The Prize

The screen turned black as the lamps shut down. Not a power outage. What will he think of me going off like that? Frustration tried to furrow Melissa’s botoxed brow. She picked up her work laptop and pressed the on button. Nothing, the battery was dead.

Melissa and Brad had been messaging throughout the lockdown. They met on an internet dating site, and over the weeks, their relationship blossomed into something more than friends, or so Melissa’s spirit felt. Craggily handsome in his photo, Brad exuded all the traits of a genuine cowboy, from his stetson to his spurred cowboy boots. He loved riding his horse, Wild Rose, across his Montana ranch, rounding up the cattle, or fixing the fences. His ranch house and outdoor lifestyle seemed a world away from Melissa’s cramped two-bedroom New York apartment and job as PA to an over-inflated legal ego.

The woman sighed. She got up and went to the kitchen to search for leftover coffee. She and Brad chatted most mornings over breakfast, Melissa spooning cocoa pops into her mouth in between typing replies. She wondered what Brad made of her photo, given that it was ten years old and taken when she was slim–before it happened. She hadn’t told him yet. She didn’t want to break the spell.

Brad claimed he had been divorced for over ten years but saw his kids regularly and even showed Melissa their photos. Cute kids, the boy had his father’s features, and the girl, now a college sophomore, had a highlighted hair and a regal bearing. Melissa, chubby and on the wrong side of forty-five, lied about her past. No point in telling Brad about Tom yet. What could he do she hadn’t already tried? Truth is, he ‘aint never coming back.

Melissa had been widowed in the Iraq war. Chuck got caught up in the second battle of Fallujah, and she got the dreaded yellow telegram one Monday morning. Tom was four then, and afterward, they moved to New York to be near her parents. But they were too busy with their own lives to be of much help. Melissa taught grade school English and raised Tom alone. Mom was in a dementia home now. Pop’s ashes had gone into the sea off Coney Island.

Tom took his father’s death hard and often got in trouble. Suspended from one school and expelled from another. By the time he reached college, he had developed a cocaine habit. Melissa found packets in his sock drawer and hit the roof. An apologetic Tom promised to stop and go into rehab. That’s where he met the other woman. Older than Tom, she had enticed him into her life. One day, Melissa arrived home and found out he had gone. Cleared his room, left no note, sent no text, and blocked her on social media. He’d even taken his yearbook, which was kept in the living room bookcase, and the picture of his father in uniform holding his son’s hand. He left nothing for Melissa. Overnight, she became a mom without any offspring.

Melissa sent Tom entreating emails and texts and contacted his college, who reported he’d dropped out. After several weeks of Melissa’s bombardment, Tom sent a terse message:.“Keep out of my life, bitch. Your misery did my head in, and that’s why I did drugs, so my counselor said. I’m getting married, so don’t contact me again.”

Married? Melissa shed copious tears as sleepless, she aimlessly wandered the streets of ‘the city that never sleeps’. On a damp November evening, she made an attempt to end her life by throwing herself under a bus. Rescued, she ended up in the ER, and they admitted her to the psych ward. That’s when Melissa got help. The therapist enabled her to see she was not a wicked person, just a depressed one who’d had more than her fair share of troubles. Thanks to medication and unstinting support, Melissa’s outlook brightened. She decided to escape the confines of the New York education system. She applied for the job of PA to a hotshot lawyer. To her surprise, she got the post. “I prefer older women. They don’t mess up the office,” Frank said.

Then covid-19 hit, and since she had asthma, Melissa’s physician recommended she work from home for a time. She bought a desktop computer and put it in Tom’s room. Her boss was helpful, and with regular voice and Zoom calls, she dealt with his diary, legal papers, and correspondence, and they kept the practice going. But confined to the apartment, Melissa felt depression peeking around the corners of her mind and authored a few kid’s stories to keep from going backwards. Idly scrolling one evening, she found the site ‘Dating Club for Lonely Hearts Over Forty ’. With trepidation, she ventured in and met Brad.

Suddenly, the fridge-freezer whirred, and the lights came on. The power’s back. Melissa went through to her computer and powered it up. But the page had frozen on Brad’s face, which stared at her from his photo. Well, smiled, she thought without humor. She tried using the escape key, but nothing happened. She shut it down again. Maybe the laptop has some battery power. But it didn’t, so Melissa returned to the kitchen, her eyes misted and lashes glistening with loneliness. She felt digitally dead.

