Lunch Ticket
  • Current Issue
  • Archive
    • Issues Archive
      • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Genre Archive
      • Creative Nonfiction
      • Essays
      • Fiction
      • Flash Prose
      • Interviews
      • Lunch Specials
      • Poetry
      • Translation
      • Visual Art
      • Writing for Young People
  • About
    • Mission Statement
    • Lunch Ticket Staff
      • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Achievements
    • Community
    • Contact
  • Weekly Content
    • Friday Lunch Blog
    • Midnight Snack
    • Amuse-Bouche
    • School Lunch
  • Contests
    • Diana Woods Award in CNF
      • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
    • Gabo Prize in Translation
      • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
    • Twitter Poetry Contest
      • 2021 Winners
      • 2020 Winners
      • 2019 Winners
  • Submissions
  • Search
  • Menu Menu
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Twitter

The Rucksack is Packed and Hidden in the Pantry

December 3, 2022/ Rachel Laverdiere

Now, I will thread my arms through my raincoat and pull on my galoshes. Heave the rucksack onto my back. There is little I’ll miss in this house I’ve been scrubbing for forty years.

I’ll hitchhike into the city. Tighten the straps and follow the crow swooping east, head toward the scent of death and rebirth—of decaying leaves composting into moist earth—until I reach the boulder that juts out into the river where I will stretch tall and shed years of dust as I watch the geese lighting on the sandbar. Each year, these geese stay long enough to raise their goslings. I’ve got my passport and cash. I’ll reunite with the lover nobody suspects. He is always waiting for me, always beckoning me toward adventure— Cochetopa Dome, Yellowstone. Now, he is on a beach off the coast of Italy, where he eats seasoned bread and grilled aubergines, and everything is soaked in sun. I will go to him, drink the fountain of youth from his mouth, make love in the vineyards, and vow never to fall asleep again.

I’ll hitchhike into the city. Tighten the straps and follow the crow swooping east, head toward the scent of death and rebirth—of decaying leaves composting into moist earth—until I reach the boulder that juts out into the river where I will stretch tall and shed years of dust as I watch the geese lighting on the sandbar.

No. I will put the rucksack back in its place. Return to where I belong, at the sink scouring the cast iron frying pans. I’ll watch grey water swirl down the drain just before I hear knocking at the back door where my grandson will ask if I found his stuffie, the blue bunny I gave him at Easter. He’ll look up at me with his sad obsidian eyes, and it will kill me as it does every time I realize my son became a man like his father. He does not have time for children. No time for a mother. Perhaps his ex-wife took my existence as a warning, and so she escaped. Every Sunday, I clear the table with my grandson while my sons clear their throats in the living room, exchange sections of the Globe & Mail. My grandson and I play Old Maid, the crows cackling outside, and make plans to gather obsidian at Yellowstone like his father and I did when he was a boy. I’ll mourn my grandson’s departure but know that I can fill my lonely time with scrubbing. Next Sunday, we will be sitting here again because this cycle of my life is never-ending.

No. I will put the rucksack back in its place. Return to where I belong, at the sink scouring the cast iron frying pans. I’ll watch grey water swirl down the drain just before I hear knocking at the back door where my grandson will ask if I found his stuffie, the blue bunny I gave him at Easter. He’ll look up at me with his sad obsidian eyes, and it will kill me as it does every time I realize my son became a man like his father.

No. My grandson will not be crying when I open the door. Blue bunny clutched in the crook of his elbow, he will extend a dandelion bouquet. I’ll put it into the golden macaroni jar his father made one Mother’s Day long ago. A crow will caw from the jack pine as my grandson and I walk past the obsidian inukshuk his father and I built in the garden an eternity ago. As my grandson buckles up, I will talk to his father about what needs to change. Show him the macaroni jar. Try to convince him that I am still alive and that we should return to Yellowstone with my grandson, remind him of how much fun we used to have together. But my son will shake his head and say, The boy must return to his mother’s. My grandson and the blue bunny will offer sad little waves from the back window as they drive away before I go inside to polish the worn linoleum as I cry.

