The Winter Issue of Midwestern Gothic is a little extra special this time around because it features the winners and finalists of our first ever Lake Prize, an annual awards for fiction and poetry that best represents the Midwest. It seeks to reward those who see the beauty of the region, whether that be quiet forests, gutted industrial wastelands, small towns or vibrant urban neighborhoods. The first time round, we got two stellar judges, Ander Monson and Mary Biddinger, and honestly, we couldn’t have been happier with the response we got to the contest.

While I loved all the Lake Prize entries, I wanted to highlight one of the other stellar pieces we published, “Longing” by Ben Tanzer. It’s a familiar scene to most folks, neighbors spending time together with their kids. But underneath that runs the protagonists desire for something different than what he’s got now. Is it freedom, is it the separateness that alcohol brings, or is it acting on the sexual tension he perceives between himself and the other husband? Longing, to me, is something core to a lot of the Midwestern experience – most folks have the responsibility and the integrity to hang on to something far longer than they should, even when what the desperately want and need is something else. Here’s an excerpt:

It’s what we, Lisa and I, do with them, Rita and Mark. Someone comes into a bottle of something new, different, on a work trip, or vacation, maybe from some random visitor from out of town, and we drink it until it’s gone, slowly for the most part, and civilized.

When the kids were younger we were more self-conscious about drinking until things got blurry or we couldn’t walk home easily. Back then there were diapers to change and bottles to heat-up.

Now we just let them run and run around Rita and Mark’s house, watching the same movies again and again, while we just drink and drink.

Tonight it’s whiskey.

I could tell you that I don’t have a problem with alcohol, but that’s what problem drinkers tend to say, and I am not a problem drinker.
They also tend to say that I only drink when I want to, that I can stop whenever I want, and that it doesn’t interfere with my life.

All of which I have definitely said, and all of which I mean.

Still, if you drink until things are blurry, and you cannot easily walk, and this despite the fact that your children are just steps away watching Despicable Me or chasing Guinea Pigs around the house, you might have a problem.

The real question I suppose is do I ever long for a drink, and the answer to that is yes, all the time. I can taste the alcohol hit my tongue even when it isn’t there, and feel the warmth burn the back of my throat.

So, do I long for that, that feeling of being both alive and dead all at once? Yes, endlessly.

Buy a copy of Midwestern Gothic : Winter 2015 – Issue 16 for the rest of the story, the Lake Prize winners and finalists, and many others inspired by the Midwest.