Welp, I certainly wasn’t expecting to get to the finals… but here we are. And I say “we” because a LOT of people have helped me each round. A few lucky folks got tapped EVERY round and some rotating “experts” depending on the subject matter. If you’re reading this post, you’re part of the village, too. It’s not really much fun to sit around and write stuff if nobody reads it. So thank YOU for being here. I mean that.
Here’s where you can find my blog posts on the other 3 rounds of this contest:
So now what? Well, I’ll tell you. Last Friday at midnight(12/9) the remaining 48 of us received these prompts:
Genre: OPEN [Writer’s choice]
Setting: A TRADING FLOOR
Object: SCRAPBOOK
Finding my story
A trading floor is a pretty cool setting when you happen to live with a stock market guy who can tell you stuff! The coolest bit of information my darling husband shared with me, after we’d agreed the point-of-view character was going to be an 8-year-old boy on the autism spectrum, was that the Marvel cast rang the opening bell at the NYSE before the last Avengers movie opened. I have to say a special note of thanks to my sweet, patient husband, who agonized over every word of this story with me. You might say he was invested. And I did drive him nuts, not gonna lie. If I read the story 35 times, he probably read it 25. That’s… 25,000 words. And I didn’t really feed him much all weekend. Ah, the glamorous life!
A few very special folks gave me advice on everything from superheroes to parenting an autistic boy (and being one), and a very special shout-out to a new friend from the contest (Carrie Beth) who gave me invaluable help with my draft. Many thanks to Shell, Domie, Brad, Kitkat, PJ, and always Chayasara. Special shout-out to Alec Frazier at Autistic Reality for his candor, heart, and love of superheroes.
We’re supposed to learn the judges’ final verdicts on January 9th at midnight, so I guess that will be a tense moment. But honestly, I have already gained so much by participating. Seriously, I don’t even need one of those participation trophies. I have received insightful critical comments from some excellent writers, and I’ve written a few stories I NEVER would have tried. And this time, I didn’t even get a stomach ache… so YAY! I don’t expect I will do this again because the stress of the 48 hours is just way too much, but I’ll chalk this up to a very positive experience that started right here. And now… my LAST FLASH FIC! Enjoy!
*
A HERO AT THE END OF THE DAY
“Just eight more hours, Gabe. That’s like watching The First Avenger four times.” Daddy places the visitor necklace over my head and settles the name tag right in the middle of Captain America’s shield. “Ready?”
Ready? I’M MEETING CAPTAIN AMERICA TODAY!
I nod.
Daddy opens the shiny, gold door. “Welcome to the New York Stock Exchange.”
So many people… It reminds me of when Mommy used to take me to the mall. Daddy doesn’t take me places without Mommy. Not like Emma and Will.
“I have a VIP today,” Daddy says to the man behind the counter.
“Oh! Someone gets to see Captain America ring the closing bell.” A buzzer scares me backwards into Daddy.
“It’s okay, Gabe.” Daddy pushes the silver bar, and I walk through. “Remember, stick close.”
Daddy says he works on the floor; this is a whole city. I’m too short to see everything. The ceiling reaches the sky. Towers of computer screens look like giant triple-layer cakes.
“Those are called ‘posts,’” Daddy says. “The brokers, like me, have desks around the outside of the room.”
My finger creeps below my name tag to trace the shield on my chest: five-pointed star, circle one, circle two, circle three. I start again, pressing harder. Daddy sees.
Mommy says my patterns make Daddy feel worried, not mad.
Daddy points out the bathroom as we walk down a row with computers on both sides. “Here’s my desk—securities location C-4. It matches your name tag. My cellphone number is there, too. See?”
I nod.
“Once the market opens, I’ll be running around, but I’ll keep checking in.”
“Okay.” I’m eight, not a baby.
“Why don’t we both get organized?”
I unzip my Avengers backpack and lay out my supplies: a stack of old comics, scissors, a glue stick, markers, and a brand-new scrapbook.
