My Burton had a taste for dramatics. Her daily schedule was crammed full of acting lessons, ballet, and auditions. Her room overflowed with masks, stage makeup, and old playbills. Every day after school she would walk over to the acting studio where she took musical theater classes. Often, she would come home with amazing news about her budding career. Her parents knew how much she loved the spotlight. They knew of her ability to mold herself into any role, to put her heart into what she was doing. But Amy felt that, if she could be seen in a different way, her talent could shine more brightly. She soon found a way to be a shining star while mending a broken heart. However, it wasn’t how she had planned. “Amy! It’s time to go!” called Mom. It was April 28, Amy’s twelfth birthday, and they were going to New York’s Hollywood—Broadway. They would see Phantom of the Opera, eat at the best diner in town, and ride the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. Amy was so excited she practically fell down the stairs. She had on her favorite stargazing (as she called it) outfit—bright pink flares, a white chenille sweater, and open-toe jellies. Like a filmstrip, she was ready to roll. The pair climbed into the family’s blazing blue Chevy and blasted up the music. The spring air nipped at their cheeks and Amy’s hair sparkled yellow in the sunlight. “Sweetie,” said Mom, “before we go, I’d like to stop over at Rolesrose and pick up that crystal necklace your dad bought me.” “How’s it look, honey?” Mom yelled over the buzz of the cash register “Sure, Mom,” Amy replied, and off they went. Rolesrose was an antique shop owned by a cute old lady named Edna Berg. She seemed to have many secrets, as did her shop. It accommodated everything from glass elephants to Barbies in prom gowns to ship models and exotic souvenirs. The car stopped with a jolt, and the twosome jumped out and opened the rusty door of “antique paradise.” Amy wandered over to where the old movie cameras were. But it wasn’t the cameras she thought whimsically delightful. It was the jewelry box made of pink stained glass that fascinated Amy. A rainbow of delicately beaded figures, representing dancing women, dangled off the sides. On the top was a set of brass comedy and tragedy masks trimmed with turquoise rhinestones. Inside were various gem compartments. Amy’s fingers crawled gently over the smooth glass and the colorful beads. The brass mask models on the dazzling box seemed to glitter and glow. Next to this box, on the same dusty shelf, was a showcased jade elephant, its varnish glinting in the dim light. Although the bright jade color was beautiful, the elephant didn’t have the same magical beauty that the jewel box had. It didn’t have the shine, the shimmer, the feeling. However, Edna Berg often referred to this elephant as her husband’s favorite. Mr. Berg claimed it took him down nostalgia lane, back to when he fought in the Korean War. Amy looked over to where her mother was, trying on an iridescent string of crystals. “How’s it look, honey?” Mom yelled over the buzz of the cash register. Then her voice broke into a whisper. “Daddy has good taste, don’t you think?” She raised her eyebrows and Amy chuckled. “Well, he found you, didn’t he, Mom?” Her mother smiled, then turned back to the mirror. Amy turned back to her thoughts, too. Hmmmm, she thought. After all the times she had visited Rolesrose, she had never gathered up enough courage to look at the price of the box she admired. Today’s the day, she thought. Besides, nothing will ruin my day. It’s my birthday! Her hand skated across the shelf the box was on with excitement, feeling for the back of the box because the shelf was so cluttered. Catching mental hold of where it ended width-wise, she edged her way carefully around to the back of the shelf. Peering through the clutter, her eye caught hold of the familiar twinkle of the jewel box. She reached in carefully and began pulling out the prized object. With an abrupt motion, her hand froze. Her nail had gotten stuck on something. She jiggled her hand back and forth and realized that in order to get the box she would have to yank it out of its place. She began to pull and felt her nail split, but her burning desire to take a peek at the jewel box’s price erased the pain. She jerked the box from the shelf and sighed a breath of relief. But before her smile had a chance to appear, she heard a glassy crash. Startled, Amy winced. She twirled around and fixed her gaze on what had fallen. It was the jade elephant! Amy’s mouth burned; her eyes stung with pity and anger. How could she break something as valuable as this? Amy quickly began sweeping up the pieces with her sandals. She could take them home secretly and glue them together. But the right thing to do, she knew, was to tell the truth. Yet how could this one girl, who broke the most precious thing in an old man’s life, tell the truth? Amy drew near the tear-streaked face of Edna Berg, who had seen the crash and looked as broken apart as the elephant itself. “I’m so sorry,” Amy said in tears. “I promise I’ll replace it.” There was a long pause, interrupted by a raspy voice. “It’s not the money,” Edna sobbed. “It’s that my husband held it so close to his heart.” Amy bit her tongue. “I didn’t know how much it meant to him,” she lied. She stroked Edna’s arm to comfort her. “The truth is, sweetheart,” the woman began, “my husband is very sick. The doctor said he has had another stroke and is becoming weaker every day.” The poor woman collapsed
