Every Day in May (grand prize winner) ✔

May 13th

You were eleven when, late one evening, the unmistakable sound of sobbing drew you into your mother's room. She sat on the bed, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other clutching a piece of paper.  She crumpled up the paper and stuffed into her pocket as soon as you appeared. Concerned, you put your arms around her and asked her what was wrong.  Her cheeks flushed.  She looked to the side, not wanting you to see her expression.  No matter what heartache she faced, she'd spare you from it if she could. 

Your mother wouldn't tell you why she was so upset but now I can: her contact had just brought word of the death of my brothers, condemned to a Red Camp almost two years previous. She sighed and said nothing, her tears falling in golden streams through the tangled locks of your hair as she clung to you.  Finally she pulled away. With a huge smile on your face, you told her a joke about a lobster that made so little sense she couldn't help but laugh.

That's what you're doing now, isn't it? This is a joke, this last question of yours. It's a bad one, but I am meant to laugh.

The answer is pistachio.  Why is it is my favorite?  Because it's the only kind I've ever had. What do you think—that children can skip to the store, slide their coins across the counter and have their pick of flavors?  Maybe today I'll have chocolate in a waffle cone, tomorrow I'll try vanilla with a cherry on top. 

Have you forgotten I'm the daughter of political prisoners?

After the CULL Day concert, my choir mates and I were ushered into a large dining hall. In one corner was a linen-covered table set with porcelain bowls and shiny little spoons. We sat in our starched white blouses and pleated skirts, and waited patiently for servants to dole out the treat that had been promised to us.

I scooped up the first spoonful of creamy deliciousness and let it settle on my tongue.  I had never tasted such flavors—sweet and salty together in one bite.  The pistachios, we were told, came from one of the Leader's closest allies.  It was a rare thing for a citizen to get a taste of them—this was how special, how important we girls were to the Leader.

Our teacher always said we should savor the things we love best. I tried to eat slowly, but even so, it wasn't long before my bowl was scraped clean. My eyes watered, realizing this was an experience that wouldn't be repeated. 

I do as my teacher says—I savor the things I love best in this world; the taste of pistachio ice cream licked from a silver spoon; the sound of my mother's voice calling me in to dinner; my father's arms wrapped around me. I remember best the moments that will never come again.