Some people start clapping. Daddy says a swear. “The opening bell’s about to ring!”
He digs out my headphones, settles them over my ears, and turns on the white noise.
When the bell’s over, we take off my headphones. The grownups start using outside voices and chasing each other around, like everyone’s at recess.
I get busy on my story. Cutting. Gluing. Drawing.
My tummy rumbles, and I remember Mommy packed snacks. I’m eating grapes when Daddy comes by. He checks his watch and says a swear.
“I’m so sorry, Gabe. I forgot all about lunch.” He looks at my scrapbook and smiles. “Have you practiced what you’re going to say?”
I shake my head. Either the words will come or they won’t.
“You’ll be great,” Daddy says. “I gotta go.”
I eat the peanut butter sandwich next and the pretzels a while later. I’m so thirsty, I drink the whole bottle of water.
I need to pee. So bad.
Daddy’s gone, better hold it.
What if I pee my pants when I meet Captain America?
I am not a baby.
The bathroom is right… here. I do my business and even wash my hands. Mommy would be proud.
I leave the bathroom. Now, it’s too loud and too bright and too fast.
I hold my sides and look at the floor and spin and spin.
Which way is C-4? I’m all turned around. My brain won’t work.
“…just trying to help.”
Stranger danger!
Grabby hands.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
“Check his badge…”
I curl into a tight ball.
“…says ‘semi-verbal.’”
“Gabriel! Oh, God! Gabe.”
Daddy’s knees hit the floor beside me, then his hands, then the tip of his purple tie. “Daddy’s here. Can I hug you, Gabe? Please?”
I scoot my body closer to Daddy. His arms stretch around me and lift me into his lap. He rocks me against his chest. I want to stay so bad, but I can’t.
I squirm away, and he lets me.
Daddy’s eyes are watery. “Y’okay, Gabe?”
I want to go home, but then I won’t meet Cap. I nod.
“Wanna call Mommy?” Daddy asks. I shake my head.
“I’m so proud of you, Gabriel.”
We move my scrapbook and markers under Daddy’s desk. I put on my headphones and draw. Daddy sticks close and peeks in now and then.
The last peek-in, Daddy points to his watch and holds up four fingers. I almost hit my head jumping up, but Daddy’s hand blocks me.
We hurry toward the platform. The crowd crushes in. Someone bumps me. I twist Daddy’s pants in my fist.
Daddy swooshes me onto his shoulders. Captain America salutes me!
“Daddy! Did you SEE?”
Daddy slides me down his back and eases the headphones off. “Yes, I sure did.”
Everyone lets me go first in line.
Captain America comes out and smiles—at me! “I like your shirt.”
My face heats up. I look down.
Daddy whispers in my ear. “Want me to say it?”
I nod.
“Gabriel wants you to know you’re his hero.”
“That’s awesome,” Cap says. “Thank you.”
I stare hard at Cap’s boots. My body shakes.
“Would you mind signing his scrapbook?”
“If Gabriel wouldn’t mind holding my shield.”
Mind?
I hand Cap my scrapbook and pen. He hands me his shield. Vibranium’s heavy.
Cap opens to the newspaper clipping for Infinity War. “Seeing the movie tomorrow?”
I nod real fast.
“Excellent!” Cap writes something, then flips through the pages, saying “Wow” and “Wish I could draw like you!”
He reaches the last page, stops, and brings the book to his face. “Have you seen this, Gabriel’s dad?”
Daddy shakes his head. “Been kind of a long day, Cap.”
Cap turns the scrapbook so Daddy can see. It’s me with Daddy, in his suit and purple tie, flying high above the towers. His arm is around my waist. We’re both smiling.
Tears spill down Daddy’s cheeks.
“Looks like your son has more than one hero,” Cap says.
On the way home, I glue my visitor necklace into my “Best Day Ever” scrapbook. Right next to the picture of Daddy, Cap and me.
*
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