#1 Honorable Mention in the Florida Weekly’s Annual Writer’s Challenge.

 

“IN THE MIRIALS”

 

September 04, 2024

BY FAY ELLEN GRAETZ
of Fort Myers

 

After their morning walk, Papa could tell something was bothering Wyatt. The four-year-old stood on the sofa, ankle deep in the cushions, peeking behind the ocean scene that hung on the wall above it. Sunlight reflected off its glass and flashed across the ceiling.

Holding a tumbler of water in each hand, Papa waited for his grandson. “What’s up? What are you looking for?”

Wyatt shrugged his shoulders. “Just wondering.”

The boy jumped down from the couch and slid open the heavy patio door. Papa stepped out and set the glasses on the tabletop. He pulled the chain of the ceiling fan and settled into a plastic chair.

“Papa, what if we both went in there?”

“In where?”

“The picture on the wall.”

“If you want to go to the beach, we’ll drive to the beach. Done.”

Wyatt’s shoulders slumped. Like so many answers this one was unsatisfactory. But this was Papa he was asking. Papa should know everything. “What about the mirials?”

“Mirials?”

“The ones we walk by. The ones we looked at this morning.

“Murals,” Papa corrected.

“They’re so pretty. Why can’t we walk into them?”

“Into them?” Papa shrugged, intrigued. “Good question. People in the murals. How’d they get there?

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed. “Ah huh.”

Considering the fatigue in his legs, Papa wasn’t about to suggest a return to the neighborhood where the walls were covered in surreal images of famous personalities, jungles of wildcats, brilliantly colored birds, and dancing skeletons. “You want to step into the murals?”

Wyatt climbed onto the patio chair. His legs swung freely. “Yeah, in ‘em.”

“Gees. It’s pretty flat. Can you make yourself that flat?” He saw Wyatt’s spine straighten. “We could tape you to the wall.” They both smiled, envisioning Wyatt affixed to a mural. “How many rolls of tape should we bring?” he asked, hoping to initiate a less challenging tangent.

Wyatt shook his head, undeterred, like insisting on his favorite ice cream. “Please.”

Sighing, Papa searched for possibilities. “It’s been said that a little girl stepped inside a mirror once. Have you heard about this?”

“No.”

“There’s a whole book about it.”

“Does it say how to do it?”

“I don’t think it gave instructions. It’s not a “how-to” book, but it’s good and …”

“If she can do it …” Wyatt said, his eyebrows raised.

“Hold on. Let’s give this some thought. Analyze your quandary.” Papa’s fingers thrummed the tabletop. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s possible—” Wyatt’s lips parted, ready to form an objection as Papa searched for a satisfying solution. “–unless.” He raised his finger in the air. “Unless. Yes, there is a way to enter a picture. I should have thought of this. Let me see your hands.” Papa inspected the boy’s soft hands, flipping them over and back. “Have you ever held a crayon?”

“Of course.”

“A paintbrush?”

“Watercolors.”

“That’s how. But there’s a catch.” The old man knew better than to call it a rule. “I wouldn’t call it a secret exactly ….” From the corner of his eyes, he saw Wyatt lean forward, curious and hopeful.

“Secret?”

“The secret is you can only go into a picture that you drew or painted yourself.” He leaned back in his chair, proud and satisfied with his own insight.

“Why?”

Papa rolled his eyes. “Why, why, why.”

Together they sat silently grasping for reasons why this newfound truth was necessary, and imagining scenarios that would break the rule.

“Papa, I would draw you in my picture and give you a red sailboat.”

So sweet, his grandson. The love for this boy lifted him out of bed each weekday morning. “Red? I like that. What if I draw a picture of you as a pirate chasing me? A thieving pirate on a ship with black sails?”

“I’d be a good pirate.”

“What if in my picture you had a treasure chest of stolen gold?

“No, Papa.”

Touched by the look of betrayal on Wyatt’s face, he said. “No. You’re my grandson. You know better.” Papa pushed on to make another surprisingly clever and edifying point. “And that’s why you don’t want to be in someone else’s picture. Or mirial. Don’t let anyone else draw your life for you.”

Whether or not the message came across, it was obvious the conversation had lost its magic. Wyatt slipped off his chair, trotted back into the house, and disappeared into the seascape that hung over the sofa.

The End

 

INTERVIEW WITH HONORABLE MENTION NO. 1

Laura Tichy-Smith | Staff Writer, Florida Weekly, Hoffman Media Group

 

The law seems to have brought Fay Ellen Graetz to Florida. She managed a law firm in Fort Lauderdale before retiring. Although it was serious business, the Wisconsin native’s humor sometimes poked through in her workplace writing. “I enjoyed writing humorous memos to attorneys and staff. When I retired, I told them the firm was hiring two monkeys to take my place.”

 

Graetz started honing her writing skills by writing letters while living on a Greek island with her husband in the late ‘90s and then aboard a sailboat.

 

She began writing short stories and won a few local contests, including the Gulf Coast Writers Association contest and an early year of the Florida Weekly Writing Challenge.

 

Graetz submitted two stories to the Writing Challenge this year. “I read Florida Weekly and knew about the contests over the years. I hadn’t submitted, though, for a long time. I decided to enter in hopes that it would give me a psychological boost, since I’m working on a novel and it’s a lonely thankless place to be.”

 

Graetz was intrigued by the mural photo (provided by the newspaper, on which to base the story). She imagined a child being disappointed at walking through the entryway only to see construction behind the mural. And she further envisioned a grandfather’s attempts to answer the child’s questions.

 

“As for the process, I place my fingers on the keys and let the conversation begin. Most of my

stories are formed from conversations held in my head. (And I suppose this is why I also enjoy playwriting.) Like blurting out responses in a normal conversation, the lines appear on the page. Then the plot unfolds.”

 

She spent a long morning on the initial draft and revised it over the next four days. While she has a couple of trusted friends to read her works, her husband is her main source for editorial and revision advice.

 

“After I wrote the story, I read it to him. He’s the one who made it magical. He said he was expecting the boy to disappear into the seascape. When he told me that, I laughed out loud, and changed the last line! To tell you the truth, over the years my husband jokingly refers to murals as ‘murials.’” ¦

 

 

 

Here’s the real story behind the murals photo: “I drove underneath the major overpass of I-240 and US-25 on Merrimon Avenue (in Ashville, N.C.) and saw a muralist standing back, reviewing the artwork he had just finished painting. It struck, and I quickly pulled over to capture the moment. We rarely see artists’ work in progress, but this time, I captured a moment that would live on. His mural is still visible to passersby as they drive through the community.”

– Alisa Bowman, Florida Weekly’s Director of Content Operations