She turned on the TV for the news and watched the reports of wildfires in Los Angeles. Then she watched a rerun of Notting Hill, wishing she could find that special someone. She recalled that some weeks earlier, on impulse, she had entered a competition to write a story for second graders. That was easy. She had made up many stories for Tom, all stored on her computer. She picked the one about a dinosaur and his mom navigating the world without a dad, which Tom had loved and illustrated. She sent the entry off and promptly forgot it. Her reverie broke with the buzzing of her cell.

          “Morning, Ma’am. I’d like to speak with Melissa Speigle, please,”

           Mystified Melissa said, ‘This is she. But if you are cold calling, don’t waste my time.”

          Ma’am., my name is Sam Peterson, and I’m not selling anything. I’m calling from Pixie Books with fantastic news.” His voice shrank in her ear.”

          Melissa’s shaking hand put the phone on speaker. ‘What did you say?”.

        “You’ve won our competition with your story about a dinosaur who falls out of the sky. The first prize is $300, and your story will feature in our next collection.”

           Dumbstruck, Melissa could utter no sound. It’s not ‘steak knives,’ is it? Her heart hammered like a knife chopping carrots for a potluck supper.

           “ Are you there, Ma’am? We need a photo and want to send it over to our photographer at around five o’clock tomorrow. Is that okay?”

          ‘ Melissa gulped. “ A photographer. You want a picture of me?” I need to get my hair done, she thought, her mind like fallen leaves in a storm.

          “ Yes, Ma’am. Your name and photo will go beside your story. We think you have talent, and we want to discuss a book deal with you, too.”

         Melissa gasped. “ Okay. I’ll be home. I’m on the fourth floor. Bring ID, please.”She stared at her phone as if a book deal could metamorphose from it.

            “ Yes, Ma’am, will do. I look forward to meeting such a talented lady. See you tomorrow. ”Petersen cut the call.

     Melissa could hardly believe what she had heard. She sat back on the sofa, trying g to take it in. Prize money. A book deal. What am I gonna do? Desperate to share the news with someone, she returned to her laptop. This time, it fired up, and she got Brad’s picture. Forgetting she was supposed to stay home with her asthma, in a flash, she knew what to do with her prize. She typed in: I’ve won a competition and some prize money, so I’m gonna fly over to meet you. I’ll rent a car in Missoula and drive to your ranch. In her haste, she forgot to ask for his address,

Her pulse raced, waiting for a response. Brad’s out on the range at this time of day. I wish I had his cell number. The club’s rules said contact had to be made through them, and they were strict about it. ‘Protection from scammers and time wasters, ’ said the note on their site. It was now eight in the evening, and Brad had not responded. She had met Petersen, been photographed, and banked her prize money. She’d phoned North-West Airlines, too. What if he doesn’t want to see me.Those tender words we exchanged. Is he who he says he is? Her eyes prickled, and her hands grew moist. She ordered a pizza but could not eat it.

Brad’s response came via Melissa’s cell. Around ten, it buzzed, scaring the life out of the woman who had fallen asleep on the sofa.

        A husky male voice said.“It’s Brad. The site gave me your cell number when I explained it. I can’t wait to meet you too. Don’t worry about a car, just send me your flight details, and I will wait behind the barrier with a sign so you’ll know me. I’ll take a couple of days off to show you around. We’ll have fun.”

Melissa felt reborn, and the couple talked for ages. Their conversation was light, warm, and funny. As she prepared for bed, the New York skyline was lit up as usual, but one thing marred Melissa’s horizon- Tom. She wanted to tell him about her changed fortunes, But it was not possible. -estranged. Yet, unknowingly depressed, she had raised him the best way she could.

    “Forget him”, said her counselor. “Live your own life, hun.”

    Maybe my stars have turned. Melissa thought as she donned her night dress and climbed into bed. She lay awake listening to the low hum of traffic, thinking. If Brad and I get along, maybe we could get hitched. The gentle glow of anticipation enveloped her as she closed her eyes.