Notes From the Field Creative Nonfiction Contest, Honorable Mention
Under the canopy of sprawling, spiky leaves, I find the first summer cucumber of my garden. It is misshapen, bulbous on one end and angular on the other, but it looks for all intents and purposes like a cucumber. A garden is like a lottery ticket. For a small, up-front investment and a little bit of time, you either receive the prize of food, in the best scenario, or a deformed cucumber, in the worst.
I’m on hold with the doctor’s office. I’m on hold with the diagnostic center. I’m in limbo in the elevator for just one floor, hanging perilously between my life as it is now, in the present, and whatever comes next.