No. There won’t be a knock at the door. It will be a crow pecking, reminding me that my lover is waiting. I’ll return the rucksack to its spot in the pantry before I head into the living room where Jake is clearing his throat. Slippered feet crossed at the ankle on the velvet ottoman, he will be lazing over the Globe & Mail. He won’t look up when I enter. He forgets he used to choose me over the stock exchange, so I will yank a slipper from his foot and toss it at his head. Tell him I never planned to grow old in a still-life museum where we don’t touch or talk. He’ll get that look that says, Haven’t I given you a good life? This house, our boys, the seasonal pass to the golf course? And what about our trips to Yellowstone? I’ll remember the large crow heckling until I followed it back to our campsite, where Jake pelted it with chunks of obsidian I’d collected until it screeched and swooped and knocked him down. “Relentless,” Jake spat as he patted gravel and pine needles from his knees. The crow cackled and shook its regal head. A blue-black feather fell at my feet. When I tell Jake I am leaving, he won’t be listening. Won’t notice the raincoat or galoshes. Won’t notice my absence until his stomach growls. By then, I will be pulling my passport and some cash from the rucksack, buying a ticket to the beach where I’ll join my lover and sleep in his arms again.

No. There won’t be a knock at the door. It will be a crow pecking, reminding me that my lover is waiting.

No. I will only be thinking about threading my arms into the raincoat, picturing the rucksack and the possibility of my lover. A crow tap-tap-tapping at my window will surprise me. Its beady black gaze will pierce my thoughts, convince me it’s the same crow from Yellowstone. It will beckon me to the back door. An ebony feather will flutter to worn linoleum, reminding me that the feather it left for me in Yellowstone is tucked into the rucksack with the chunk of obsidian from my lover. I’ll hesitate because there’s always the chance that I’m going senile. Heartache plays tricks on the mind. The crow will screech and swoop past the gate, land on the Jack pine at the edge of our property and convince me to heave the rucksack onto my back. In the distance, geese will honk their return, reminding me that it’s time to leave.

Rachel Laverdiere Headshot

Rachel Laverdiere writes, pots, and teaches in her little house on the Canadian prairies. She is the creative nonfiction editor at Atticus Review and the creator of Hone & Polish Your Writing. Find Rachel’s latest prose in Burningword Literary Journal, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Bending Genres, and Five South. Her creative nonfiction has appeared on The Wigleaf Top 50 and been nominated for Best of the Net. Rachel is a finalist for this year’s Anne C. Barnhill Prize for Creative Nonfiction. For more, visit www.rachellaverdiere.com.

Issue Archive

  • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
  • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
  • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
  • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
  • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
  • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
  • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
  • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
  • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
  • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
  • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
  • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
  • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
  • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
  • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
  • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
  • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
  • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
  • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
  • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
  • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
  • Issue 1: Spring 2012

Genre Archive

  • Creative Nonfiction
  • Essays
  • Fiction
  • Flash Prose
  • Lunch Specials
  • Poetry
  • Interviews
  • Translation
  • Visual Art
  • Writing for Young People

Friday Lunch Blog

Friday Lunch! A serving of contemporary essays published every Friday.

Today’s course:

The Night I Want to Remember

December 16, 2022/in 2023ws-migration, Blog / Sanaz Tamjidi
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/12/paul-volkmer-qVotvbsuM_c-unsplash-scaled-1.jpg 1704 2560 Sanaz Tamjidi https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Sanaz Tamjidi2022-12-16 16:12:142022-12-16 16:12:14The Night I Want to Remember

From Paper to the Page

November 18, 2022/in 2023ws-migration, Blog / Annie Bartos
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/11/IMG-7101-1-scaled-1.jpg 2560 1920 Annie Bartos https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Annie Bartos2022-11-18 12:27:332022-12-07 19:27:42From Paper to the Page

Confessions of a Birthday Person

November 4, 2022/in 2023ws-migration, Blog / Meghan McGuire
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/11/angele-kamp-poH6OvcEeXE-unsplash-scaled-1.jpg 2560 1736 Meghan McGuire https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Meghan McGuire2022-11-04 12:00:422022-12-07 19:11:45Confessions of a Birthday Person

More Friday Lunch Blog »

Midnight Snack

A destination for all your late night obsessions.

