Victoria MacDonald

“Coincidence?” by Victoria MacDonald

Submitted to Contest #271

Coincidence?Shattered after the sudden death of my thirty-nine-year-old son, I wandered through a murky fog, occasionally stumbling head on into abrupt kick-to-the-gut grief attacks, yanking me out of anesthesia. Each time the tidal wave struck, I was tossed, depleted and exhausted, onto a lonely and barren beach. After fourteen months, I decided to hook up with a well renowned psychic. My kitchen lights had been flickering, and I wanted to believe that my boy was trying to communicate. “It’s just a faulty bulb,” argued a friend. “Chang...

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“Intergenerational” by Victoria MacDonald

Submitted to Contest #252

In 1974, I am in my twenties, and in denial of the fact that I am in the early stages of alcohol addiction. To my way of thinking, there is nothing better than a few pre-party drinks to calm the nerves before setting off for a gathering of people you haven’t seen since your boyfriend broke up with you. Especially if you are hoping the ex will be there, realize he has missed you, and beg for another chance.           I knock back a one-liter bottle of vino before taking to the road for th...

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“Near Death Experience” by Victoria MacDonald

Submitted to Contest #240

Near Death Experience           On January 26, 1978, I set off for work as a Grade three teacher in the east end of Toronto. Waiting for the bus to the subway, I hopped back and forth as the frigid wind and swirling flakes took bites out of exposed flesh.            My partner, Peter was sleeping. He worked a night shift and I seldom saw him. He had a day off, and I hoped he would choose to spend the evening with me, since it was his...

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“Ode to Arlene” by Victoria MacDonald

Submitted to Contest #202

I met Arlene in 1963 on the first day of school. She was in my ninth-grade class. At first, I hated her. On the third day of the first week, we were herded into the dressing room adjacent to the pool and told to change into our bathing suits. As I undressed, I struggled to conceal my flat chest with a towel. Unlike the other girls, I didn’t wear a bra. Arlene snickered at my contortions. At home, my older brother loved taunting me in front of his friends. “Flat as a board and never been nailed!”  A bossy school nurse ordered us to li...

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“The Red Button” by Victoria MacDonald

The Red Button “Don’t jump in puddles. You’ll get your Sunday dress dirty.” “Don’t run down the stairs in stocking feet. You’ll fall.” “Don’t dawdle. You’ll be late for school.” “Don’t gulp your milk. You’ll lose your appetite.” “Don’t suck your finger. You’ll make your teeth crooked.” Now, at the age of seventy-two, I still hear those long-ago parental warnings and ponder over my stubborn resistance whenever I was told NOT to do something. Rarely an openly defiant child, my disobedience was furtive. I recall the day I came home ...

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“Boundaries” by Victoria MacDonald

Back in 1967, at the age of seventeen, I knew everything. I defiantly quit high school, left home, and shared an apartment with two roommates. Manuela was a party girl, loud, exuberant, fiery and fun. Roger was a flamboyant gay guy from Trinidad who had a flair for dancing and drew enthusiastic audiences at our downtown hangout, the Blue Note, where we grooved to Motown and Soul music.  The Blue Note closed down, leaving us bereft without our weekend social outlet. To fill the void, Roger invited some of the patrons over to our place t...

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“The Tumultuous Teens” by Victoria MacDonald

At the age of seventy-one, I vividly recall one particular outfit that was part of my meager wardrobe at the age of fifteen.Arlene, my best friend, had a closet full of store-bought garments showing the latest trends. Lucky for her, her mother worked at Eaton’s. They went on sprees and Arlene got to choose whatever she wanted.I burned with resentment, hiding my jealousy in dark shadows of shame. Mom didn’t tolerate discontent of any kind which, when occasionally expressed, was dismissed as “nonsense."My no-nonsense mother was a psychiatrist ...

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“Menagerie” by Victoria MacDonald

“You wanna do something fun?” asked my roommate, Roger. A tall and wiry man from Trinidad, he grinned at Manuela and me and placed a tiny blue pill on each of our outstretched palms. “It’ll blow your minds!” he twittered in falsetto. Roger was flamboyantly gay, and liked to wear false eyelashes, which he batted provocatively as if daring us. It was 1967.  I was seventeen, and had left home to rent a one-bedroom apartment with my two fellow clubbers. I’d met them at a groovy spot on Yonge Street called the Blue Note. The tablet ...

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“Sharing the Narrative” by Victoria MacDonald

Sharing the NarrativeMY SIDE OF THE STORY…I’ve been duped! How could she do this to me? She’s totally taken advantage of my generous nature. It started with an urgent request and lots of tears. “I’m trying so hard. It’s brutal, working and going to night school to get my Masters. Could you front me some money so I can get some food? I only have enough for rent!”I complied. My mother had paid most of my tuition for university. My friend, on the other hand, had never had that support. I wanted to be her benefactor, and if I didn’t help, w...

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“From Extrovert to Introvert” by Victoria MacDonald

Submitted to Contest #104

From Extrovert to Introvert Back in the sixties, at the age of seventeen, I defiantly left home and shared an apartment with two roommates. I wanted to be out there, living the good life, getting in on all the action. Mannie was a party girl, loud, exuberant, fiery and fun. Roger was a flamboyant gay guy from Trinidad. He had a flair for dancing and drew enthusiastic audiences to our downtown hangout, the Blue Note, where we grooved to Motown and Soul music. The Blue Note closed down, and we were bereft without our weekend social outl...

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“Do You Believe?” by Victoria MacDonald

Submitted to Contest #103

Do You Believe? Arriving early for a group therapy appointment in a beautiful home on Lake Promenade, I park my car and decide to meander across a grassy patch to the water’s edge. The early evening sun caresses my shoulders as I gaze at the distant sailboats bobbing up and down on Lake Ontario. Gentle waves kiss shoreline rocks. My grief is validated, soothed, its weight somewhat lightened by a soaring seagull.           Oh, how I miss my Peter. He is absent, stolen by prostate cance...

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