I wrapped my jacket around me to keep out the frigid air. It was cold and drizzly and my clothes were soaked. “The tapestry of life will outlast all of us,” my dad had always told me. “Everyone who has ever lived and ever will is a part of the tapestry. Sometimes a thread will come loose when the person it’s connected to has given up on life. Never become one of those loose threads, Allison.” But now I had become a loose thread. And I didn’t think I would ever be able to weave myself back in again. My life began to unravel when my father was diagnosed with cancer last year. He could still continue homeschooling me until he died three weeks ago. Then I was put in public school, and that was when I realized that there was no going back. That my life was changed permanently. My mom had always had a full time job, and with my dad gone, we needed the money more than ever. There was no way I could be homeschooled. * * * I was in the very back of the group, atop my brown and black, chomp-happy horse. The man at the front hadn’t told me its name. As I watched the tour guide go on and on about some historical landmark with only the teachers engrossed, as I watched the boys have a spit fight, and as I watched the girls gossip about who liked who, I wondered if anyone would really notice if I left. If anyone would wonder why I disappeared. The more I thought about it, the more I realized they wouldn’t. I was convinced no one would notice if I left. I made up my mind. I swiftly turned my horse around and galloped in the opposite direction. And just like that, I had begun my ride of infinity. I rode and rode until nightfall, and from sheer exhaustion, I eventually fell asleep on the horse. When I awoke, it was morning. My horse had halted. I quickly kicked it in the sides to get it moving, and then I noticed a tree line in the distance, lush and green and leafy. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was reach the tree line. I was hypnotized by grief, and all I wanted was one small bit of hope to cling on to. I began to convince myself that if I reached the tree line, all my problems would be gone. Both my parents would be awaiting me, I could be homeschooled again, everything I valued would be within reach. My life would be back to normal again. I could behold it. I could see it so clearly etched in my mind that I knew I could not turn back. I sent that horse galloping and galloping towards the tree line, without even pausing to think about what I was getting myself into. Had I been thinking straight, this never would have happened. I never would have left the “historical tour on horseback” field trip. But I did. And I didn’t have an ounce of regret. I was still so sure that I would reach the tree line, so sure that if I did, everything would be impeccable. I rode day and night, with no food or water, for so long I lost track of time. Yet the tree line never got any nearer. Never. My absurd impulsiveness finally stopped when the horse collapsed from exhaustion, and sent me sprawling on the dew-covered grass. Determined as I was to reach the tree line, I staggered to my feet and tried to run, but I could only make it a few steps before collapsing myself. I hit my head on something hard, and in the moment between consciousness and unconsciousness, I remembered. In that split second, I recalled so many of the times that my dad and I had had fun. Walking through the forest, the shining green canopy of trees overhead, learning the scientific names of all the mushrooms and plants. Going down the tallest slide at the water park. Jumping into the swimming hole in the river, the water sparkling like diamonds. Legions of memories swam in my mind. Then everything went dark. * * * I woke up to the sound of people shouting. Somebody was pulling on my leg. My eyes flew open, and I saw a crowd of people surrounding me. My class was there. Lots of unfamiliar people were there. Even an ambulance was present. My mom was there as well. So they had noticed. I was told that I had hit my head on a rock and that I had passed out. My throat was so dry I couldn’t speak. But I looked into my mother’s eyes, and she got the message: get me out of here. She had to carry me to the car because I was so weak I couldn’t stand up. Sitting in her navy blue Toyota, I realized I had not achieved anything. All I had done was made my mom think she would lose me, too. I had done it all for nothing. To this day, I am still a loose thread. Raina Sawyer, 11Santa Cruz, CA
Family
The Runaway
