Fiction
CHAPTER ONE I start to shiver and my feathers begin to puff instinctively. It’s getting colder, and I can tell through the slats in my crate that it must be night. The humming of the truck mingles with the soft song of disheartened birds. Occasionally, I join in. The events of the day flash through my mind. There was only a light misting today, unlike the heavy rainfall we usually get in the rainforest. The sky seemed bluer than usual, the wind more refreshing, the sun brighter. Everything smelled fresher, looked greener, sounded happier. In the morning, I rolled around in a giant wet leaf to bathe. I found a high branch to sit on, near the canopy. The vast expanse of sky above me made me feel like soaring. So I did. Above the rainforest, troubles, and worries. The afternoon was spent preening and drying my plumage in the sun. I managed to find a large clump of berries today. The forest floor was a treasure trove of ripe goodies. I even found a whole peach. It’s a good thing too because I haven’t had any food since a small nut was tossed in this box. Thinking of home makes me nostalgic. I try to shift my wings, but they are covered with cardboard pieces, which are attached to me with a rubber band that wraps around my body. I close my eyes. No use leaving them open in this darkness. Today I was captured. Thought it could never happen to me. I was wrong. I’ve heard stories, of course. I was always careful. Scanning the rainforest. Alert. Listening. So careful. Today, my guard slipped. It was over quickly. The humans are experienced at this. All at once there was a net, over my head. It was mostly a blur. The one thing I remember clearly was the toothy smile the man gave me. I gave a struggle, tried to chew through, but no use. I looked forlornly at what I was leaving behind as we got farther and farther away. They put cardboard over my wings. Put me in a box. My feathers. I’ve always been proud of them, every color of the rainbow. My wings—green. My body feathers start amber and blend into crimson. My beak is ebony. My tail is royal purple, and deep blue. Now they are ruffled. Out of place. Ruined. I don’t know where they’re taking me. I just know I’m never going home again. * * * CHAPTER TWO Anne pulled her bright yellow scarf tighter around her neck. Even though she was wearing the detective coat, as her dad called it, the cold was still seeping into her skin. Even the cobblestone streets lost their charm in this chill. She tried to pedal faster, avoiding puddles. Her warm breath made tiny white puffs in the air. It was cloudy out, and bitterly cold, but soon she would arrive at the townhouse and the warmth would melt her frozen bones. She rode her bike over a stone bridge, looking at her reflection in the swift, gray water that ran underneath. She let go of the handlebars and sailed along, arms out for balance. It was a skill she had learned from her mother. Yet another dreary day, thought Anne, and not just the weather. Anne allowed herself to think about the day. Emily and her flock of giggling friends had been even more spiteful than usual, as if the awful weather made them meaner. They had destroyed one of her notebooks by spilling apple cider all over it, sent her books sprawling in the hallway, and her oatmeal cookies were nowhere to be found when lunch came around. The talking behind her back she could endure. But now all this? Anne always sat alone at lunch, just reading and thinking. But the cookies were the sparkle, the gleam of happiness she looked forward to every day. She had nothing to hold on to, no friends. What more could they possibly take away from her? Too much thinking. Again she was about to cry. She refused to let herself because then they would win. Her home was in sight now. The old townhouse was tired and dilapidated with moldy brownstone bricks and climbing ivy latching onto the walls. Even so, it had grandeur about it. It stood with pride. Anne hopped off her bike and walked down the stone path to the front door. She put the bike against the house and tried to look happy for her dad before she walked inside. * * * CHAPTER THREE It’s been three days. The pale yellow sunlight coming through the slats in the crate tells me it must be morning. Something is happening outside the box. Commotion. Human voices arguing. I wonder what’s going on. I can’t understand the rusty language they speak. They talk with quick, sudden words and a growling in the throat. It reminds me of the sound of the panther. Suddenly, I’m moving, but it’s not the vehicle. I’m being picked up. Transported to where? Another vehicle? It turns out I’m right. After a long wait, I hear an engine start. We drive for a long time. The other birds that were captured are still here. We each sing our own unique song. All birds are born with one. I sing mine until I get tired. I also chatter with the others. Mostly, I can’t understand. It is night when we arrive. A human has taken me out of the crate. The woman is wearing a white coat and she has nice brown hair. Deep brown, I notice, like tree bark. She’s starting to free me from my rubber band. I survey the surroundings. I’m inside a room with shiny white tiles and fluorescent lights. There are no windows, just a countertop. I miss the sunshine. I look around and see a potted tree. A little slice of the rainforest. She releases me and, instinctively, I try
Fiction
