One side of my heart is for myself and the other half is what other people see. Nestled deep in that half of my heart for me is a large black stain. That is where deaths have landed. Grandpa; Grandma; Mrs. Brown, the mother of my fifth-grade friend Tiana; and many others sit there. And Marie. When I was eight years old, I took a visit to my ancestors’ home, green Ireland. I remember Dublin, I remember cows, but mostly I remember Marie’s farm. Marie was my mother’s cousin—and my friend. She lived with a crowd of other friendly, elderly people. I remember one man with large hands and thick, dirty clothes from staying out all day. Marie was sixty-nine, a bit older than my parents. She was a kind woman and, although I did not remember her, it was as though she was always my best friend. The two of us set out tea and sat close to the stove—their only heating appliance. Being traditional Irish farmers, they had an old-fashioned home and heated only the main room during the day—a common practice throughout Ireland. Later, I’d spend time picking dewy, green Ireland flowers with my sister, Libby. We gathered them into great bouquets and I always gave mine to Marie. On a day that seemed ordinary enough, my family drove up to the house with its gray stone wall and swirling fog. I unbuckled and hopped out, smoothing my sweater as I did so. The air was wet and cool and I adored it. Smells of water and grass, and even cows, drifted along. A small sun shone weakly on my head, illuminating fiery red hairs. Glittering like tinsel on a tree, dewdrops trembled on their grass stems as I walked into the warm embrace of Marie. Everyone talked for a while and then the big-handed man asked, “Would anyone like to see a movie?” I walked into the warm embrace of Marie Everyone nodded, of course. But, after I realized that the movie was about milking seasons, I decided that picking flowers amongst the real cows was more interesting. A few hours later, I came back in, shivering and sporting a wide grin. The flowers went into a vase and Marie and I started afternoon tea. Throughout Ireland, friends and family gather each day for a small meal. Marie and I put out cream, tea, milk, biscuits, and cold cakes and sandwiches. We ate the crispy, hot, fresh biscuits and drank the thick, buttery milk and the hot, pronounced, sharp tea. Everyone talked and ate and laughed. Then Marie got a bit faint and we all quieted down. She was a bit twitchy for a few minutes. Then she was kind of just deflated. I asked her, “Are you all right?” She looked brave as she could manage and moaned, “I’m OK.” And for some reason, that was when my mom said, “You need to go up and get some rest.” But she found she was too weak to walk up the stairs. So we all helped her stand, and when my dad saw me holding her up, he told me to go away for a moment. Marie was lifted upstairs and I never have seen her since. My dad and mom finally came down. I wanted to stay and help Marie, but my parents told me to get in the car. So I did. But I fought and ran, back to the car and slammed the door, and begged my parents to turn around. But we left through those foggy gates, past that foggy brick wall into the foggy world. We went home to New York after that. Never did we get news. I soon learned to forget. Or pretended to, at least—until two weeks later, on St. Patrick’s Day. I loved St. Patrick’s Day— the green, the joy, and the celebrations. It would have been a marvelous day if the overseas phone call had not come. Marie had died. I appeared to be the same as always, outside—silly, talkative, understanding and listening. But inside, a part of my heart felt numb. My understanding about the permanence of life was now clearer. No more Marie. No more tea in that house beyond the misty gray lane. I learned to treat relationships with friends and family more deeply. I realized that, at any moment, loved ones could be ripped away from you. Outside forces, like people, can write your life story and take you down unexpected paths. My outlook about friendship has been edited because of Marie and that foggy brick wall. Marie Lee lived with her husband, Michael, on a cattle farm in County Cavan, Ireland. Cassie Armon, 11New York, New York Jessa Fogel, 13Bow, New Hampshire
Friendship
Mirror, Mirror
Ellie leaped from the incubator warmness of her covers to get ready for the day that lay ahead. The sun was rising and the day was still in its infancy, offering a new beginning, and new challenges. After spending some time in her closet looking for just the right combination of shirt, pants and boots, she stole one last glance at herself in her dresser mirror. “Yep, that’ll do,” she said, putting down the wand of her Sugar & Spice brand mascara. In the mirror, she saw a stylish girl staring back at her, with streaks of sunlight in her hair and promise in her smile. She smudged her eyeliner just the right amount. It was important to fit in at school. It took some doing, but all those trips to the mall with Hailey, Drew and Shoshanna had paid off. It wasn’t easy to run with the popular