Fiction
Our car trundled along a dusty gravel road one day in the middle of July. I stared out the window at the clouds of dry dirt that billowed from beneath our tires, picturing what our car must look like from the outside. Aside from the layer of dust covering it, our big red Subaru looked completely normal. With two kids in the back seat and a trunk filled with towels, bags, and blow-up water toys, our car was the image of an ideal family headed off for a fun summer day. I sighed. I wonder what it would be like to have a normal family. How different would life be if Aaron were an average ten-year-old boy? I pondered. I knew that if anyone looked past our car and surveyed the people within, they would not find an ideal family. They would see that my younger brother has autism. They would see that, at age ten, he can’t do certain simple things like dress himself, read, or talk in full sentences. And they would see how much Aaron’s special needs keep our family from being perfectly normal. After a few more miles, our car crunched to a stop in a dusty parking lot, and my train of thought was interrupted as I climbed out of the hot back seat. I was relieved to be back at the lake that my family travels to every summer for a day of swimming. It looked just as I remembered it, a small green lake nestled into a wooded hillside. I inhaled the spicy scents of sagebrush and pine, wafting from the central Oregon vegetation. As I exhaled, glad to be back in this beautiful setting, thoughts of my family’s imperfections were momentarily wiped from my mind. Emerging from the car behind me, Aaron let out a joyful yell, exclaiming “Oh! Oh yes!!!” He then picked up a nearby stick and attempted to hit a pinecone with it, pretending to play baseball. He associates baseball with happiness and does not hesitate to grab a makeshift ball and bat whenever he is pleased. Embarrassed with his behavior, I grabbed my towel and ran down to the rocky lakeshore. I immediately plunged into the chilly water, frolicking around and shouting that everyone should hurry up. It was a sweltering day, and the lake was dotted with other swimmers, many in the vicinity staring at Aaron, who was still playing “baseball.” Upon reaching the point where ripples of water lapped up against the pebbly ground, my dad plodded slowly in, punctuating each step with a loud “Ow!” as the icy water made contact with his skin. Aaron tried to run right in but forgot to take off his shoes, shirt, and glasses. After my mom removed them, he proceeded with painstaking care until, with an enormous splash, he lost his footing and fell chest-deep in water. Finally my mom, who has a notoriously low tolerance for cold water, screwed up her courage and dove under. We took off swimming—Aaron swims with a peculiar dog paddle—until we reached the very heart of the lake, where huge white driftwood logs floated and provided nature’s best toy. I pulled myself up onto one, noticing how pale and eerie my feet looked as they kicked a few feet below the surface. Aaron struggled for a moment to pull himself up on the log, the difficulty of this simple action reminding me how much his disability affects his coordination. I took pity on him and helped hoist him up. Exhausted from his efforts, Aaron collapsed on the log and pushed his sopping brown hair out of his eyes. Suddenly remembering last year, he exclaimed, “Jump!” Upon his command, I sprang off the slippery wood and dove into the water, causing the log to rock and create a sea of ripples. Following my example, my mom jumped off, and my dad helped Aaron to fall off the log in an uncoordinated dive. After dozens of crazy, log-rocking, water-spraying jumps, many involving disastrous attempts at cannonball contests and synchronized diving, we finally took a rest. My mom stretched out on the sunlit log, and my dad sat next to her. We were all lost in the moment, a whirl of happiness and fun that warmed us as much as the late afternoon sun did. Aaron, perched a few feet down the log, patted the wet patch of wood beside him, smiling proudly as though he offered the coziest chair in the world. “Sit! Come sit!” he invited me. I climbed closer to him, and together we sat. My feet dangled in the cool green water and I listened contentedly to the buzzing of millions of pine needles tingling in the forest. My nose took in the wilderness-like, sunny smell of the set- ting. We were just a family sitting on a log in the middle of a lake. My family. And in a dawn of realization, it occurred to me that I had just spent the last hour completely enjoying my family just the way we are. Anyone looking on wouldn’t think about how strange and different Aaron is. They would have seen how happy we were, they would have been caught up in the joy and fun we had been radiating. It seemed to me in that moment that nothing, not even perfection, could match the happiness, spontaneity, and love that makes my family unique. Overcome by my new thoughts, I scooted even closer to my brother, and together we gazed at our reflections in the green lake. The image of our smiling faces was bent a little by the water, but the imperfection made us look all the better.