Morality
That Small Whisper
“How did you sleep last night?” my sister Rose asks. She tosses back her honey-brown hair and hands me the breakfast bowl she just washed. “OK,” I reply, rinsing it, “but I woke up with a headache.” Rose is eleven, three years older than me, and usually we get along well. But today I am feeling grumpy. “I didn’t sleep too well,” says Rose, “because you were wiggling around and had most of the blankets.” Immediately, I rush to my defense. “I did not have all the blankets! They were just as much on your side!” “I didn’t say you had all the blankets,” she says. “You meant it though!” Rose makes an impatient splash in the dishwater and I am silent. Standing tiptoe on my yellow footstool, I glance over the soapy bowl at her. Looking innocent in her teddy-bear nightgown, she scrubs dishes fiercely until her patience returns. But, yes, gazing intently at her, I can tell that she, with her rosy-cheeked face looking so sweet, is plotting the great evil she is going to do. Today she will try to steal more blankets to her side when we make the bed. I know she is scheming, getting ready to make her move and probably even sorting out words to put me in the wrong. I look back down at the bowl I am rinsing. I had better be ready and have my argument prepared. “How did you sleep last night?” my sister Rose asks “Let’s make the bed now,” says Rose, emptying the blue dish tub and wiping the counter. “All right.” You certainly aren’t always that anxious to make the bed, I think. I’ll expose you before you have a chance to rejoice in your success. But as we trudge up the carpeted stairs, my conscience bothers me. Do the blankets really matter that much? And as we round the corner to our bedroom an annoying thought tickles my brain. Just apologize for wiggling so much and let her have more bedspread. But I instantly shove the thought away. No! She shouldn’t get away with this. We remove the pink pillows and blankets from the bed. I have to put her in her place, I think, as we spread the sheets and blankets back on. After smoothing them down, the time has come for me to expose her. Something whispers to me, “Don’t!” but I ignore it again and, peering at her side, I exclaim, “Rose! You have more blankets on your side!” She glances up, astonished. What fake surprise, I think. “No I don’t,” she replies calmly. “You do too. Come look.” Coming to my side of the bed she says, “You have just as much as I do, maybe more!” “Oh yeah?” With my hands, I measure the bedspread that hangs over my side and hold up my hands for her to see. “Now go measure your side,” I command. Obediently she returns to her side and measures in the same way, but when her hands are held up, I can tell (oh the evilness of it!), she has made her hands closer together on purpose. “See?” she says. “No! You made your hands closer together!” “All right,” she retorts hotly, “if you don’t believe me, get the ruler!” Rose’s patience has run out and her brown eyes begin to spark. As I march angrily to our desk to get the ruler, I glance at her side of the bed again. Uh-oh. Maybe she doesn’t have more. Maybe today she hadn’t been planning to steal more bedspread! Maybe . . . but of course, we have to be sure. Oh, I should not have started this mess. The tension bears down as we measure her side of the bedspread. The ruler reads 11 ¾ inches. “Are you still sure I have more?” Rose says, glaring at me. “Ye- . . . Yes.” Actually, I’m not sure. But I have to stick to my story. Now to measure my side. The pressure is so thick I can barely see. My heart begins to pound and perspiration dots my upper lip as Rose presses the ruler to the blankets. I hang back, afraid to look, my legs trembling. What if I have more? “Twelve inches!” Rose announces triumphantly. No! It can’t be! I refuse to accept it. “Let me see!” I insist, trying to sound overpowering, and I snatch the ruler from her hands to measure for myself. But the ruler still reads twelve inches. I sigh. Not daring to look at her, I slam the ruler back on the desk and, pursing my lips, I stalk out of the room. After tramping angrily about for a while, I lean heavily against the wall. Why did I ever start that argument? How I want to go back and start over. I should have listened to my conscience. It was just a small whisper, but it sure would have saved a lot of trouble. And as I cool off and think back, I am thankful that my conscience still pricks and annoys me. Peering into the room, I see Rose slamming drawers as she gets ready for the day. It looks as if I’ve spoiled her morning. I swallow hard and go in to apologize. Neva Pederson, 13Agua DuIce, California Alice Feng, 12North Potomac, Maryland
Feelings Towards a Bear