crowd; everything had to be perfect. There was a price to pay for being popular, but wearing that badge came with automatic lunch buddies at a reserved table, a crowd to hang out with every Friday night and a standing invitation to all the parties from anyone who was anybody. Ellie grabbed her books and ran to catch the school bus. Once aboard, she was careful to choose whom she sat with. Of course she wouldn’t want to be seen with the wrong person. Wow, she thought, being popular does take a lot of energy. But she smiled to herself. It was worth it. The morning moved as slow as a watched pot, but she knew things would pick up again by lunchtime. That’s when any gossip worth hearing would bounce around the cafeteria like a ball in Brownian motion. “Ellie, would you like to come over to my house Friday night for pizza and a movie?” “Hey, did you hear, Megan and Cole are going out?” asked Shoshanna. “No, I hadn’t heard that,” she exclaimed, being careful to hide too much surprise in her voice for fear she’d be taken as an outsider. “Did you hear that Avery and Jake broke up?” asked some junior wannabe sitting at the next table leaning over, clearly overstepping. Well, no she hadn’t heard that either. “Hey, did I tell you that they’re having a sale on these new boots at Glitz & Glamour? I got mine for half price last night,” announced Ellie, trying to change the subject. Her whole table cheered. That was something worth knowing. A low buzz continued between bites. It sounded more to Ellie like noise made by busybodies, rather than any useful communication, but surely this was what middle school was all about. It was all about seeing and being seen with the right crowd. From the corner of her eye, suddenly Ellie spied Melanie transfixed on her from across the crowded cafeteria. Oh no, she’s coming this way to talk to me, screamed Ellie anxiously in her mind. Melanie had been a friend ever since the first day of kindergarten when they both discovered their shared love for strawberry licorice and found out they had a common birthday. They had become instant friends and had celebrated almost every birthday in elementary school together. They had a lot in common. Both liked pink lemonade, jazz band and gymnastics. Ellie wondered exactly when their friendship had ended. Oh yeah, it was when Melanie had the nerve to wear that dorky lime-green sweater her grandmother had knit for her and sent her two birthdays ago, she reminded herself. She had been the laughingstock of the school. She wasn’t foolish enough to wear that sweater twice. But there was more to it than that. She just wasn’t popular and being popular meant everything, didn’t it? Melanie was walking faster now and heading directly for Ellie. There was no avoiding her. Suddenly, Melanie was standing right in front of her. Ellie tried to look away casually, like someone else had just called her name, diverting her gaze. “Ellie, would you like to come over to my house Friday night for pizza and a movie?” Ellie’s face turned a deep shade of fuchsia. She tried to pretend she didn’t hear, but Melanie was persistent and facing her now, demanding a reply. “Ellie, would you…?” “No, I heard you the first time, Melanie. Sorry, but I already have plans,” she heard herself grumble, noticing that everyone at the lunch table was listening and watching, enjoying her misery. Some were pointing. Ellie was squirming and uncomfortable, as if an army of itchy hives had suddenly infiltrated to pronounce their conquest. Some girls were even snickering out loud. They didn’t care whose feelings they hurt. Ellie turned away from Melanie sharply. Stony-faced, Melanie walked away. Ellie’s mind began to swirl with a thousand questions Ellie thought she had seen tears in those lovely root-beer-colored eyes, those eyes that effervesced with excitement whenever they shared secrets, like at those sleepless sleepovers in the distant past. Ellie was glad, however, that the unpleasant encounter was finally over and she could move on, but secretly she thought that a movie with Melanie actually sounded fun. She was getting bored of going to the mall every Friday night with the same tiresome friends who only talked about fashion, hair and makeup. She had given up so much to be popular. She let her honest feelings now float to the surface, including the stabbing pangs of guilt for treating her friend so harshly. The feeling of betrayal still stung when Ellie got home, but she tried to shrug it off. When she opened the mailbox at the edge of her driveway, part of every afternoon ritual, a letter addressed to her from her grandfather lay right on top. Ellie ripped open the envelope excitedly without taking another step. “My Dear Eleanora,” it read, “Your grandmother would have been so proud of you and the nice lady that you are becoming.” Ellie’s heart sank with her grandfather’s description. Being an immigrant,
The Drawing