Fiction
Mara was entranced. The shop blurred before her in a tribute of glory to the necklace. Draped carelessly over a slender black velour cone, its gold, glassy pendant gem glittered as if with dew. It hung on a short golden chain. Mara could tell, without even trying it on, that it would nestle snugly in the hollow of her throat with a cool, fluid ease. The shop vendor, an old man, smiled at Mara kindly. “Try it on if you like it, dear. Don’t be shy.” But Mara was hesitant even to touch the exquisite thing. Just as she reached out trembling fingers to grasp its chain, she felt a tug on her shirt. She turned to see Tommy, her little brother, clutching her tightly. “What?” she said sharply. The old man tutted and turned away. “What?” she repeated angrily, pulling her fingers regretfully away from the necklace in order to pry him off of her. “Mommy says to come, Mawa.” “Now?” “Yeah. Mommy says to come now.” Mara fairly flew across the store to her mother, who was waiting impatiently in the cosmetics section. Tommy jogged after her. “Mom… look… I found this gorgeous necklace—come see,” she gushed. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes, Mara,” her mom warned sternly. “We can’t stay any longer.” “But Mom.” “Nope. Come on.” Taking Tommy’s hand, her mother exited the store. Fuming, Mara followed. The moment they got home Mara jumped out of the car and ran into the backyard. Sinking down onto a stone bench covered with lichen, she scowled at the ground. She wasn’t spoiled. She knew that she hardly ever asked for anything, but she really, really, really, really wanted that necklace. Her mother didn’t listen to her. Her brother was annoying. She probably had the worst life in the whole world. Mara sighed. What really irritated her was that she knew that wasn’t true. Mara raised her head and looked around the peaceful backyard where she sat. Dusk was falling, and the plants were shrouded in blue-gray shadow. Mara spotted a big white flower lying on the ground near the ivy-smothered wall. As she knelt to pick it up Mara corrected herself. “White” hardly seemed to do it justice. The flower was silver, and in the center where the petals met and twined into a cup for the chalky pink pollen, the hues deepened into a warm sapphire blue. There were others like it, spread-eagled on the wet grass, but they were limp and the colors neither so beautiful nor so vibrant. Presumably, they came from the tree above, reaching over the wall from the neighbor’s garden. The sky darkened as Mara turned the flower over and over in her hands. “Mara—dinner!” called her mother from the kitchen window. Mara stood and, as though following whispered directions, tucked the flower behind her ear. As she ascended the creaking steps of her porch, she glimpsed her reflection in the dark window—and caught her breath. The silvery flower glowed brightly in subtle contrast to her wavy brown hair. With the fireflies coming out, flickering on and off around her, and her pale leaf-green eyes, Mara thought she looked rather like a goddess, or perhaps some sort of sprite or tree nymph. She thought again of her golden necklace, only now it didn’t seem very important. Struggling to find the cause of this new apathy, Mara’s eyes left those of the nymph staring back at her and alighted on the silver flower fixed stunningly in her hair. The nymph’s coral lips curved into a knowing smile. The necklace, for all its gaudy gold, could never have given her pleasure or beauty like this. “Mara!” called her mother again. “Your dinner is getting stone cold.” Mara gave her reflection one more angelic smile, before dashing into the house.