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Leah shook her head in disbelief, not accepting that she could be moving away from her beloved home in Chardon, Ohio. Sure, she’d known the possibility had been there, but she didn’t believe something this awful could happen to her. The news had been broken in such a gruff and unfeeling manner. Didn’t her parents care? Didn’t they understand how hard this was? Nobody moved in the middle of November. She felt like she had been punched in the gut, and her heart rose in her throat. But tears didn’t fall. Not yet. It turned out the dental clinic her father had worked at for so many years was being shut down, but he had found work at a clinic in New Jersey. New Jersey. That felt like it was an entire continent away. Leah’s parents told her they had found a new family to live in the house Leah had grown up in. They had made an unsuccessful attempt to console her by telling her how wonderful the new house was. They said meaningless things like, “Oh, you’ll have such a great time” and “You’ll make plenty of friends. Don’t you worry.” They had done this all behind Leah’s back. She felt betrayed. In a month, Leah would be in New Jersey. Leah stood, still shaking her head. “No,” she said. “No.” With that, she ran out of the living room and out the back door. The old screen door banged shut behind her. The crisp, late autumn air rushed to greet her. Leah pulled her sweatshirt tighter, trying to keep in as much warmth as possible. She jammed her bony fingers into her pockets. The leaf-covered ground crunched as Leah trudged across the yard. She expected her parents to come after her, to apologize. Maybe they would tell her they had been joking after all. Leah kept walking, the woods behind her yard greeting her with sympathetic words. She often spent time in the woods when she needed solace. The whoosh of wind through branches of the old oak trees and the chirp of a lone bird washed over he in a soothing manner. Leah continued to walk through the woods, dodging between trees stripped of their leaves. After a few minutes of walking, Leah came to an abrupt halt. She was where she wanted to be. She was in a small clearing where she sometimes came to think and escape her problems, at least for the time being. This was where she was happy. Leah sat on an old log, taking in her familiar surroundings. Tree branches extended upward, forming a protective canopy, which nearly blocked out the sun entirely. Only a small sliver of sunlight made it through to illuminate a small patch of grass in front of her. The crisp fall wind whipped Leah’s dirty-blond hair mercilessly against her face. Her warm blue eyes stung from the biting wind. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Leah was leaving. * * * ONE MONTH LATER The school bus was noisier than the packed stadium at a Cleveland Indians game. Kids hurled balled-up paper at each other and blasted loud music from their cell phones. They shouted out windows and tossed litter into the street. Leah glanced around nervously, afraid that one of these kids would pull her hair or hit her with any of a number of projectiles. The bus driver seemed unaffected by all of this chaos, which impressed Leah immensely. The bus finally pulled up to the curb next to the school. The brakes squealed as the driver slammed down on them. The doors were thrown open, and the kids practically ran each other over to be the first off the bus. Welcome to New Jersey. Leah didn’t know where to go or who to talk to. She didn’t know any of her teachers, and she had no friends. She rubbed her gloved hands together to keep herself warm. She wished she could finish seventh grade in Chardon, where she had friends. She especially missed the woods. Leah’s new home was in a large housing development with hardly any trees. Everything was different in New Jersey. “Hey, move it!” A boy shook Leah from her thoughts as he rudely shoved her aside. She had been blocking the sidewalk, which was lightly dusted with snow. Leah wandered toward a set of doors with a huge crowd of rowdy students around them. She joined the crowd, hoping she would be permitted to enter the warm building soon. The rest of the day passed in a blur of loud, jarring sounds and unfamiliar faces. Leah got lost more than once, and she sat alone at lunch. The day had been a failure, except for science class. The class had been studying dendrology, the study of trees and woody plants. Mr. Wilson, the bespectacled teacher, had asked, “Now, does anyone know why trees lose their leaves?” The class shifted uncomfortably, no one daring to answer the question. Leah tentatively raised her hand. She felt the curious eyes of the class turn to her. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Yes?” Mr. Wilson nodded toward Leah. “There are a number of reasons for trees to lose their leaves,” Leah explained, the words coming out in a huge rush. She knew that if she didn’t speak now, she would chicken out. “One of them is that trees can conserve moisture by losing their leaves. Trees can also save energy, which the tree needs to stay alive through the winter.” “Very good!” Mr. Wilson had looked impressed. “Are you interested in the outdoors, Leah?” “Yes,” Leah had said. I just wish there were woods here… Now, the day was over. Leah twisted the lock on her locker one way, then the other. The locker clicked open. Out tumbled a small slip of paper. In a rush, Leah pocketed it, then packed up. She couldn’t wait to get out of this place. The
Fiction
A few fallen leaves and twigs rustled around me as I shuffled my feet. I crouched in the darkest corner of my backyard. As I brushed my black hair behind my ear, through the plumage of green leaves I could see a beautiful male blue jay. He was a quite large blue jay with gleaming blue feathers and his crest was raised in a dignified way. He let out a call. Then suddenly he began to sing. It was a beautiful song, full of melody. I was in awe, since it was such a wonderful song. The soft melody floated through the trees, and up. There was silence. Then he began his song again. He seemed to be singing to somebody. And he was. As he sang I saw a bird far away, gliding closer. It was another blue jay. It seemed feminine because of its smaller size and much more dull colors. As it landed on the branch next to the male blue jay it started grooming the other blue jay. Then so suddenly both of the blue jays spread open their wings so quickly one would expect to hear an umbrella opening. As they soared into the air, I watched. Then I shaded my eyes from the glare of the sun. This is a wonderful sight! I thought. Then I raised my head again and gazed at the sky. I could still see two compact hints of birds flying into the sky.
