Writing as a positive mindset to navigate

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I entered the competition as a Valley Heights student in Grade 11. 

I am in my third year of a combination major in Community Health and English at LB. I only recently enrolled in the English major and am taking my first creative writing course this term, EN272: Intro to Creative Writing. I intend to take more in my fourth and final year at LB. 

The Laurier Stedman Prize has been instrumental in my maturation as a writer. Although subjecting my writing to scrutiny was initially daunting, the experience of communing with talented young writers, each of whom deserve accolade, has sophisticated my understanding of the writing process and provided me with the confidence necessary to persist in my writing endeavours even when success at first appears like failure. I now view writing as an intimate and rewarding journey which requires fortitude, a willingness to learn, and a positive mindset to navigate. Those who participate in the Laurier Stedman Prize already possess ambition and a keenness of mind, both of which are characteristic of promising writers and are cultivated in contestants. In the end, all participants are made to feel like winners and are encouraged to continue writing.

Read Grace's Story 

Her story is called "The Stagnant Dove." 

The Stagnant Dove

Snow falls in a gentle cadence as it silently berates my existence. Each flake reminds me of my misgivings. Of all that I have done. Of all that I have failed to do.

I laugh. Anne Louise Patterson, who are you kidding?

My fingers sail through the wavy sea of my purple hair. The cold air nips at my cheeks in disapproval. I gather my legs against my blossomed chest and seek comfort in my own arms. I’m not going home. Not tonight. Not ever.

I rummage through the pocket of my oversized hoodie. It’s black. Just like my jeans. And my runners.

And my soul.

I find a pack of cigarettes and light a Dart. The comforting aroma of tobacco envelops me. My nerves, pulled taut from emotion, begin to relax.

I almost wish that I had stayed at home.

Almost.

Not quite.

The raucous sounds exuding from the neighbourhood bar are hypnotic. Inviting. These are the kind of people I belong with. Not my family and ‘friends.’ Not those snobs. Never them.

“Hello.” A deep voice intrudes my thoughts, startling me. Just what I need. Some macho dude thinking I’m fresh meat.

I look up.

And up.

And up.

Great. Goliath’s come to call.

“Hi.” I sound scared. Vulnerable. Frightened.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” He seems strong, sure of himself.

“Yeah.” I stick to one-word answers. It’s safest that way.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What’s it to you?”

I immediately regret my terse response. This guy could snap me in half if he wanted to.

He chuckles. It’s not a sinister or maniacal laugh. Just a chuckle. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m Joe,” he says as he extends a hand towards me.

His colossal palm emits strength and masculinity. I envy his power. His confidence.

Be careful, Annie. He’ll hurt you if you let him.

Some days I hate my superego. I’m always too afraid to take risks. Not this time. Not tonight. I’ve gotten this far, so I’m not turning back now. I won’t cower away from this guy. This Joe.

“Annie,” I say as I accept his hand. He pulls me to my feet until I’m staring directly at his chest.

I wonder what he looks like without his shirt on.

His eyes smile. “Just Annie?”

“Just Joe?” I retort as my fear completely dissipates.

“Fair enough.” He laughs. The rhythmic timbre echoes deeply within his chest and composes a song. A melody I wouldn’t mind learning.

I scrutinize him for a moment. I like what I see: calloused hands, steel arms, a brawny chest, a square jaw, and wild hair. Security. His wrinkled plaid shirt, washed-out blue jeans and worn boots make him look like a lumberjack. He just needs an axe.

I really like what I see.

I notice that Joe isn’t laughing any more. Instead, he examines me like a tree which needs to be felled. He stares at my hair. My bold hair. Hair that I dyed with purpose. With meaning. With intention.

He smiles. No, he grins. Like he’s trying not to make fun of me.

I scowl. “What’s so funny?” Apparently Joe isn’t any different than those people.

“Nothing. It’s just –”

“Just what?” I spew a strand of curses. I hate it when I’m judged. I loathe it.

“I like that colour,” he says as he fingers a violet curl. “It’s pretty. You’re pretty.”

“Whatever,” I mumble to fain disinterest. His simple compliment means everything to me. Not once have I been called pretty. Not once.

Until now.

I need another Dart to calm the storm in my mind. I take one out of the pack.

Joe’s hand brushes against mine. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head he encourages me to put the cigarettes away. I don’t need one anyway. I can do this. I can.

