POST 3 - EMILY

The hamburger pillow. Perfection in slumbertechnics. 5 beautiful layers of simulated deliciousness. I was going to win this contest for sure.

The fluffiest layer was first; the tan fabric bun on top was stuffed with quilter's batting and topped with a dozen of so sesame seeds (executed artfully with a black broad tip Sharpie). I was most proud of the second layer, the tomato. Red fabric sewn into a perfect circle and separated into five sections filled with juicy Sharpie seeds. Then the lettuce which was trickiest to sew, since it was not a circle like everything else. Each bump was accompanied by a set of veins stretching out to the leaf edge. Finally, the big fatty. The patty was my personal favorite part of the burger, all soft, brown and succulent. The last layer was the second half of the bun, which was much like the top half in shape and size. I used less stuffing so that it laid flatter, much like an actual bun bottom. My creation was flawless.

I picked out my coolest outfit:
Over-sized white T shirt with turquoise belt clip. Check.
Acid-washed pink denim skirt with three layers of ruffles. Check.
Three scrunchies in my hair (all different colors). Check.
Gigantic silver earrings. Check.
Lucky turquoise bracelet from Arizona. Check.
Two layers of socks (Pink then turquoise) Check.
Turquoise Converse sneakers. Check.

I was ready. I looked in the mirror one last time before leaving for school, feeling like a million bucks and carrying the hamburger pillow.

Honorable Mention? What does that even mean?? They mention me like I'm some afterthought or something??? Sure they say "honorable" like that's supposed to make me feel better, but it may as well be an "honorable" slap in the face for all the difference it makes. Did they not see the detail work on the tomato? I'm pretty sure that alone should have earned me the blue ribbon. Instead I was forced to wear this colorless abomination. This white ribbon of shame was a burden; my public disgrace that must be born with a quiet dignity if I called myself an artist at all.

But how could this have happened? There were only four people in the whole school that even entered the same category, 3-D Design. The girl who beat me to Third Place made one of those sucky baskets that the fourth graders always weave out of yarn and an empty plastic strawberry container. Her choice of yarn even sucked. The kid who got Second Place was a first grader who obviously specialized in crappy dragon sculptures. First Place was awarded to a girl in my class who cross-stitched a giant yellow happy face. It shouldn't even be considered 3-D, unless I guess if you counted the frame (which she probably found in a garbage can on the way to school).

I reviewed the day's events in my mind as I walked, looking for clues as to where I'd gone wrong. That morning I had brought in the hamburger pillow to class amid gasps and admiring glances from my fellow students. Mrs. Klaustrom had pulled me aside to ask if I had done all the work myself. Did my mom help me at all? Wait a minute. That was it! The entire contest was a sham; I fumed all the way home.

I confronted my mother as soon as I could and asked her what sort of enemies she had acquired while teaching art at the school. She looked up surprised, as I related the whole story, indignantly holding up the white ribbon as evidence. I moved away from her when she tried to touch my shoulder to calm me down.

"These things happen," she sympathized. I shrugged and sniffed, looking fixedly at the linoleum kitchen floor. "It's a beautiful ribbon," she coaxed. "Honorable Mention is great! That's like fourth place right?" Her smile looked hopeful.

"Out of four people?" I got pink in the face. "That's like getting a medal at the Special Olympics when you're not even retarded!" I sank into the nearest chair, defeated.

"Catie, don't say retarded," my mom chided softly.

"But everyone thinks I cheated!" My voice grew louder, "All of them! The whole school!" My mother came close and put her arm around me. I stiffened.

"Well I know you did the work, and so do you. That's all that really matters anyway." I looked dubious, but didn't contradict her. "Tell you what, go tell your brothers we're going out for pizza tonight to celebrate. It's not every day you win First Place." My mom grinned widely and took the crumpled white ribbon from my hand, shoving it behind the sofa.

Written November 3, 2010. Inspired by a red ribbon I was using as a bookmark.