Fiction
“Just take it easy, Jenna. We don’t want you to fall.” Jenna gritted her teeth and took a step. She gripped the walker in front of her so hard her knuckles were white. The pain she expected didn’t occur, and she looked up with a smile. “Mom, do you think I…” Her leg collapsed underneath her and she thudded to the ground with a cry of agony. Tears were wrenched from her eyes against her will, but it wasn’t the pain. She was used to pain. Pain was her constant companion. It had been with her ever since she had fallen off the stone wall by the creek while chasing her cousin and shattered her leg. The surgery to implant the stabilizing rods had gone wrong, and Jenna was left with a useless leg. No, she was crying because of the hopelessness of it all. Every day she tried to exercise, to strengthen her leg, but she still couldn’t take a single step. Her mother was at her side, but she wasn’t aware of it. At that moment, her world consisted of the walker on its side with its wheels still spinning, her throbbing leg, and the tears that streamed down her face and soaked her shirt. * * * Jenna had PE first period, but it wasn’t physical. Usually, PE was just sitting in her wheelchair reading or doing homework. Today she watched the other kids. They lined up at the edge of the jumbo track, the mile-long course they ran each day. Mr. Heket blew his whistle, and they were off. Alexa was far ahead, her long legs pumping gracefully. But then, reflected Jenna, she always was. It hadn’t always been that way. Jenna could still remember the days when another slim girl had been out in front, by far the fastest, the strongest. I ran like the wind, thought Jenna bitterly. I was the wind before. Then a twinge in her leg reminded her that things were different now. Now she sat helpless, her days of freedom just a memory. The doctors pretended she could make a miraculous recovery, but Jenna could see the truth behind their fake smiles: you will never heal. You will be crippled for life. Alexa was nearly finished with the run, and Jenna listened intently for her time. “Well done, Alexa. 5:33.” Jenna sat upright in shock. The record she had set before her fall still stood, but not for long now. It had been 5:32. Alexa smiled breathlessly. Now along came Daniel, always second. Jenna tuned out again. Soon, the slower runners were arriving. As fashionable Sasha finished, she ignored Mr. Heket and continued chatting with her friends. “Hey, you know? I hate running. Sometimes I wish I had, like, a broken leg or something.” Jenna spun the wheels of her wheelchair, intensely angry all of a sudden. Skillfully maneuvering over to the group of kids, she planted herself firmly in their way. Sasha looked at her, surprised. “Excuse me,” she said in an overly enunciated tone, as if Jenna was stupid as well as wheelchair-confined. Jenna remained still. “Believe me, Sasha. You don’t want a broken leg.” Sasha shot a glance at Jenna’s leg. “Oh, yeah. Oops.” She shoved past Jenna, who made no move to stop her. Jenna felt tears stinging in her eyes, remembering days past. Sasha had been her friend, before the accident. Now Sasha found her own friends, and Jenna was alone. Wind before, thought Jenna, watching Sasha’s retreating back. I was wind before. * * * “Guess what, Jenna?” gushed her mother as Jenna was lifted into her car. Her face was glowing. “Doctor Johnson says there’s some different technology he can try, and he thinks it can help you!” Yeah, right, thought Jenna. Like anything can help me now. “It’ll mean more surgery. Do you think you can handle that?” Jenna wasn’t sure. She had been suspicious of surgery since hers had gone wrong. Her uneasiness came from the voice in her subconscious that asked, “What if it happens again? What if you’re paralyzed, or even killed?” “I don’t know… What’s the different technology?” “Well, they tried inserting rods before, but Dr. Johnson says they could try metal plates. He also said they might have to re-break the bone… Do you want to do this?” Do I? Jenna asked herself. If there’s even a small chance I can run again? “I… Can I think about it?” “Of course.” Jenna retreated into the recesses of her mind for contemplation. The surgery could fix her, she knew that. But, persisted that tiny little voice, what if… “No!” Jenna declared, defiantly. “But, Jenna…” Her mother’s voice was sad. “I… No, I didn’t mean it that way, Mom. I meant, like, no to not doing it. I mean, yes. I’ll do it.” Jenna was babbling. She was