The first "Through Her Eyes" short-story contest drew 23 entries written by area women.

Contributed photo (ENLARGE)

Whitney Grady

The three local women who served as judges were not able to reach a consensus on their favorites. Instead of giving out first-, second- and third-place awards, Her magazine will publish each month one of the seven short stories receiving votes from the judges. The authors whose stories were selected have been notified.

The judges

• Ashley Blalock, 23, earned a communications degree from East Carolina University. She is community-relations manager at the Greenville Barnes & Noble book store. She says she loves to do "typical girly stuff such as shop and go out to dinner with my girlfriends." She lives in Greenville with a roommate and black Lab named Karlie.

• Priscilla Melchior, 55, is a native North Carolinian with 30 years as an award-winning journalist and an erstwhile author of short stories and poetry.

• Tammy Fulcher, head of Adult Public Services, has worked for Greenville's Sheppard Memorial Library for 22 years. She earned a bachelor's degree from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and a master's in library science from East Carolina University. She is married and spends most of her free time watching her two sons, ages 13 and 17, play football and soccer.

Fish

By Whitney Grady

"The day I almost died saved me from a life of cubicles and power suits. If you can believe it, that fateful day a fish saved me from drowning. Well, not just any fish, my Fish."

Mother had warned me about Grandma Esther's "fish tales." "Don't let her foolishness rub off on you," mother always urged. "Unlike her, you've actually got your head screwed on straight and you have the potential to make a great living as a doctor." Some doctor, I thought to myself as I closed my eyes for a moment and watched a slide show of the event play on the backs of my lids.

CLEAR ... nothing ... CLEAR ... nothing ...

CLEAR ... nothing again ... and again ... and again.

"Grandma, you actually were headed toward a life of cubicles and power suits when you were my age?" I asked, bewildered.

"That's not supposed to be the surprising part, darlin', it's the fish saving me from drowning that's supposed to get your attention."

Grandma Esther was unique, to say the least. A large lady, she wore what looked like Japanese Kimonos every day — said they were the coolest in the beach heat. She lived in a trailer that was painted like the inside of an aquarium and she watched the weather channel constantly, always keeping us posted during hurricane season. I sat next to her on her pier, looking out at the sound, while she continued with her story. In the past I had blocked her words when she would get on a tangent like this. I would run medical terms through my mind, testing my expertise. Today, though, I listened to her and allowed her to paint the story in my head. I wanted an escape.

"People called him Fish. It was a nickname, and a good one at that, because boy could that man fish. I met him at a bar one night, of all places. I had no intention of being there at night — bars were not my kind of place back then because I was so uptight — a lot like you, in fact.

"Anywho, I had agreed to go with a girl from work whose husband had just left her. I guess she wanted to drown away some sorrows, but she ended up drinking gin and dancing the night away with some Marine. She ended up having the time of her life. She left me sitting in a chair alone, and sure enough, out of nowhere, a cowboy saddles up in the chair next to me and just starts talkin.'

"He was tall and blonde with khaki pants, a short-sleeved white polo, and cowboy boots — that's why I called him a cowboy. Despite his gorgeous appearance, I, of course, was not interested in talking to him; but somehow he just broke through to me and I left planning on meeting this stranger on a dock the next day at five in the morning to go fishing.

"I fell in love with him on that trip. He introduced me to a whole new world. He threw lines in the water and pulled in so many fish, it was like watching a cowboy lasso cattle and herd them into his corral. We talked about everything and nothing at all. And when our eyes would connect, my heart would stop and I just knew. You know honey, that feeling when you just know."

"No," I didn't know that feeling Grandma was referring to. All I knew was it sounded amazing.

"Well, that's a real shame, honey. A real shame. Anyway, just as sparks began to fly, a fish hit a line and I guess I was sitting in the wrong place or had my arm where I shouldn't have, but something pulled at my shirt and before I knew it, I was in the water and couldn't tell which way was up.

"It's an unusual feeling, knowing you are dying. Strangely enough, I was calm. My eyes were open. I saw the blue and greens of the Gulf Stream and the bubbles from the boat — or from my splash — dance around me and I remember thinking they looked like thousands of tiny glass angels. The next thing I saw was Fish — my Fish. He pulled me to the surface and then to the boat and gave me CPR. He said I was out for what seemed like hours, but must have only been minutes. Honey, have you ever heard of a man taking your breath away? Well, this man gave me my breath back. Anyway, after that day, darlin', no cubicle or power suit could have replaced the life I chose on the water."

"And what became of you and Fish, Grandma?" I was shockingly intrigued.

"That'll be for another day, honey. Another day."

I closed my eyes and took a big gulp of salt air.

Whitney Grady lives in Kinston with her husband James and their two children, Eliza and Thomas. She earned a master's degree in education from East Carolina University and teaches middle school communications at Arendell Parrott Academy. She has been published in "A Cup of Comfort for Teachers."