Second Annual Wild Violet Writing Contest Winners (2004)
Fiction
— First Place
An undergraduate film major at Florida State University, Nora Fores hopes to pursue a career in writing. Though she has won honors in writing before, the Wild Violet contest is one of the first national writing competitions she has entered.
Subventionary
Footnotes
By Nora Fores
Stories like this almost always begin with nouns. Perhaps that first word is a name or place or a thing important to someone. Maybe they've forgotten it, and so they wrote it down. In this case, that first word is Mrs. Dalloway. She says she'll buy the flowers herself. She proceeds to go about her day as her thoughts pass to others and then back to her. In any case, stories like this almost always begin with a noun then end with a verb.
The copy of Mrs. Dalloway was worn around the edges, the spine split in several places, and the dog-eared pages no longer unfolded. Beth held it as she would a weeping child, for indeed, the book seemed to cry its pages away. Apart from its distinctive mistreatment, every margin of the book contained footnotes, each written by different students at different times in different colors of ink. Some notes were trivial, but others were so deeply compassionate and insightful that no matter how she tried, Beth could not put the tattered book back on the shelf.
The importance
of the end use of a verb 'was' here is to simultaneously indicate that
Mrs. Dalloway is both present and unchanging. In terms of modern life,
this idea is still completely compatible. For the most part, all humans
are both present, meaning that they see the world and understand the need
for change and yet do not like to alter their states. It seems to be a
great contradiction in life. We see, but we do not do. Thereby, we become
inertial men.
The shelves of the old bookstore stood dusty and uncared for. At one time, the store had served as a main meeting place for all the university students. Back then the lights were always bright, as people tromped in and out, the bell on the door ringing constantly. But that was many years ago, and the lights dimmed and dimmed. The bell rang less and less. Bigger bookstores opened closer to the campus, and coffee shops moved in right next door. Students forgot all about the little bookshop. It was as if everyone moved away.
"The books seem sad, don't you think?" asked a young man standing nearby. He wore large glasses, had dark hair, and smiled lightly. Had he not spoken so confidently, Beth would have thought that he was lost.
"Yes, they're lonely," she answered.
"We should save them," he said, rummaging through the M section.
"That would be beautiful of us."
Beth turned to the register as the girl at the front pulled her hands through streams of auburn hair and then reached her arms to the sky. For a second, Beth thought she looked like a flower plant reaching for the sun. The little light from the window fell softly against the girl's fingertips and played upon their edges. It looked like a dance of comfort with nature in the lead.
"I'm open if you need any help," she said without glancing up.
"Oh, thanks. Yes... I had an odd question for you. Do you know who owned this book last?" asked Beth, taking small steps to the front, surrendering the book.
"Mrs. Dalloway, no not a clue. We just buy them here."
"Well, I guess I'll go ahead and get it."
"Sure you want it? It's not in very good shape. It'll fall apart on you. Probably be better if I threw it out."
"No, don't do that. I'll take it."
The girl hesitated for second, turning the book around in her hands.
"Here, you can have it gratis then. I'd feel bad selling it to you."
"Thanks."
"No
problem. Call me a philanthropist."
