FIRST-PLACE WINNER
Something Happened
BY MINDY MCGINNIS
I sever the first two fingers of my left hand on a Tuesday. They fall to the ground
at my feet, causing a momentary confusion as I wonder what tree has dropped
this odd fruit. Then I see the crescent scar left behind by a fish hook and know
that these are my fingers, that they are no longer attached to my body, and that I
will surely not be going to piano lessons the next day. This is when I know how
much I dislike piano, that the momentary relief at the thought lifts my spirits
even though I am bleeding profusely.
I am 9, and it is fall, the woods around me swaying in the wind, dead leaves
drifting to the ground as I take off my shirt and wrap my hand. It is a new shirt,
and I will surely be in trouble, I think, as the blood overtakes the print design –
horses that can’t outrun the beat of my heart. I pick up my fingers, still warm, and
squeeze them, feeling the texture of my skin. I’ve held my own hand, made the
church steeple and opened it up to see the people, twiddled my thumbs and
traced the lines of my palm, but always there was reciprocal feeling, touch to
touch. It is a one-side game now, my dead fingers rendered mute.
I gather my hatchet, made by my grandfather. My name – Ellie – is etched
onto the handle. I loop it through my belt, not cleaning the bright smear of blood
from the blade. I trip over the spear I had been making, defense against some
imagined enemy who would threaten my forest. I am 9 and determined to protect
what I care for.
I head home, leaving behind the canopy of the woods for the rustling of the
dried cornstalks. I break into our backyard to see Mom at the kitchen window,
working. She is cleaning, baking, cooking, fixing, mending, caring, raising, moth-
ering. She is doing something appropriate to the hour, day, month, year. She is
not cutting off her fingers in the woods while making weapons.
I go to the door, unsure how to present myself, her only child, naked from the
waist up, hatchet at her side, filthy, bloodied, carrying her own body parts. I
squeeze my fingers. They have gone cold; the blood tacky.
I am 9. I do not have the words for this. I cannot explain myself or the mystery
of what has occurred; how my blade was untrue, how I have maimed myself for
life. Inside I hear: water running, the smell of fresh bread, Mom humming. I step
into the kitchen.
“Mom,” I say. “Something happened.”
Mindy McGinnis is an Edgar Award-winning novelist who writes across multiple genres, including
post-apocalyptic, historical, thriller, contemporary, mystery, and fantasy. While her settings may
change, you can always count on Mindy’s books to deliver grit, truth, and an unflinching look at
humanity and the world around us.