determined not to live in fear and let that voice win. Her fears and doubts intensified, but she mentally shoved them away. I could be wind again, Jenna reminded herself. * * * It was deathly cold in the waiting room. Jenna was only half-awake. Why did I have to get up at three in the morning? she thought. She vaguely glanced around the room, taking in the cold plastic chairs and the walls that were so white it hurt to look at them. A side door opened and a nurse stepped out. “Jenna Rakashashov?” Jenna became slightly more awake as adrenaline coursed through her. She slid her wheelchair into the next room, where a nurse helped her onto the gurney. Lying back, she gazed up at the white ceiling tiles that looked like they were made of cardboard. The gurney began to move slowly, and Jenna could feel her leg throb with the same rhythm as the clicking wheels. Ha, she said silently to the voice of doubt inside of her. I win. I’ll be fixed. Then she tried to relax, watching the squares of fluorescent light whiz by
Fiction
CHAPTER ONE: THE SOUTH POLE The plane seemed to be going ridiculously slow. I had a seat by the window and was looking out at the South Pole, also my new home. Both of my parents were considered brilliant scientists. I didn’t disagree. We were moving to the bottom of the world so they could study the earth’s changing climates. At fourteen, I shouldn’t complain, and believe me, I really tried not to. It’s just, my family has been moving all over for as long as I can remember. Before the South Pole, we lived in Australia. (They were studying heat and sun rays.) I loved Australia. What I would miss the most would be my friends Ophelia Jones and Percy Smith. They were both only children like me. Ophelia’s mom is a nurse, and her dad was a pilot, but he got kicked out for something, but Ophelia never told me what. Percy’s mom died when he was just a few hours old. His dad is really cool though. He’s a math whiz and a great photographer. I would miss them, a lot. The plane stuttered to a stop, made a strange blasting noise, but didn’t shatter into a million pieces like I had expected. The flight attendant ushered us out to the walkway and we entered the small (very small) airport. We looked around for a person holding a sign that read “Anderson.” My mom spotted it first. We approached the young woman holding the sign. She had on a black coat that went to her knees. Her blond hair was pulled back in a braid. And her face and eyes were kind and gentle. “Are you the Andersons?” she asked. “Yes,” my dad answered. “I’m Patrick; this is my wife, Karen, and my daughter, Lilly.” The woman smiled and said, “A pleasure to meet you. My name is Jasmine Lewis, my son Jeremy is around here somewhere.” My parents shook hands with her, and she led us to the door. A boy around my age with perfect brown hair and ocean-blue eyes caught up with us. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, this is my son, Jeremy,” Jasmine said. “Nice to meet you.” He shook hands with my parents and then with me. “Let me carry that for you.” He took my suitcase, and we walked through the ice and snow to find Mrs. Lewis’s snowmobiles. Once we found them, she threw Jeremy a pair of keys. Mrs. Lewis’s mobile had three seats, but Jeremy’s had only two seats. “Lilly, you can ride with Jeremy,” my mom instructed. Jeremy handed me a helmet, he put the keys in the ignition, and we took off through the snow. Mrs. Lewis was a few feet behind us with my mom nervously clutching her waist. I wasn’t scared, I was actually having fun. “You all right back there?” Jeremy called back to me. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I called back over the roaring of the snowmobiles. “We’re about to turn, hold on to me.” I didn’t hesitate to cling to his back as we turned a sharp corner, nearly missing a general store. “Show off!” Mrs. Lewis called to Jeremy. He laughed, and I did too. We soon came to a charming little cottage and parked the snowmobiles. “This one’s yours, ours is that one.” Jeremy pointed to a smaller cottage a little ways behind ours. We got off the bikes, and Jeremy grabbed my suitcase for me. Both of our jean legs were soaked, and I was freezing. “You OK?” Jeremy asked. “J-just c-cold,” I muttered. Jeremy left and returned with a green wool blanket, and he put it around my shoulders. “Thanks.” “No problem, my sister made it for a welcoming present for you.” “Lilly.” My mom appeared. “We’re going to go tour around town; do you and