Contest judge Janice Eidus chose “Cheating Death” as a winner in our winter Writing It Real writing contest, saying, “I admire how in succinct fashion the writer authentically captures the painful process of grieving, including the step of moving on.”

I am pleased to present the first draft Mary Ann submitted to our no-contest contest this past winter along with my responses and a revised draft.

Cheating Death
By Mary Ann van Beuren

Error! Contact not defined.

It’s only a cell phone. It’s only a phone number. It’s Dave’s phone number.

I am walking down the road in the swamp heat of June in Annapolis. The heat is radiating off of the red brick buildings; the exhaust from all the traffic is hanging in the thickness of the air.

I reach into the purse that is slung over my sticky forearm, feel for my cell phone and press the button that connects me to my brother’s voicemail. I don’t know how I know it, but I know that his voice will not be the one I hear when I dial his number this time.

“I’m sorry but the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

I’ve been calling David’s phone every month, for the last nine months, just to hear him say, “Hi, this is Dave. I’m unavailable right now so leave me a message and I’ll call you back.” The cell phone company had left his live message connected to his voicemail. Today, they caught up with him.

I take this as a sign that I am ready to go forward. Nine months, the time it takes to make a new life, the time it takes, to accept that my brother is gone, that I am going to live.

I snap the phone shut; tears sting my eyes, stream down my cheeks. It’s time to delete Dave’s number from my call list. Quickly, I flip the phone open before I can change my mind. I pull up my brother’s name and hit “options,” knowing there really aren’t any. The message comes up “Are you sure you want to delete this entry?” I pause for a moment, my stomach tight, “No, I think, I don’t want to delete this entry. I want to call my brother and have him pick up the phone. I want to wake up and have his suicide be a really bad dream. I want to say, “It’s good to hear your voice” and have him give his standard, stupid reply, “Yeah, It’s always good to hear my voice.”

I watch my thumb as it presses “Yes.”

Entry deleted.

There is a break in the traffic. I step off the curb and cross the street dropping the phone into my purse, with head held high, and a small sense of freedom.

****

Sheila’s Responses

I was very sorry to learn about the death of the speaker’s brother and the essay communicates very well how hard it is to accept loss, especially a loss due to suicide.

At the start, I wondered if the two short sentences could be the title. I wasn’t sure I needed the third one because I would find out whose phone number it was. Or maybe, it was that the epigraph in bold is actually the right title and two of the three short sentences then start the essay. “Error! Contact not defined” does seem to do justice to the occasion of the essay, the impossibility of David answering.

I am not sure I need to feel that the speaker feels proud of herself (head held high). I know she has done a hard thing but I like going right on to the small sense of freedom. Still, it doesn’t feel like an ending to me yet. Perhaps there is something to say succinctly that shows the speaker knows she can’t cheat death — it would be a good way to use what is now the title.

Mary Ann’s Rewrite

Error! Contact Not Defined
By Mary Ann van Beuren

It’s only a cell phone. It’s only a phone number.

I am walking down the road in the swamp heat of June in Annapolis. The heat is radiating off of the red brick buildings; the exhaust from all the traffic is hanging in the thickness of the air.

I reach into the purse that is slung over my sticky forearm, feel for my cell phone and press the button that connects me to my brother’s voicemail. I don’t know how I know it, but I know that his voice will not be the one I hear when I dial his number this time.

“I’m sorry but the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

I’ve been calling David’s phone every month, for the last nine months, just to hear him say, “Hi, this is Dave. I’m unavailable right now so leave me a message and I’ll call you back.” The cell phone company had left his live message connected to his voicemail. Today, they caught up with him.

I take this as a sign that I am ready to go forward. Nine months, the time it takes to make a new life, the time it takes to accept that my brother is gone, that I am going to live.

I snap the phone shut; tears sting my eyes, stream down my cheeks. It’s time to delete Dave’s number from my call list. Quickly, I flip the phone open before I can change my mind. I pull up my brother’s name and hit “options,” knowing there really aren’t any. The message comes up, “Are you sure you want to delete this entry?” I pause for a moment, my stomach tight, “No, I think, I don’t want to delete this entry; I want to call my brother and have him pick up the phone. I want to wake up and have his suicide be a really bad dream. I want to say, “It’s good to hear your voice” and have him give his standard, stupid reply, “Yeah, it’s always good to hear my voice.'”

I watch my thumb as it presses “Yes.”

Entry deleted.

There is a break in the traffic. I step off the curb and cross the street dropping the phone into my purse, with a small sense of freedom.

I had been cheating death. Yet in spite of my pleading, denying and bargaining, death did not give or bend.

****

It is my pleasure to offer contests in which entrants receive my editing and consultation comments and then revise their drafts for consideration by a guest judge. The reading fee supports some of the time I put into each response as a service to Writing It Real subscribers, whether they have been with us awhile or have come to us through the contest.

Everyone likes the idea of being paid for their writing, though, and I do rotate in contests in which we offer cash awards along with complimentary consultations instead of complimentary classes along with complimentary consultations.

This time around, we are offering prize money as well as free consultations on writing and publishing, and I am judging entries as originally submitted. I know, though, that receiving response to writing, whether or not it is chosen as a winner, is extremely important. Therefore, after I choose winners from among the entries, I will write all entrants with my responses to the writing they’ve submitted.

I hope you will all send in a piece of writing on our theme and enjoy the opportunity to receive my response to your work as well as a chance to win cash and a consultation. You will come away with what you need for shaping this and future writing for publication and/or submission to other contests.