the interviewee’s gaze as the reporter stepped into its line-of-sight and pulled his microphone from the rotund elderly woman toward himself. His stylish jacket and coiffed, polished features amplified the level of her haggard features, distraught due to Cassie’s lack of make-up, unkempt hair and thread-worn red housecoat that barely fit around her considerable girth.

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“Those are the words you heard here on Action Five from Cassandra Paris a month ago following the massive sinkhole collapse of the Ashland Avenue building and her apartment on the near-north-side. This is Jerrod Rogers reporting on location.” He carefully positioned himself so he and the woman framed the sinkhole pit behind and between them. “But you don’t agree with that now, do you?”

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“No. But I ain’t sayin’ that things are more important than people neither: they was my things. I ain’t got much…and I ain’t complainin’ ‘bout that. But there was things that were all we had of our past: more than pictures.” Cassie tensed as she spoke and a sense of agitation replaced a natural easiness in her wrinkled face. “All gone now: my whole life sucked into a hole in the street ‘cause the City don’t take care of the things it’s supposed to: like fixin’ its leaky pipes so’s they don’t cause half the block to fall into the street. This wouldn’t happen on the streets near-to-where the Alderman lives. I’m bettin’ his streets is all good. Obscene, that’s what it is: the way they ignore things in the poorer neighborhoods: downright obscene!”

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The reporter moved the mic to follow Cassie’s head as she turned between him, the camera and the scene behind them. He used his unseen free hand to guide her body to face the cameraman.  “So you blame the Alderman for this?”

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“Not really. My momma said “blame’s a waste of time and energy.”  I just don’t understand why we has to wait till something happens before we get any attention. Gone: everything I had…what there was of it…gone. I got my daughter; I got my grandkids. What I don’t have now is nothin’ I can pass them to remember me from. Nothin’ left from their dad and my mom to give them so they won’t get forgot. The “lucky wallet” my grandson’s dad always carried. He wasn’t a bad man: just too young in a city that’s too violent. It saved him from being killed once: stopped a bullet from goin’ too deep into his butt. We made a lot of fun with him about that. Didn’t do no good the second time he got shot. Silly things: Effie loves making pancakes with me. We always used my mom’s cast iron skillets and a stainless steel flipper from when I was a girl…they was goin’ to be Effie’s. They don’t make things like that no more. Now it’s all somewhere in…what did you call it…the heap of brick and wood my stuff’s buried in?” Cassie pointed toward the debris-crowded gaping hole in the ground where half of Ashland and her building’s front façade used to be.

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“Detritus.” Jarrod carefully crafted the tone so the truth of his words might be most obvious as he moved to the promised statement required to secure the follow-up interview. “And I want to publically apologize to you and anyone else I may have offended by referring to everything that way. I meant no harm.”

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“I know. It was just a fancy word: somethin’ smart-sounding for impressin’ people watching you on TV.” Cassie looked at the reporter and offered a soft chuckle and hint of sparkle in her crows-feet surrounded eyes. “But I gotta say, least you called to talk to us again. No one else came back: guess they moved on to the new stories…like they do after a shooting.” Cassie patted Jarrod on the forearm. “You’re a nice young man and I don’t want anyone thinking I’m pissed at you.” Cassie threw her hand to her mouth. “Damn…sorry ‘bout swearin’. I forgot.”

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Jarrod covered the microphone. “Not-to-worry: we’ll edit it for the final report.”

“Okay, sorry.” Cassie raised her finger pointedly at the reporter. “But you keep that part about you being a “nice young man”…I meant it.”

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Jarrod nodded. “Can I wrap it up with one more question?” He took up the mic and moved it from his mouth to Cassie’s. “So where do you go from here?”

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“We had apartment insurance: so many others didn’t. My older brother and me had been talking about moving in together: his wife’s dead. He got himself bumped into a three-bedroom place. We all stay there now as a family. It’s a bit crowded but a heck of a lot better than it was when him and me were kids. We got a little money from the insurance to get some new things. Like I said before: things are things. Effie and Joey and me…we’ll find new things to make new memories from. I’m thinkin’ of going around to the flea markets to see if I can find me some of them old iron skillets and a real flipper for making pancakes again.”