Fiction
The wind tugged at my hair as I rode my bike faster and faster, trying to shake off the constant dread that was welling up inside me. Sweat glistened on my brow. My whole body ached. Burning fire ran up my throat. But the faster I pedaled the more my dread rose, until visions started to appear before me. Two smirking figures flashed before my eyes. Numbers and letters swirled. In a desperate frenzy I pulled my brakes down, hard, feeling every little stone that my tires were braking on. I screamed. Voices rang in my head and then there was complete silence. Almost too much silence. I sat breathlessly on my hard black bike seat and waited for my air to return. As I caught my breath I looked down the long gray road before me. I felt like following it on and on, but my common sense got the better of me. Don’t be stupid I told my self. Don’t be stupid. As I sat, the weight of my terrible year crushed down on me like waves crashing on a drowning person. I felt so alone in the world. Alone, alone, alone. The words paced and then collapsed in my head. I had no friends at school and I felt like I was growing up too fast. The thought of getting older and not being a child anymore loomed before me. I felt scared and frightened. This was the first hot sunny day of summer break. All the other people in my class were probably at birthday parties or pools. But me, I was alone. My parents were away at their restaurant, Waterfall Delights. “Enjoy your day at home, honey,” was all my mom had said. How was I supposed to enjoy my day at home? Anger ran through me, then sadness. And now, with the sun beating down hot on my face, I had a complete feeling of dread. I felt a mix of anger, sadness and hope. I clung to that hope tightly as I made my way slowly, almost not seeing back down the long road. * * * The water ran down my throat, cooling me down and calming me. I sat on one of our swivel chairs in our kitchen and took a deep breath. I just sat there for a while, looking into space, and watched the green digital numbers on our stove change. I got up, treading on one of my cat’s squeaking toys as I went. I ran up the stairs. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. At the top of the stairs to the right my brother’s black door loomed with the words scrawled on tattered paper: Keep Out! I missed my old brother, the one who used to play games with me and laugh with me and comfort me. Now in his teenage years he was a black, rearing dragon always shut up in his room or hanging out with friends. I sighed and continued to my room. I flopped on my bed and took out Swallows and Amazons and began to read. As I read, my mind relaxed and I forgot my troubles. As I lay there, book in hand, I glanced up at the clock. Would time ever stop? Tick, tick, tick, time is flying by, it seemed to always remind me. The clock was right, I should get moving and make my day alone better. My parents would be home soon. I walked to the other side of my room where young plants were soaking up the sunlight. Their slender bodies reached to the sky in a beautiful arc. I had some new seeds I was going to plant. I looked at the seeds and was amazed as I had been many times before at how this little seed could turn into a plant. Children are like seeds, I thought. They reach up to their goals and become adults. They get sick and sometimes die, and eventually time sweeps them away. Would time take me away before I found a companion I longed for with all my heart? Suddenly, I heard the sound of the door swing open. It was my parents! Just as I was starting to enjoy my day alone. Things happen like that, I thought. I slowly, slowly went down the stairs (so I would make my parents wait) and continued through the living room. As I walked I stubbed my toe on a chair, making me even more grumpy. I reached the dark coatroom and there were my parents. My mom was wearing an apron that said in huge fancy cursive letters, “Waterfall Delights.” She was carrying a pink umbrella. My dad was wearing a chef hat and carried a briefcase in his hand. They were quite a sight. “Hi Michael!” they said with a little bit of fake enthusiasm and a little bit of self-embarrassment. I guess they saw the look on my face. “Where is your brother?” they asked. Red hot fury ran through me. The first question they ask is about my brother, my mean, stupid, selfish brother. I tamed my fury and said calmly, “I have no idea.” My parents looked at each other and looked grim. Without another word they went into the kitchen. My mom started cooking and my dad went upstairs to his office. Enough cooking and sorting out money, I wanted to yell, you did that all day today. But I didn’t. * * * I opened the door and went outside. I started down the street at a brisk pace, jingling some money in my pocket and hoping it was enough for an Aero bar. The general store was a fairly long walk from my house so I picked up my pace a little. I jogged past Nathan and Hannah’s house, and then I was lost in a time where only trees and houses and people seemed to exist. As I ran something caught my attention. A black dog
Fiction
In a marsh, long green grass reaching up to touch the sun swayed slightly in the cool morning breeze. The marsh was teeming with animal and insect life. A snake slithered through the grasses looking for mice while an osprey swooped low overhead, wind ruffling its feathers. The osprey was looking for an animal to catch; a fish was on the main course for today. He needed to find a big fish or several smaller fish to feed his mate and chicks. He headed towards the river, wind pushing him forward like an arrow shot from a bow. The osprey was happy; he was always happy just flying, hunting, sleeping, and mating. A powerful hawk, he didn’t need to worry about being the prey to some bigger animal. His chicks, on the other hand, did. Eagles were known to come flying by and snatch hatchlings to eat. The osprey promised himself that he would never let that happen to his chicks. He loved his chicks, and would easily sacrifice his life for theirs, and so would his mate. She would fly out of their nest and peck and claw an invader until he retreated, defeated. Ground animals couldn’t get to their nest because the tree they picked was about twenty-three feet high and had sharp branches jutting out from the base. His mate always stayed with their chicks. Often when he came home he would see their chicks huddled under her warm fluffy wings. He finally arrived at the river. It was fast moving and clear. He felt the thrill of excitement he always felt when he was going hunting. He was going to catch a big fish worthy of his wife and three chicks. He swooped into a dive. He loved the sensation of the wind rushing past his head. He pulled out of it about three feet from the surface of the water, looked quickly for a fish, and then swooped in. He dove quickly and made a splash as his talons entered the water. The fish, alarmed by the commotion from the ripples, tried to get away. Too late. The osprey speared the fish with his talons, piercing through the scales and deep into the flesh. He quickly flew up, the fish’s head dangling in the air. With a tight grip, he headed to his nest where his chicks would be with his mate. He was flying against the wind, which made it harder, but he prevailed. He finally reached his nest. He saw his mate, with their chicks under her wings, and felt happy that he had such a good family. That night they ate well.