“Go to your room!” my mom shouted. “It’s not all because of Rose—it just didn’t work out this year!” “Didn’t work out because of her!” I said and stomped upstairs into my room. I knew I was acting like a baby. As my strict English teacher, Mrs. Hood, would say, “Grade six or age six?” The first thing I noticed when I got to my room was the picture of my mom, Daniel, Rose, and me in the bed at the birth center. We looked so much younger, so much more carefree. I passed my hand over the glass, looking at my brother’s face, forever frozen in laughter as he held the tiny bundle of newborn life that was Rose. I flung myself onto my bed and cried for a long time. Eventually, I heard the soft, slow pitter-patter of footsteps as Rose toddled into my room. She came over to me and slobbered on my face. “Mwuh!” she said triumphantly. For a moment, my heart melted. Rose looked so proud of herself. Even though she was only a baby, I could see how desperate she was for closeness to me. But this tenderness was quickly overpowered by anger and resentment. “Get out of my room!” I shouted at her. She saw that I was mad at her, and she ran out of the room—awkward, precarious, baby running. Every year since I was four-years-old, we had visited Lancaster, my grandma’s hometown and like a second home to us, on the first weekend of May for the annual carnival. I remember when I was four, the carnival was overwhelming, exhilarating. There was so much to hear and see! Now that I was almost twelve, the carnival didn’t give me the same kind of excitement, didn’t have its old charm. The rides were really for kids my brother Daniel’s age. But the previous year, my parents had taken a year off work and we had rented a house in Lancaster. Even though we only spent one year away from Annapolis, where we had lived since I was three, I had made lasting friendships there. I felt Lancaster would always be my true hometown. Transitioning back to life in Annapolis was harder than it had been in my nightmares. For months I had been looking forward to the carnival, a chance to reunite with my friends and forget my worries, albeit only for a weekend. But because of Rose, Rose’s sleep schedule, Rose’s needs, we’d had to break tradition and skip the carnival this year. I was devastated. My mom had tried to console me, saying things like, “Aren’t you getting too old for the carnival anyway?” But nothing she said made a difference. Even though I knew that the real reason for skipping the carnival was Daniel’s soccer tournament that Saturday, I desperately wanted a reason to blame Rose. Annapolis was lonely. A year away had been enough for my old friendships to fade. I was growing farther apart from my family, too. As a child, I had always been so close to my parents and even Daniel. What was the rift between us? Eleven. It had been the best year yet, but still not enough. I had so much. Why did I always want more? My emotions were like an M&M—anger the hard, colorful coating, covering up the sweet, rich sadness that lay beneath. I’ve always been a private person, masking my true feelings with another feeling, usually anger. My sadness and fear stays bottled up inside. I’ve always just convinced myself that one day, they’ll explode. When you’re feeling so upset, you often act impulsive and reckless, even stupid. I so badly wanted to go to the carnival, so badly wanted to see my old friends and leave behind my lonely, friendless life for the weekend. My mom didn’t understand how much it meant to me. So I decided I would run away for the weekend, go to the carnival myself. My parents would be worried sick, but they deserved it, I thought savagely. Silently I packed a few t-shirts, a sweater, and two pairs of jeans. I stuffed them in my backpack, and left the room. Rose was waiting for me at the door, her face tear-stained. She reached her chubby arms toward me, so pathetic. I hugged her. “I’m sorry,” I said, and I really was. Daniel was in his room, my dad was at the store, my mom was on the phone. This was my chance to escape. I slipped out the door. By the time I was at the end of the block, I realized I shouldn’t have just run off. I should have come up with a ruse, a story about where I was going. My overprotective mom was probably already panicking. Without looking behind me, my heart beating at an impossibly fast rate with terror, I ran. The wind seemed to be whispering my name. “Eva,” it echoed in my ears, “Come home, Eva, come home.” I shrugged it off, running faster. I glanced at my phone. The next bus was leaving for Philadelphia in less than an hour. I silently thanked heaven for my phone. With its help, I found the bus stop, surprising myself that I had made it this far. The bus driver, a burly, intimidating man, asked me where I was going. I hesitated, barely able to breathe. “Oh, hurry up or we’re leaving without you,” he burst out. “Philadelphia,” I gulped. I handed him the transaction. I only had enough money left for the ride to Lancaster from Philadelphia; there was no turning back now. I pushed away my guilt and felt a swoop of thrill in my stomach. I was finally on the way to Lancaster! After almost a year of waiting, I was making my dream come true! From Philadelphia, I caught a bus to Lancaster. I felt much more comfortable on the road to Lancaster. This was my true home! I knew my way around
Gleaming Star