Tonight’s bites:

Mending the Heart and Slowing Down: Reintroducing Myself to Mexican Cooking

October 7, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Megan Vasquez
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/jason-briscoe-VBsG1VOgLIU-unsplash-scaled.jpg 1707 2560 Megan Vasquez https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Megan Vasquez2022-10-07 23:55:352022-10-07 19:31:09Mending the Heart and Slowing Down: Reintroducing Myself to Mexican Cooking

The Worth of a Billionaire’s Words

September 23, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Kirby Chen Mages
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/09/image2-scaled.jpeg 2560 1920 Kirby Chen Mages https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Kirby Chen Mages2022-09-23 23:56:162022-09-23 21:56:42The Worth of a Billionaire’s Words

Abyssinia

August 26, 2022/in Midnight Snack / JP Goggin
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/Goggin-headshot.jpg 1422 998 JP Goggin https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png JP Goggin2022-08-26 23:55:342022-08-27 17:46:29Abyssinia

More Midnight Snacks »

Amuse-Bouche

Little bites every Monday to whet your appetite!

Today’s plate:

Still Life

October 31, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche / Daniel J. Rortvedt
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/827C31B5-92AE-4C32-9137-3B4AED885093-scaled.jpeg 2560 1920 Daniel J. Rortvedt https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Daniel J. Rortvedt2022-10-31 11:59:312022-10-30 21:59:49Still Life

Litdish: Writing About Grief: An Interview with Jenn Koiter

October 24, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche / Interviewed by Gail Vannelli
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/Koiter-Headshot.jpeg 1983 1586 Interviewed by Gail Vannelli https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Interviewed by Gail Vannelli2022-10-24 11:55:162022-10-24 10:10:07Litdish: Writing About Grief: An Interview with Jenn Koiter

Dawn from Buffy Learns About Climate Change

October 10, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche / Alyson Mosquera Dutemple
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/Dutempleauthorpic_2022.jpg 1389 1466 Alyson Mosquera Dutemple https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Alyson Mosquera Dutemple2022-10-10 11:48:192022-10-10 14:29:12Dawn from Buffy Learns About Climate Change

More Amuse-Bouche »

School Lunch

An occasional Wednesday series dishing up today’s best youth writers.

Today’s slice:

I’ve Stayed in the Front Yard

May 12, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Brendan Nurczyk
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/SL-Insta-Brendan-Nurczyk-2.png 1500 1500 Brendan Nurczyk https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Brendan Nurczyk2021-05-12 10:18:392022-02-01 13:24:05I’ve Stayed in the Front Yard

A Communal Announcement

April 28, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Isabella Dail
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/SL-FB-Isabella-Dail.png 788 940 Isabella Dail https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Isabella Dail2021-04-28 11:34:132021-04-28 11:34:13A Communal Announcement

Seventeen

April 14, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Abigail E. Calimaran
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/SL-Insta-Abigail-E.-Calimaran.png 1080 1080 Abigail E. Calimaran https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Abigail E. Calimaran2021-04-14 11:22:062021-04-14 11:22:06Seventeen

More School Lunch »

Word From the Editor

Our contributors are diverse and the topics they share through their art vary, but their work embodies this mission. They explore climate change, family, relationships, poverty, immigration, human rights, gun control, among others topics. Some of these works represent the mission by showing pain or hardship, other times humor or shock, but they all carry in them a vision for a brighter world.

More from the current editor »
Current Issue »

Connect With Us

lunchticket on facebooklunchticket on instalunchticket on twitter
Submit to Lunch Ticket

A literary and art journal
from the MFA community at
Antioch University Los Angeles.

Get Your Ticket

We’ll keep you fed with great new writing, insightful interviews, and thought-provoking art, and promise with all our hearts never to share your info with anyone else.

Newsletter Signup
Copyright © 2021 LunchTicket.org. All Rights Reserved. Web design and development by GoodWebWorks.
Scroll to top