"Serenity" by Kerri McCourt — Our September 2024 Bronze Medal Winner
“The story does a great job of pairing a distant trauma to present day reality.”
“Compelling”
“ Good description and real emotion. A distinct voice.”
Meet Kerri
Kerri writes from Edmonton, Alberta. She worked as a speech and language therapy assistant. Her latest published article was a piece for CBC First Person in April 2024. She is married and mother to five and just became a grandma.
Serenity
the unedited story by Kerri McCourt
Paddle boarding in Banff National Park, I’m embraced by snow capped mountains, lush forest. The water is glass. I’m floating, at peace.
The touristy lake is extraordinarily quiet this morning with only the music of songbirds and the soft soothing swish of water. Utter tranquility.
A gruff shout abruptly cuts across the distance.
“Hey! Can I get a picture without YOU in it?”
I squint. On the shore, a man is hollering at someone.
Me?
He must be calling out to me.
I paddle toward shore and he leans forward as if he might pounce. His tan face is wrinkled like a stomped-upon cardboard box; his jaw is clenched, scowling. He has the stocky build of a pit bull.
He holds a fancy camera.
Lunging, he barks, ‘I want a picture without you in it!”
Seriously? The lake - a public place - is huge and I’m enjoying - or at least I was - my place among mountains, forest, water and sky.
He wants the perfect picture, not marred by my existence.
I’m accustomed to being hidden, a secret.
Twenty years ago, my father wanted the perfect picture. He met my mother in medical school and they began an affair. When she got pregnant, he tried to persuade her to terminate. Instead, money bought anonymity. His name was kept off my birth certificate. Mom hushed me with lullabies; my father hushed her with cash.
He never saw me, never knew me. He already had a family.
Sometimes he sent gifts. A dad was something mysterious; an imaginary figure like Santa Claus.
In kindergarten I made a sugar cube family. “This one is me!” I said. Stacked blocks of sugar, glued with frosting, covered the table. My teacher looked down on the messy arrangement. “This is mama,” I continued, “and this one is sugar daddy!” Miss. Abbott’s eyes grew wide and she laughed.
Years later, mom trusted me with information. Equipped with the name of my father, Facebook was a window into Cameron Reynold’s world, the life he shared with his wife and four children. Sporting events, vacations, barbecues, parties, a lake house. I imagined it was fun to have that many cousins.
Mom had loved him. She said he was a good, honourable man caring for his own family. Family came first. “Besides, you can’t miss what you don’t know,” she shrugged. She reminded me he provided. He’d made sure I didn’t lack for anything.
It seemed odd - my father and I looked up at the same shining moon. For a fleeting time, we walk the earth together, so close yet so far.
Dr. Cameron Reynolds was honoured at an event in Chicago last winter. When the plane touched down that Friday in February, Chicago was cold and windy; the familiar slushy grey gloom of Edmonton. Streets were slippery and sleet sprayed my face as I strode toward the convention centre. Curiosity brought me but I intended to leave with closure.
My father stood at the podium and spoke to colleagues. The building, and his voice, were inviting and warm. A colourful floral bouquet sat pretty atop a tall pedestal, like where my mother had always placed him.
I grabbed a cup of coffee, and slipped unnoticed near the back. Stirring cream and sugar into my coffee, I thought of the kindergarten cube family and how I had taken sugar daddy to the sink one day and turned on the tap. Under the flow of warm water, the father figure instantly fell apart, and disappeared down the drain.
A renowned doctor and researcher, my father had achieved the respect of many.
As he accepted a lifetime achievement award, he looked proud.
His family sat close to the front, and clapped for him.
Hope and longing, like sugar into coffee, began to dissolve. Connection was not with Cameron or his family simply because we shared DNA. I was alone. For the first time, that was okay. I sipped my coffee. I felt completely untethered - and it tasted like freedom.
I left the ceremony early and strolled to Millennium Park where I visited the famous bean sculpture, the Cloud Gate. The city lights of Chicago bounced off the massive metallic surface. In the reflective art, silvery clouds and sky danced closer than ever, ice crystals sparkled, and my own image twisted and distorted like a fun house mirror.
After, en route to the hotel, I walked by the convention centre once more. As people filed out, I spotted Cameron and his family in the crowd. Photographers followed them, snapping photo after photo of their delighted family. Lights flashed. Snow fell lightly on the sidewalk as Cam’s family gathered around him for more pictures. I stepped out of the way, and carried on.
Now a stranger at the edge of a sparkling lake looks out his viewfinder, and, furious, finds me.
Adjust the angle, I want to say. The lake is vast. Or how about photoshop and all the tricks a person can play to edit and curate reality?
I dig my paddle in deeper, and I glide effortlessly through emerald, sunlit water.
He fades into the background, receding like ice melting in the sunshine.
He can go on looking through that lens if he wants.
Immersed in nature, wild and free, I’m gonna keep paddling.
I belong here.
Use the comment form below to let Kerri know what you thought of her story.