I put the pack where it belongs: the garbage container.

“So… where are we headed?” I question. In the ten minutes that I have known Joe we have formed an unlikely pact. A friendship.

Of sorts.

He smiles at me.

I smile back.

When did I start smiling at people?

When did I start trusting people?

I walk ahead of him as I desperately attempt to collect my thoughts. My whirlwind thoughts. Thoughts I have no business thinking. Thoughts which should and will remain hidden in my mind, away from the world’s reproachful eyes.

Anne Louise Patterson, who are you kidding? You’re a misfit. A loser. You’ve got no place in this world. You’d be better off leaving. For good.

My demons haunt me. Voices ricochet from the walls of my mind, leaving me feeling naked. Exposed. Imprisoned.

I’m suffocating.

I run.

I run from Joe. I run from reality. I have been mocked and scorned for far too long.

I run.

“Annie! Annie, wait! I didn’t mean –” Joe’s heartfelt plea paralyzes me. My legs rebel and cause me to stumble. The ghastly beasts. Pain jars my entire body as I fall into a soggy puddle.

I sob.

Joe reaches me and engulfs my body in his massive frame. I hold myself stiffly – aloofly – until I recognize the gentleness – the sweetness – of his actions.

Joe likes you, Annie.

Joe thinks you’re pretty.

Joe’s not one of them.

I melt into him like a pound of butter. The meshing of our bodies leaves me feeling secure. Protected. Cherished. It’s an unusual sensation for me. For once in my life I feel like I belong.

Joe slowly pulls back the sleeves of my hoody. Jagged scars emerge, contrasting the darkness of my shirt.

I pull away from him, feeling like I’ve revealed too much about myself. About my insecurities. About my past.

Boy, have you got a past. You silly girl. Did you really think he wouldn’t find out?

“Let go of me.”

“Annie,” he implores, his voice laced with tinges of pity.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” I grind my teeth as I struggle against his strength.

“Annie, would you just listen? Stop fighting me!” Frustration and hurt emanate from him.

“No! You listen to me. I don’t talk about myself with anyone. Ever. You’re not any different, okay? Just because I met you outside of a bar doesn’t mean we’re chums or anything like that. I don’t want to be friends with you. I do things on my own. Always have. Always will.”

“Okay.” His one-word response irks me to my core. He picks himself up from off the ground and walks away from me. Abandons me.

I close my eyes tightly. Tears escape on their own accord. My heart shatters. “Joe?” My voice sounds weak and alone.

You are alone, Annie. You are alone.

He stops in his tracks. His boot toys with a clump of muddy snow on the ground. He waits for me.

“Joe? Don’t leave me.” I whimper. God, please don’t leave me. He turns around, rushes to my side and cradles me against his broad chest.

“I’m a nobody. For the longest time I have felt small and unimportant. But then I met you. You treat me like I matter.” I sigh. “I just – I just wish that people weren’t so cruel, so judgemental. It’s like they’ve always gotta put others down to elevate themselves.”

“I would bear your cross if I could. But I can’t. You’re hurting; you’re not broken. Annie, you are resilient. Just know that the people who have hurt you won’t get away with it. We live in a world where selfishness is accepted. Expected. We’ve got to go back to simpler times where neighbours loved each other and helped each other out in times of need.”

“How do I move forward? I don’t think I can take another beating.” I murmur against his shirt. He smells of cinnamon and cloves and wood smoke. It reassures me.

“You’ve got to forgive the people who have hurt you. If you embrace your pain it’ll fester into bitterness. You’ll have a gaping, infected wound that will only worsen over time.”

“I can’t just forget about everything, you know? That’s too hard. You can’t ask me to do that. Those people have to pay for what they’ve done. If I forgive them, I’ll be admitting defeat. I’ll still be just as much of a loser as I am now.”

“You’re wrong. You’re not a loser now but you will be if you feed your hurt with anger. Don’t make that mistake. Your beauty will vanish if you do that.”

Can I move on? Can I find wings to fly?

Yes.

I can.

“I – I guess I can try. But I’m not promising anything.”

My heart is fragile with hope.

“Joe? You mentioned something about my beauty. What did you mean?”

“Sweetest Annie. Where does true beauty lie?” His eyes dance with light.

Within. It lies within.

Peace consumes my pain.

My heart twirls with a waltz of its own.