“I’m moving.” Anabeth stared at Leo. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were wide. “What?” “I’m moving to New York City.” Anabeth gulped. “Funny. Ha ha,” she said tentatively. “It’s not a joke. I’m moving.” The words seemed to hang in the air. Anabeth stared at Leo across the basketball she held in her hands. “Why?” “M’dad got a new job.” “But you’ll come and visit, right?” “S’pose” “It’s not a joke. I’m moving” Anabeth didn’t know what to do, so she threw the ball. It bounced off the rim of the hoop. Leo’s gaze followed the ball as it rolled towards the shed, but he did not follow it. Neither did Anabeth. Later, Leo could not say how long they stood there silently. It seemed hours. Finally, Anabeth’s mom came out of the house and called, “Cookies!” * * * The next day at school Anabeth could not pay attention. Her eyes kept straying to Leo, who was sitting at the desk next to her. She kept replaying last night’s conversation in her mind. New York City. How could he live so far? She bent over her textbook and tried to read. What did she care if Peter Stuyvesant had a peg leg? She stole another glance at her best friend. He sat absorbed in his textbook, twirling one stray bang. She would miss that about him. No matter where he was, Leo was almost always twirling a bit of his jet-black hair. * * * Anabeth rode as fast as she could. Years of practice kept her from falling off her bike. The roads and houses and farms of Geneva, New York, flew past her. Her mind raced, trying to find something positive about the situation. At least we’re staying in the same state. He’s only going to be a day’s drive away. * * * Leo saw Anabeth coming five minutes before she arrived. When she got there she leapt off her bike and ran to him. Only when she was a few feet away did he realize she was crying. This was strange somehow. They stood there quietly for a moment. Then all at once, Anabeth let out a sob and ran forward. She flung her arms around him and then just cried. Leo returned the hug without really thinking. “Come on! We have to go!” Leo’s dad’s voice rang out through the silence. Anabeth detached herself from Leo and reached into her basket. She pulled out a piece of paper. “I thought you might want this.” She handed it to him. He unfolded the paper and looked at the drawing of a girl with blond hair and a boy with jet-black hair, riding bikes by a lake. He recognized it as Seneca Lake. He and Anabeth had often ridden their bikes there. “Come on!” Leo raised his eyes to Anabeth’s. “Good-bye… Anabeth.” She was crying again. “Good-bye.” He climbed into the car and stared out of the window. As he stared at his best friend in front of his house, growing smaller and smaller, a single tear ran down his cheek. * * * “Leo! Wake up!” Leo opened his eyes. The car was no longer speeding past country fields, but driving over a great bridge. Leo had lived in the more country-like part of Geneva, so the sight of the city ahead made his eyes grow wide. “Beautiful, right?” Leo shrugged. So far the Manhattan skyline was unimpressive. Just a jumble of buildings. “See that one in the middle? The really tall one?” Leo nodded. “That’s the Empire State Building.” They finally got to the other end of the bridge. The buildings here were much taller than the ones he normally saw. “We’re going to take a detour. We’ll go to Times Square.” His father took a bunch of turns and twists, following the streets that all looked the same to him. How could anybody find their way? Back in Geneva he and Anabeth had nicknamed all of the roads: Cherry Road (there was a Cherry tree), Farm Road (there was a bunch of farms). And then there was the best: Seneca Road. This road went all the way around Seneca Lake. Lost in thought, Leo stared out of the window, not really seeing. The streets sped past, not really meaning anything. “Leo, we’re here.” Leo woke from his daydreams, and the busy streets and loud music of New York came back to him. They were entering a little area that was like a town. Every building was made of the same red bricks. They stopped in front of a building. The building was on top of a hill, along with several other buildings. He climbed the stairs and peered around the corner of the building. Right next to the building that would soon be his home, was a little playground. * * * Several hours later, Leo stood in his room. It was fairly big. It had two windows, and pushed to one wall was his old loft bed and on another was a white shelf. He walked over to the shelf and pulled out the drawing. Now that he looked at it, he could see that all Anabeth’s artistic skill was put into it. He could see each strand of hair, even a twinkle in the eyes. But the real beauty was not them, but the lake behind them. She had managed to make it shimmer, and make each current a different shade of blue-green. She had drawn the beautiful trees that held white flowers. One fell onto his shoulder, and his hand went up from the bike to brush it away. The hills behind the lake were a rich green, and somehow Anabeth had drawn the mist so that it looked real. Leo took one last glance at it, and then tucked it away in a little box on the shelf. Then he lay on the bed and stared out of the window. He could see the city