Jeremy want to stay here?” “Sure.” Jeremy read my mind. “OK, see you later then.” She left. “Would you like a tour?” Jeremy asked. “Sure.” And he showed me around. There were three bedrooms, one bathroom, a small kitchen, and a living room. In the kitchen were four chairs that surrounded a small table. There was a woodstove, an icebox, a counter, and four cupboards. He pulled out a small pan and set it on the stove. He took milk, cocoa powder, and powdered sugar. I sat down at the table and watched him make hot chocolate. “How long have you lived here?” I asked as he poured the milk in over the cocoa. “I think since I was three. We lived in Russia before here.” “Why did you live in Russia?” “I’m not really sure.” He raised an eyebrow. He took a ladle out of a drawer and poured the cocoa in mugs. I wrapped the blanket more tightly around me. He set a mug in front of me. I took a drink, and I could feel my legs warming up. It was delicious. “Where did you learn to cook?” I asked. He looked down at the floor. “My sister taught me.” “Was it the same sister who made this blanket?” “Yes.” “I would like to meet her.” He slammed his cup on the table, stood up, and walked toward the door. His action made me jump. “Where are you going?” I followed him. “I’ve got to go home,” he muttered as he pulled his coat on. “Why?” I asked. He walked over to me. “I just really think I should go.” His teeth were gritted together. I looked into his angry eyes. “OK, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. I walked back to the kitchen, put a lid on the leftover hot chocolate, and dumped Jeremy’s in the sink. My parents came home later that night. My mom was carrying grocery bags and my dad was carrying a library bag full of books. I was on the small sofa reading my copy of A Wrinkle in Time. My
Fiction
Jenny yawned, getting ready. She had only slept three hours because of all the gaming she had done. She popped her iPod on and headed down the stairs. She had promised to help, so that her grandpa would keep quiet about how good it was for young people to do chores. He was so old-fashioned. She never did chores at home, so why here? She pulled on her angora sweater, slipped on her suede boots and headed for the barn. Inside the barn, Jenny saw cobwebs loosely hung around the whitewashed cement ceiling that now looked more brown than white. It was dirty and musty; the ground was full of hay that had been flattened by dirt and manure. Old milk pumps were mounted on every stall. Some of the black-and-white jersey cows were staring at Jenny with their deep, hazel eyes, while others munched on the hay in the troughs in front of them. She only came here because her parents were busy traveling all around the world with their jobs, and they had bribed her with the latest laptop in the stores if she spent the summer with her grandpa. Jenny already knew which laptop she wanted. It was hot pink and had all the latest features. She couldn’t wait to get it. Bessie stared at Jenny and made a loud and low moo. Taken aback, Jenny stepped backwards into manure, sending her iPod whirling through the air and landing on its face. “Great to see you,” Grandpa smiled. “Come over here and help hold Bessie, while I work with getting this calf out. You hold her tail out and don’t let her swish it.” Retrieving her iPod, Jenny scowled and stared back at her grandpa. The smell of the barn and now her new suede boots drifted up to her nose. She turned and raced out the door, scraped her boots off on the grass, and ran into an old barn. She pushed open the red, wooden door, climbed up the rickety old knotted-wood ladder that led to a hayloft and stationed herself behind some fresh hay. Pitchforks leaned against the walls and clumps of hay were scattered all over the floor. She swept away the loose hay with her feet to make room to sit among the hay bales. The hay stung her back but she was so relieved to be away from her grandpa and that old cow. She had heard her grandpa holler for her, but whatever he had yelled, she was too far away to hear what he had said. Why did her grandpa always make her do things that she didn’t want to do? Making her get up early in the morning just to feed those cows, or making her listen to his growing-up stories. Didn’t he know that she didn’t care? So what if he grew up during the wartime? It didn’t have anything to do with her, so it was just a waste of her time. She never really listened anyway. She tried to turn on her iPod, only