The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2022

The Meadow 113 Meanwhile they are busy hiking up their skirts and tousling their hair. Then Lisa notices other teenagers walking the halls. They are sulking, too. “And there’s a boyfriend,” says Lisa. “Don’t forget to be nice to the boyfriend.” Of course, she’s sad. Lisa wears sadness like a sweater. Only now she’s tossing it aside. Her new mantra is block the bad and grab the good. If there’s a contest for functional families, she’s gunning for the prize. She thinks, I can do this. Her husband Jeff has been suspiciously quiet. But there’s no denying the bounce in his step and the ear-to-ear grin that’s a gloat. For instead of being burdens, his parents are perfect. Nearing eighty, they golf, they cruise, they ski. Lisa should be glad for them, really. She thinks, I am not a failure. She thinks, I will savor my accomplishments. She thinks, my mother’s happy and resilient. Only death shuts a door. Soon the sound of laughter cannot be denied. When the cafeteria doors swing open, even Lisa’s girls are surprised. They are facing a winter wonderland, complete with fake snow and orderlies dressed like elves. Up on a makeshift stage, a choir from a local school is performing. Since lots of families have already arrived, it takes them a good five minutes to locate Fran. She’s next to her new friend, Harvey. He’s a polio patient, propped in a wheelchair, his arms useless by his side. “They’re seeing more and more of it,” whispers Lisa. “They thought they were cured. Then sixty years later the disease boomerangs back.” Instead of greeting Fran, the family finds a table and watches. The social worker says it’s best this way. If Fran recognizes them, she’ll walk over. If not, they should let her be. So they sit

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