Loss. Grief. Centipedes. Silence. The word “no.” The word “yes.” A high school poetry contest that may or may not be linked to the end of the world. The characters in this collection are under attack. A grief-baffled son hopes to save an innocent insect from a toxic genocide, a daughter struggles to accept loss while visiting a community overwhelmed by denial, a sorrow-stricken father recalls his bizarre final conversation with his only child; the individuals in these stories discover how difficult it can be to let go of what’s gone in order to live with what’s left.
The Author: Jason Heroux is the author of four books of poetry: Memoirs of an Alias (2004); Emergency Hallelujah (2008); Natural Capital (2012) and Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines (2016). He is also the author of three novels: Good Evening, Central Laundromat (2010), We Wish You a Happy Killday (2014), and Amusement Park of Constant Sorrow (2018). Jason holds a BA degree from Queen’s University, and was a finalist for the 2018 ReLit Novel Award. He was the Poet Laureate for the City of Kingston from 2019 to 2022. He lives with his wife Soheir, and their three cats, Akira, Pablo, and Neruda in Kingston, Ontario. A full review of Survivors of the Hive can be found here.
The Last Poetry Contest
“Welcome To The Century Plaza Diner.”
The flustered young greeter behind the podium chewed on a toothpick and asked if I was a table for one. I said no, joining another. I looked around. An elderly couple sat near the door, a family of four crowded a window booth, three university students with purple initiation hair ate at a centre table. “But history should have an expiry date, like everything,” one of them said. “It’s crazy to think the past can last forever.” I noticed Roberto sitting alone at a table near the back. He was four years older than I but looked younger. I’d always watched over him, even more so after our parents died nine months ago. He lived by himself in an apartment downtown, had a part-time job at the Dollar Store. He hardly ever wanted to get together, and there were pressing estate items we needed to settle. I was relieved when he called and asked to meet. I walked over to his table. I joined him.
“Good to see you,” I said. I sat. “You look different.” “It’s my glasses.”
“What glasses?”
“It’s my glasses that make me look different.”
“It can’t be your glasses.”
The waitress approached with a coffee pot in one hand, an empty mug in the other, a menu tucked like a wing under her arm. She sloshed the coffee into a mug, asked if we needed time. I said we did. She dropped the menu, wandered to the elderly couple’s table near the door, and topped up their cups.
I looked at Roberto, saw how much he resembled our father. Everyone at the funeral said so. Same eyes, similar mouth. They didn’t tell me who I looked like.
“It can’t be your glasses,” I said, “because you’re not wearing any.”
“Exactly. They broke. I look different without them.”
I’d forgotten he wore glasses.
Roberto had something on his mind. When he called earlier today, I was halfway through my shift. I work at the Wine Rack in the mall. Assistant manager, but I pretty much run the place. My boss spends most of his time in the back office, pretending to keep busy. I requested the afternoon off. He declined. I explained it was a family emergency, and after staring at me for a second with his wet, drowsy eyes, he let me go. I wasn’t lying. Roberto was very often a family emergency, and there were things about the estate we needed to talk about, things I needed him to do. But I only had so many vacation days, and it burned me to waste half of one on a meeting like this. To top it all off, I left in such a hurry to catch the bus that I forgot my phone behind the checkout counter.
Roberto stared at his cup. He watched the fragile steam rise like the grey ghost of a bird. “I want to tell you about a message I heard on the machine.”
“What message?” I asked. “What machine?”
“My answering machine. About a week ago.”
“From the lawyer about the house? I already spoke to her. Looks like we’ll be able to probate the estate soon, which is good news. But we really need to agree on next steps and sign some documents as soon as possible.”
“The message wasn’t from the lawyer,” Roberto said. “It wasn’t about the house. It was from the head of the poetry department at Bishop High telling me I was selected to judge this year’s student poetry contest.”
“They want you to judge what?”
“A poetry contest. It’s the fiftieth anniversary of the contest. Every year, the committee picks a well-respected local poet to be the judge.”
“I didn’t know you were a poet.”
He fumbled with his cup, spilled coffee on the placemat. “I’m not.”
“Sounds like a scam. Hope you didn’t call them back. I’ve heard about things like that. They call you up, say you’ve been selected, and when you call them back, you’re trapped.”
“It’s not a scam. It’s real. A real contest at a real school.”
“Still doesn’t make sense why they picked you.” I pulled a napkin from the dispenser and took care of the spill.
“I know.”
“So what’d you do?”
“Nothing. I went to work the next day like usual, helped Miles stack a new shipment of garden gnomes onto the shelf. But Miles noticed something was bothering me. He asked what was wrong. I told him about the poetry contest, and he said I had no choice. I had to do it. ‘Things can’t go back to the way they were,’ Miles said. ‘You’re a poetry judge now. You have poetic responsibilities, whether you like it or not. All you can do is go ahead with it. I know you didn’t plan on being a poetry judge. It’s not something you hoped and dreamed of becoming. But we don’t always get what we want,’ Miles said. ‘You have to accept facts. And the fact is that you’re going to judge a poetry contest. You don’t have to enjoy it. You don’t have to like it. All you can do is go ahead with it.”
“Miles said all that.”
“He did.”
“So what did you do after talking to Miles?”
“I finished stacking the plastic garden gnomes on the shelf. I worked the cash register in the afternoon and took the bus home after my shift. I watched the news, ran a load of laundry, and noticed the quiet intersection outside my apartment window looked peaceful in the moonlight, almost like a painting. I stared at it for a long time, observing the luminous road, the traffic lights changing colours.”
I glanced at my watch. I’d forgotten how hard it was for Roberto to stay on track. I didn’t have all day to hear about sunsets and traffic lights. There were things we needed to figure out with the estate lawyer. Serious things. Documents needed to be signed. I couldn’t do it without him. We were co-executors, shared all responsibilities equally. If my brother and I weren’t able to agree on things, then the court would step in and take control, and that’s the last thing I wanted. But in order for us to work together, Roberto needed to understand the urgency of the big picture. But of course, he wasn’t doing that. He was worrying about some high school poetry contest.
- Publisher : Radiant Press (May 12 2023)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 128 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1989274862
- ISBN-13 : 978-1989274866