to find that it needed to be charged. She looked around, searching for something to do, and spotted an old, leather walnut-brown suitcase tucked behind some rusty rakes, hoes and shovels. She pulled the dust-covered suitcase out of the heap, dusted it off and carelessly undid the buckles. She ripped open the lid, only to find piles of black-and-white pictures, about 300 in all. She flipped through them, scattering some on the floor. There were many pictures of people she didn’t know and landscapes she had never seen. There were a few pictures of her grandpa growing up. Some pictures had her grandpa, about ten, playing the mandolin. That mandolin was now in her parents’ glass cabinet. Nobody played it anymore. She wondered why they even kept it. One particular picture caught her eye; it was the figure of a tall young man. He had dark thin hair and his eyes gleamed with adventure, as if ready for anything that was yet to come. He was wearing an old brown shirt and had ripped and tattered brown pants held up by suspenders. It looked like he was standing on a cobbled street, lined with many buildings. Jenny yawned. She made herself a pillow of golden-brown straw and fell asleep. * * * “Boom!” Jenny bolted up, suddenly wide awake as some concrete debris dropped inches away from her head. Scanning, she saw no windows but only a door slightly ajar. The air was getting thicker and she dropped to her knees and started to crawl towards the door. With all her might, she pried it open. A woman came rushing out, shouting, “Come, child, we must get to shelter!” She firmly grabbed Jenny’s arm and dragged her out of the building and onto a cobbled street below. Jenny knew the woman wasn’t speaking English, but somehow she could understand her. It was the language her grandpa sometimes spoke; it was German. “Let go of me! I don’t even know you!” Jenny snapped. She coughed. She could barely catch her breath. Suddenly, the building she was just in collapsed into rubble and dust. “We’ll find your family later, but now you and I must get out of here before another bomb hits,” the woman insisted. Jenny looked around; she could see burning and leaning buildings, roofs caved in, and walls gone. It looked like a river of fire all around her. Some people were screaming and running, while others lay motionless on the streets. Jenny even saw a woman with her hair and clothes on fire! Where was she? The woman dragged Jenny down the road. They finally stopped and went inside a concrete shelter. Inside, people were huddled together. Kids were crying and parents quietly wept. It seemed like everyone was in shock. The air-raid sirens pounded in her ears. Jenny wanted out of there. She couldn’t think. Tears trickled down her dust-crusted face, leaving stream-like lines down her cheek.
Fiction
The tiny wolf scrambled to keep up with her brothers and mother as she trudged through snow that reached up to her chest. She felt her legs go numb as she tried to walk in mother’s paw prints. She gave a wail of protest as the blinding snow swallowed the dull shadow of her mother in a whirl of gray and white. The wolf pup felt the snow clumping in her paws, stinging them. The pup cried out as the ground gave way under her small gray paws, sending her tumbling into darkness… Sakura woke with a shudder that passed through her fur and rippled the pale gray peltage. Sakura still felt the loss of her family afresh. She remembered whimpering pitifully in a paw print of her mother when she had lost her brothers and mother in a blizzard. Then warm shapes, pulling her gently around them, soft as living furs. She remembered waking in a warm nest, the clumped snow washed off her. In this new family, she felt cared for and loved, but even so, her family was still gone. Her brother had been found not far away, howling and almost unconscious. Sakura couldn’t stand sitting here alone with her thoughts. She could never outrun the memory of looking at her beloved brother, hearing his wailing of fear, his gaze staring at her, though she knew he could no longer, and never again, see her. * * * The girl ran her hands through caramel hair, her pale cheeks stained with tears. She kept repeating in her head how he couldn’t have been dead, how he was faking. But she knew her beloved Champ was dead, his age failing him and crippling him. She knew him as her little black lab puppy, still gnawing and jumping with mischievous innocence. She remembered him chewing furniture and eating both