The latch creaks gently as I push open the gate. In front of me, a small potting shed covered with wild roses blocks my view. But I already know by heart what lies beyond. And sure enough, as I walk around the corner of the shed, the sight of a familiar garden greets my eyes. But it isn’t just any garden, it’s my garden. Even though anyone can come here, it has always seemed to belong just to me. It has been my sanctuary in times of sadness and my inspiration in times of joy. But most of all, it has always been somewhere where time seems to melt away: where there are no math papers due, no people to be polite to, no mothers to get into fights with. Everywhere I look, a perfect tapestry of color and shape greets my eyes. Here, perfect rays of sunlight reach down long fingers to gently caress the silvery leaves of a grove of aspen trees. There, a vibrant butterfly gently alights on the lip of a delicate blue-and-gold flower, slowly fanning its wings, anticipating its first sip of nectar. I breathe in deeply, inhaling the mingled scents of rose and hibiscus. Slowly, I can feel the anger coiled tightly around my heart loosen its grip. The memory of my most recent fight with my mother starts to fade. Everywhere I look, a perfect tapestry of color and shape greets my eyes For the past few years, our fights have become more and more frequent. Sometimes I feel like just flinging open the front door and running away. Usually I resort only to slamming the door. This time was just one time too many, that’s all. I couldn’t face her anymore. I had finally opened that door and left. At first, my intention was to leave and never return. But now I wasn’t so sure. The garden was having its usual effect on me: putting the jumbled thoughts in my head back into place, sorting out the tangled knot of anger and confusion I felt inside. No matter, I thought. I won’t let myself think about that right now. As I venture deeper and deeper into this garden of miracles, I come to a small bridge adorned with horsetails on either side. Instantly I am transported back in time to when I was six. My Mama and I walk hand-in-hand over this very bridge. “Wait, Mama!” I say, bending over. “I want to see the fishies!” Mama lies down on the rough wooden planks next to me, and we both spend the next ten minutes immersed in the activities of the fish. When we sit up again, slightly stiff and sore, Mama reaches out and pulls a horsetail toward her. “Look!” she says with as much excitement as if she were the one being shown this small miracle for the first time. Gently, she pries the sections apart and lays them on the wet ground next to her. “Now, watch!” Carefully, she picks up each piece and fits them together again. I can feel my eyes bugging out of my head! After a few minutes of labor, she holds up the horsetail exactly as it had been before she picked it. “Ta da!” she exclaims proudly. As my memory fades, I can feel my eyes start to swim with unshed tears. Even though sometimes I feel as though I hate her, I know that inside I will always really love her. Even though sometimes I want to slap her, I know that inside she will always be that same Mama who showed me the horsetails, all those years ago; and that I will always be the same little girl who clung to her hand and exclaimed over the fishies’ activities. For better or worse, she is my Mama, and I love her. Emma Agnew,13Topanga, California Lara Gechijian,13Lincoln, Massachusetts
Family
The Animal Kingdom
Clouds lollygagged across the sky, carried gently by the occasional half-hearted gust of wind. The sun, giving its all for that clear sunny perfect day we’d been hoping for, was defeated by the humid cloud that seemed to swallow up all of Pinckney, Michigan. We were left sticky and disgusted but somehow satisfied with the green grass that had finally replaced the snow. Sounds like any old April day, right? Ha! That’s what I thought too. If I could have predicted the future then, I wouldn’t come back to this memory, my last good memory with him, every other night in my dreams. If I could undo everything now and relive it over and over again and never feel anything but the feeling I had then and there, I’d be happy I would be honestly happy for the rest of my life. Yeah, if I could undo everything and erase the unwanted, everything would be fine. But I can’t, and it’s not. You see, it started as just another one of my trips to Michigan to visit my crazy, gotta-love-’em, family. Mom was hustling around, neatly stuffing all of the essentials into suitcases. Dad was doing what she told him to. Fluffy, our cat, was lying on the suitcases, effectively protesting our departure. And I was going through a mental list of everything I needed and always forgot: alarm clock—check; riding jeans and sneakers—check; underwear—check; hair towel—ooh . . . the hair towel—check. It was all normal. Things still proceeded as normal from the taxi ride, to the plane ride, to the two-hour car ride to my grandparents’ house in Pinckney, Michigan. I loved the beautiful spot. Grandpa loved us, and we all loved being there . . . together When we finally arrived we were greeted with hugs and kisses from my aunts, cousins and of course my grandma and grandpa. There, and only there, my mother finally relaxed and got prepared for sleeping in and no cooking. I was happy too for I was at my favorite place in the world. What could be better than to be spoiled, loved, always have something to do, and be