I was playing with them, actually playing with them. They were just like Dad’s rug, but my size, and alive! I cuddled in their soft black fur. Their padded leather paws threw me and I fell, laughing. We rolled into each other and onto each other. And their big round eyes looked at me, comfortingly. They felt the same way towards me as I felt towards them. Their claws gently played with and tangled my long brown, curly hair. “Ann, Ann! Where are you hiding this time!?” I gave each of them a big hug, which they returned with licks that filled my whole face. “Ann, Ann! Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Where could such a small three-year-old girl be hiding? “Here I am, Daddy.” Where was that from? Oh, from over there, all the way across the valley, right outside the big forest. I ran to her as she ran to me. She gave me the biggest hug she could. “Where have you been?” “Oh, Daddy, it was so much fun. I was playing with black furry animals, like your coat and rug.” “Wow!” I said, laughing. “You’ve got a great imagination. Well, Daddy’s going hunting and he wants you to go with him, do you want to?” I asked her for the first time. Her face lit up brighter than the sun. I was playing with them, actually playing with them “Really, can I?” “Yes, this time you can.” She was unaware of what hunting really was, but she knew I did it for a living, and it had to do with animals, that she then could keep forever. * * * The clear, blue sky slowly shifted into green and yellow leaves. The long valley changed to brown evergreen trunks. I hadn’t ever been in the woods except this morning when I went a few feet into its shadowy depths. I was a little frightened so I clung to Daddy’s legs. But he acted very different. He was calm and blended in with the trees. I did anything but that. I was like a baby bird struggling to get the first worm from its mother. Suddenly Daddy froze. I froze as well. He tiptoed lightly off the path and into the dense forest. I stayed frozen from fright, unable to move. I saw Daddy’s head tilt cautiously from behind the tree trunk. His hand gestured for me to come. My young girl stalked towards me, her eyes open like two full moons. We walked a little further into the forest. I could hear something very distinct. It was a buzz accompanied by scratching and patting. I stopped and cleared away the branches of an overgrown shrub. I saw a big mother bear picking out the honey from a bumblebee’s nest. Quietly, I lifted Ann so she could see the big animal. I set her down, while raising my rifle to eye level. Slowly, I pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang and Ann fell over into the mud. “Daddy, what was that about?” “Come,” I said. * * * What had happened? I wanted to see the big beautiful animal more. But obviously the loud noise had scared it away. “Come,” he said again. Then he walked through the shrubbery. I followed. Without looking around I said, “I want to see it again.” All he said back was, “Look.” I raised my head to see the bear lying there with its eyes closed. One small part of its thick black hair had turned slightly red. “Did it fall asleep?” “Of course it did.” The bees were still humming around their broken-up nest. The bear still had honey around its mouth. Daddy ran up to the bear. “Won’t you wake it?” I whispered. “Of course,” he said, “I forgot.” I wish I could just tell her the truth, but I couldn’t, she wouldn’t understand. “Do you remember how to get back home?” I said to her. “Yeah, Daddy, you just follow the path back until you see the house.” “Well why don’t you go back, I’ll be here awhile, to see if the bear gets up.” “Can I stay with you?” My mind was racing my words, but losing. “It’s getting late. I think you should go back.” “OK, fine.” * * * I started walking back, but turned behind a pine tree to wait and see what Daddy was really doing. I could still hear him even over the sweet songs of the birds and the chirping metronome of the crickets. My eyes closed and I was lulled to sleep. Taking such a young girl hunting with me was not such an easy feat. She had too many questions that she would regret asking and I would regret telling. I was almost done carrying the bear on the new but old-looking sled that I had made out of old sticks from the forest. The sled was brittle and I would probably burn it in tonight’s fire. I couldn’t wait to give Ann the stuffed bear for her fourth birthday. I reached the valley that was glazed by the full moon. Now I could see our house that was just across the valley. The heavy sleigh jerked across the dry grass, and before I knew it, I was home. I crept inside, past Granny who was sleeping in her old wooden rocker with her knitting in her lap, past our room where I could hear Janet, my wife, snoring, till I came to Ann’s room where I quietly opened the door to look into the darkness. Faintly, in the murky light I could see her bed, with no one in it! * * * I woke up to the hooting of an owl. The crickets were still chirping and I could feel the warm breath of an animal. I looked to the side to see one of the bears I played with that morning. I looked away to see the two other bears on