human and dog food, his impatient yips when she tried to teach him to roll over. But she knew that it was all memories now. So she had kept running from the house, until she had reached the dull gray sea, almost reflecting the hazy, blue-less sky that shone no sun. She had taken refuge on a rough, bark-like rock on the edge of the cliffs. She had cried there all morning, feeling as if there was to be no happiness again. Suddenly there was the crackle of twigs. The girl whipped around to see a large pale gray wolf slide out of the pines bordering the cliffs. The girl quickly grabbed a nearby rock, ready to throw if the wolf lunged. But the creature’s eyes were not aggressive or hostile; the golden depths seemed to be filled with grief and sadness. For a moment the girl saw her own liquid brown eyes reflected there, and for a moment she saw a pulsing light of rainbow colors there. Can you really see your own soulful self in an animal’s eyes? She remembered a similar feeling stirring when she met the brown eyes of Champ, but she never saw anything like this. Then the wolf dipped its head as if respectfully. The girl was in awe. She felt no need to fear this creature. She dipped her head in a response. She felt mesmerized by the golden depths of the eyes. * * * Sakura saw the girl staring her in the eyes, drawn by something. Sakura felt something else though, a pulsing emotion of sadness. She closed her eyes and saw darkness, but still the girl, with a blue and purple bubble of sadness around her. The wolf saw a strange dog in the girl’s eyes, and the sadness intensified, like a growing fire. Then she heard the girl gasp, as if whatever she had been staring at in her eyes, the connection had broken. Sakura knew that the dog had been important to the girl. In fact, it reminded her of someone… * * * The girl watched the wolf leave. She sighed, knowing the moment couldn’t last forever. She slumped back on the rock, wondering what to do. Then there was more rustling. The wolf returned, gently guiding along a handsome black wolf. The girl was painfully reminded of Champ, with his smooth black coat, his warm brown eyes, and his slightly flopped ears… The wolf nodded and nuzzled the black wolf ’s ear. The girl guessed they were talking. The black wolf walked toward her, his brown gaze unwavering. He’s blind, she thought. But when he stumbled and she caught him, she knew she would take care of him and love him as much as Champ. The two creatures, girl and wolf, looked at each other, brown meeting gold. They knew they had solved a problem together, and Sakura knew her brother would be cared for. The two spirits departed, one holding the young wolf, the other holding pride, and they disappeared in the mist, knowing they could heal in peace.
Poems
The wheels Crunch over the pea gravel As sweat Crowds my tomato-red face. My legs are constantly moving Pumping with pure Adrenaline. A puddle Crammed with mud Stretches over the cement sidewalk. Consumed with laughter And joy I am too delirious To see the hazard. My body Is shot into the air And my arms Flail Like a baby pigeon Flying for the first time. My legs are Spattered With grime. My aerial adventure Concludes With a tragic Crash. Water Spurts out From under my Bruised body. Drops pitter-patter as they Connect with land. I sit there Soaked Absorbed with how I look What pity watchers must feel. But I am chortling Elated Even if briefly And even if disastrously ended. I had Done it. I had roller skated.
Poems
I climb up the light brown ladder I smell fresh air A soft wind touches my face Gently brushing new green leaves I rest my back on a thick old tree and watch an ant crawl carrying a small piece of green A bird chirps I look up I watch it fly away softly on the wind I take a deep breath and settle to my book.
Poems
George, with his silver-gray fur cantering across bright green grass whinnying softly his white mane blown out by the wind the sun a horizon of bright colors behind him Reaching out to pet the soft brown and white dotted face of Polka Peering out from behind the stall ready to ride * * * All my life I’ve been watching those jumpers in that field wishing it was me. Finally I was ready. The swishing of Violet’s tail and the clop of her canter encouraged me onward. Leaning forward I felt my heart soar into the bright blue sky as Violet leapt into the air almost as if she were flying. Then dropping gently to the ground and coming slowly to a stop. I had done it. I had jumped.