surrounded by cousins? Days in Michigan were always laid back: sometimes we would go to Screams, a Halloween-themed ice cream store appropriately placed in Hell, Michigan; other times we would ride horses, go to the lake, or just hang out and be with each other. I guess it didn’t really matter what we did, as long as it was with the people we loved. The first day started like it always did in Michigan, at 7:30, to the TV news and laughing voices of my grandparents. I tiptoed down the squishy-carpeted steps like I always did and snuggled into my spot in my grandpa’s lap. Then after a minute, he started drumming his fingers on my knee, like he always did. As the day proceeded, my newly crowned four-year-old cousin came over and was excited to see me, her magical cousin. After chasing her around for half the day and laughing a lot, I was tired and the humid air got me feeling stickier than a melted popsicle, but no, Katie wasn’t tired. At that point I dragged her over to where my grandpa was sitting drinking some ice water on the porch and I gave him a look. He seemed to receive it correctly as “Help me!” because he looked at Katie and asked her if she wanted to go on a picnic. I watched and smiled as her little blue eyes widened and her jaw dropped. I followed her into the kitchen where we packed some crackers and pop in a little wooden basket with a quilt. We then tromped back out and met my grandpa where he was standing, turning off the electric fences that contained the horses. We started walking past the barn—a place filled with happy memories of horseback riding. Inside I could hear hoofs hitting the ground, music playing and my aunt singing along. We kept walking into the pasture where Peaches and Misty, the large, beastly, gorgeous inhabitants, munched on their evening hay, and down the long hill to the back of the pasture, farther and farther away from my grandma who I could still see in the bright kitchen happily making dinner. I had never been that far back in my grandparents’ property. I asked him where we were going but he just said, “You’ll see.” I laughed and looked over at my little cousin who was smiling and looking very excited. We kept walking, past the compost pile and the garden, past the little heap of junk that we never got around to cleaning up, farther and farther into the silence broken only by the occasional chirp of the crickets. We finally ducked under a broken part of the fence and entered a new world, our world. Katie called it the Animal Kingdom. There weren’t many inhabitants: just some bunnies, a gopher we expected by the hole, the occasional deer, and some bugs. You might think that it was generous to call it an animal kingdom but that is what it was. In our kingdom we found a broken metal chair that looked like it had been sitting there for years, obviously of a long, royal, mysterious past. That would be the throne. We also found some ducks, a mommy and a daddy, that would be the king and queen. You might say it was nothing special, just a grassy spot on the edge of a secret duck pond, sheltered by trees and high grass. Forgotten and taken over by the bugs. But it wasn’t, not to us. We loved it. Katie loved the bramble bushes, which, if you were willing to get scratched a little and push aside the branches, revealed a top-secret hideaway I loved the beautiful spot. Grandpa loved us, and we all loved being there . . . together. We had our picnic on the edge of
Not Ready
There, sitting on my bed, was my mom, my hero, and she was sobbing “Mommy, nooo! Don’t make me go!” I clutched the leg of my highly embarrassed mother as she tried to calm my fears. It was my first day of preschool and I was terrified. I began to cry even harder when my mom attempted to pry me off of her leg. She told me that she’d be back very soon and that my teacher was extremely nice, but I held fast. I was unconvinced. The other little children stared at me with wide eyes as they witnessed the scene I was making. It wasn’t pretty. My face was stained with tears and they continued to stream down my reddened cheeks. After a great deal of coaxing, encouraging, and bribing, though, I too was sitting in a little plastic chair inside a room that I was sure to be tortured in. The entire afternoon I refused to fingerpaint, eat a snack, or sing the alphabet. * * * As I sat at the kitchen table a smile spread over my lips and I had to laugh at the old memory. It was hard to believe that the little four-year-old girl had once been me. But deep inside that was really how I felt, unwilling to leave my mother and detach myself from the familiar lifestyle I had lived for so long. I didn’t want to take the next step. I knew that I had to, though. It was only another turn on the winding road of life. Making my way to my bedroom, the room I had loved for so long, I let out a heavy sigh. When I reached the doorway I was taken aback. There, sitting on my bed, was my mom, my hero, and she was sobbing. I slowly crept to her side and tried to com-fort her trembling form but soon found myself weeping as well. We cried together for a while, and it was my mom who gathered herself first. She smiled at me, squeezing me close. I returned her smile through my tears, glancing over at my packed bags and large bundles. I thought about college. What would it be like? I dismissed the thought, all that I wanted now was the comfort of my mother’s arms. Aubrey Lawrence, 12Hinckley, Ohio Marsha Trego, 13Ford City, Pennsylvania