I was young when it happened—a mere eight-years-old. Daddy had gone out one day for work . . . and hadn’t come back. The funeral was impossible to bear. Mama was crying hysterically, and the grey-streaked sky pounded down fat, round tears. That night though, Mama took me outside after dinner. The sky was calm then, and a warm breeze tickled my fingers and lazily tossed my hair around. Juniper bushes swung to the breeze’s song, and the flat New Mexico land stretched out around us. “Katie, look up,” Mama said as she pulled me up onto her lap. My eyes traced over the endless black sky, weaving in and out of the rooftops. “Do you see the estrellas, the stars?” Even though we are not Hispanic, growing up around Spanish-speaking people had rounded out my knowledge of the language, and Mama’s rich voice made the already beautiful words seem delicate and smooth, like chocolate. I nodded, staring into the tiny stars piercing the inky night sky. “See that one?” Mama pointed at an especially bright one, directly above me. “That’s Daddy, looking down at us.” I pressed my hands over my heart as silent tears began to roll down my cheeks. “I love you,” I whispered to him. And underneath my hands, deep down in my heart, I felt his voice. I love you too, my little gleaming star. I hear a truck rumble into our gravel driveway, and I push back my chair. Papers are in a tangled mess on the deck table, and I pull my eyes away from them. “Katie!” My mom rushes to me after she locks the doors to her truck. “Mama!” I hug her. “How is everything going? Bueno?” “Yes,” I say. “Hectic, though. It’s crazy.” Mama laughs. “Been there, sweetheart, been there. I still can’t believe my hija is getting married!!” She wraps me in another hug, and she begins to cry.” Your father would have been so proud.” She stands back and looks at me, a sad smile on her face. I force back tears. She had ripped apart the stitches to my time-worn wound. “So? Where is he?” As if on cue, Ben comes up behind me and gives me a hug. “Hi, honey. Ready for the wedding?” I give him a fake glare. “Far from it.” He smiles and we all go inside. Mama places the dinner she brought for us on the table. I get up to help Ben with the table settings, but he places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ve worked really hard today.” “So have you!” I protest. He laughs. “Figuring out the seating chart is not hard.” “Yes it is! If you put my Aunt Jennie in the sun, we won’t be able to hear the priest over her snoring!” He laughs again. “You just rest, okay?” I concede and watch their intricate dance, dodging each other as they glide around the kitchen and swirl around counters. The dinner of chicken, rice, and broccoli is eaten quickly, and before I realize it, Mama is whisking away plates. As Ben is washing the dishes, Mama collects her purse. “You don’t have to go just yet,” I try. Mama smiles. “I wish I could stay, sweetheart. But I—” “But Mama, the stars are lovely tonight. Just come and sit on the deck for a few minutes, please.” Mama sighs, but I can tell she is just putting on a show. She walks into the kitchen, wordlessly fills two large glasses with raspberry iced tea, and strolls out to the deck. I sit next to her on our old, rickety swing, which creaks ever so slightly when we move. It is metal, but painted white, and has little green vines encircling its arms. I lean into the old green cushion and relax a little. “Okay, Katie, what do you want to talk about?” My mama knows me so well. She knew I didn’t just want to sit. She knew I had something on my mind. I brush my hair out of my face and sip my raspberry iced tea. The moon is low tonight, and the night sky is covered in stars. The slight wind whistles as it dances in and out of the wooden slats on the deck floor, and a few tumbleweeds rustle across the wide-open land. I want to beat around the bush. I don’t want to tear open my wound anymore, but I know I have to say it. So I just start talking. “I know I should have figured this out already, given how close the wedding is. But . . . who’s going to walk me down the aisle?” Mama sits in silence for a few minutes. She places her hand on mine and stares up at the sky. “Katie,” she finally says, gazing up at the sky. “See that star?” I nod, looking up at the bright star she is pointing at, winking amidst the sky. “Daddy,” I whisper. Mama looks at me, fresh tears blossoming in her eyes. “That’s right, Katie. That estrella is your father. He’s probably listening right now. Can you hear what he’s saying?” “No,” I murmur, “but I can feel it.” I could. Hey, bonita. I’ll be at your wedding, okay? I’ll walk you down the aisle if you want, but maybe you should let your Mama do it. I’ll still be there, though. It’s okay to let go, and know that even when you do, I will always be there. Letting go doesn’t have to mean forgetting. I love you, my little gleaming star. “I love you, too, Daddy,” I whisper. Then I turn to Mom. “He wants you to do it.” A smile spreads across her face. “And do you want that, mi hija?” Tears flow down my cheeks as I nod a yes. She hugs me tightly, and as she does, I can feel my wound healing. Eventually, Mama stands up and heads inside. I stay out a