Book Reviews
Star in the Forest, by Laura Resau; Delacourte Books for Young Readers: New York, 2010; $14.99 Deported. On her eleventh birthday Zitlally Mora’s father was arrested for speeding. Now he is going to be sent back to Mexico. And it is going to be very hard for him to come back. Zitlally’s name means Estrella, or Star, in Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs. Just like Zitlally, I am multi-cultural. My mother is German and my father Caribbean. My name, Jamila, means beautiful in Arabic. There is a special relationship between Zitlally and her papa. After he is deported, life seems to go straight downhill for Zitlally. She has three so-called best friends, but friendship with Morgan, Emma, and Olivia is hard work! Zitlally always has to look at what they’re wearing so that she can do the same. She has to see how they style their hair, how they walk and how they talk so she can be just like them. But on the inside, Zitlally is a completely different person. Her friends don’t know the true Zitlally, the one that crossed the desert from Mexico and came to the U.S. illegally. After her father is deported, Zitlally starts keeping to herself. Sometimes she doesn’t brush her hair or wears the same clothes twice. She forgets to laugh at jokes. When Zitlally stops trying to be like her friends, they dump her because she has “turned boring.” That’s when she meets Star. He is a skinny, scruffy dog Zitlally finds in the forest of old car parts behind the trailer park where she lives. Zitlally feeds Star, grooms him, and gives him lots of love. She also befriends her next-door neighbor, Crystal. There is a bond that connects the two girls: they are both outsiders. Together they not only teach Star ordinary dog tricks but also how to beep a car horn. Then news reaches the Mora family that Zitlally’s father is returning home. Everyone is in a festive mood. But shortly after this wonderful news, Star vanishes! Did he run away? Did his owner come to take him back? Not only that, but on the very same day, Zitlally’s papa is kidnapped! Zitlally knows that Star is a special animal. When she was a young child, her father had told her a story from the time of his great-great-grandparents about when people used to have special animals. If the animal was sick, the person would become sick too. Human and animal could feel each other’s pain. If the person needed extra strength, he could think of his animal and use its powers. It doesn’t take long for Zitlally to figure out that Star is her father’s special animal. She and Crystal desperately try to find their beloved dog because Zitlally knows if something happens to Star it will happen to Papa too. This wasn’t the first time I had heard about illegal immigrants, but I had never thought much about it consciously. Zitlally’s friends who dumped her thought she came from Mexico by plane. They assumed Zitlally’s father could come and go as he pleased. Zitlally couldn’t admit to them that it was dangerous for her father to cross the desert from Mexico. I can relate to Zitlally in the sense that people who don’t know me well sometimes misunderstand, thinking I am adopted because I have darker skin color than my mother. On many occasions I am also mistaken for being Hispanic. This is a very fun book that wraps up humor, animals, friendship, illegal immigration, love, family and hope all in one. Zitlally’s character is one of a courageous young girl who doesn’t lose heart no matter what gets in her way.
Book Reviews
My Vicksburg, by Ann Rinaldi; Harcourt Children’s Books: New York, 2009; $16 Fourteen-year-old Claire Louise Corbet has always lived a life of medicine because her brother and papa are both doctors. Now more than ever there are hospitals, sickness and injuries around her. Claire Louise is living in the Civil War battle of Vicksburg. During the battle, most families of Vicksburg are living in dugout cave homes. Claire Louise’s cave serves as a home for Mama, herself, and her little brother James, while her older brother and papa are serving in the army. The fighting is so heavy that people can only leave their caves or houses during the Yankees’ breakfast, lunch and dinner breaks. To occupy these days, everyone, including Claire Louise, must find something to do. My favorite part of the story, even though it is not the main theme, is Claire Louise’s work at the hospital. This might be because I want to be a doctor, or it might be because my uncle and grandfather are doctors. Either way, I think the hospital part of My Vicksburg is very impressive. After visiting the hospital with her brother, Claire Louise decides that she would like to contribute her time to helping the wounded soldiers. Claire Louise decides to visit the hospital twice a week and write letters for the injured Brave Boys, as her mama calls them. When Claire Louise goes to the hospital she walks across town to the makeshift tent. The environment at the hospital is very different from her regular life. Many men are wounded, amputated, bleeding, and sad. Some are even dead. The nurses sometimes move these dead soldiers to keep the wounded men’s spirits high. The first time she goes to the hospital, Claire Louise is scared by all the injuries. Claire Louise decides to keep coming despite her fright because she is dedicated to the help she is providing. At the hospital people are glad to see her. The sight of a young girl rouses hope in many soldiers. Sometimes Claire Louise does favors along with her task of letter writing. At one point in the story, she brings sweet potatoes to a soldier because he is hungry. Claire Louise’s main duty is to write down the words of the wounded. Many letters are written to wives, mothers, and children, saying that all will be well and that they loved their family very, very much. One soldier, dying of typhoid, asked Claire Louise to record his words to his wife. He then loudly recited an epic love letter, saddening both nurses and other soldiers. Although this story took place long ago, I think it has many similarities with 2010. People still want to help out just like Claire Louise did. In our time with the Iraq War we could use some of the lessons Claire Louise learned. Because our war is so far away, many people feel there is nothing we can do to help. Yes, it is true young girls can’t visit army hospitals, but we can write to those serving, say thank you, or connect ourselves other ways. The soldiers will appreciate anything anyone does. By the age of fourteen Claire Louise had undergone conflict in her country, her city, even in her family. This is a story about facing conflicts, growing up, and learning lessons. Claire Louise lived 150 years ago but there are things we can relate to today. Whether you are interested in historical fiction, working out conflicts, medicine, or the Civil War, you can find something worthwhile in My Vicksburg.