Fiction
OUR MAGICAL ISLAND “Hey, Cam,” MaCall whispered, nudging me in the side to wake up. “What?” I asked groggily, peeling one eye open. “What time is it?” “Midnight,” MaCall grinned. I groaned. “I got some M&Ms from the vending machine at gymnastics. Do you want to share them with me on a magical island?” MaCall asked excitedly. “Huh?” I moaned. “A magical island—the roof!” MaCall whispered, her green eyes lighting up. “Now go get these jeans and tennis shoes on—I don’t want you to get hurt in case you fall off!” MaCall urged, thrusting clothes at me. Yawning, I pulled them on. “Put this belt on too,” MaCall commanded, handing me a pink sparkly belt. “I’m also wearing one. We’ll attach another one between us so we can be like mountain climbers,” MaCall explained, hurriedly tying my belt while she double-knotted hers. “Uh… shouldn’t we tie mine tighter?” I asked, looking doubtfully at my mountain-climbing getup. “Don’t worry about it. You’re lighter than I am,” MaCall sniffed, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. “Wait. Let me just make sure Mom and Dad are asleep. You stay here.” MaCall tiptoed over to our parents’ room and placed her ear to the door as I sat there fuming. MaCall thinks she’s stealthier than I am, but the truth is, she’s downright noisy. Every time we sneak downstairs to “get a glass of water,” (i.e., eat ice cream and watch our favorite latenight TV show), she either creaks every stair or topples down the whole flight with a giant BANG that would wake the dead. Well I guess the last thing is kind of my fault. I kind of advised her that the faster you move, the quieter you go, but now I see it depends on who’s going. “Definitely snoring,” MaCall announced cheerfully, beckoning for me to follow her. “Well Cam, are you ready?” she asked, quietly opening her bedroom window. (It’s the only one in the house with a removable screen.) “Yes,” I snorted with all the pride an eight-year-old could muster. “Yo. Don’t snort at me like that. I’m thirteen years old. You’re lucky I’m bringing you on this adventure!” MaCall whispered, looking all offended. MaCall pushed me out the window and onto the wood-shingled roof that slanted below it. “Ouch, MaCall!” I screeched, trying to pry the splinter out of my hand. “Now stay there, I’m coming out!” MaCall announced. Two seconds later, she had plopped down beside me. “Whoops!” she cried as she almost slipped on a loose shingle. “If Dad knew about this, he would be so mad!” MaCall said, calmly ripping open her bag of M&Ms and pouring them into her mouth. “Oh yeah. Here,” she said, handing me one brown M&M. “Oh gee, thanks,” I said, crunching down my one M&M. “You’re welcome!” MaCall said cheerfully, silently enjoying her bag of M&Ms. To tell you the truth, I was getting a bit bored. “Do you have any more candy?” I asked hopefully. “I’m not a vending machine,” MaCall said dryly. “MaCall, can we go back now?” I asked hopefully. “No.” A car’s headlights suddenly shone against our house. “Duck!” MaCall screeched, diving to hide her head between her arms. Personally, I don’t think it helped much. I looked at my sister and sighed. “MaCall, I don’t feel like I’m on a magical island. I feel like I’m watching you eat M&Ms,” I moaned, watching her scarf down the last one. “What? You mean you’re not at this very moment burying your toes in hot sizzling sand as the sun sinks into the sea?” MaCall whispered, closing her eyes and sprawling back on the splintery shingles with a contented sigh. “No.” “Well then… use your imagination!” MaCall screeched, then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Do you think Mom and Dad heard that?” “Yes,” I whispered, closing my eyes and grinning. “Even a deaf person would.” “Huh. Then maybe we should go back now,” MaCall said hurriedly, scrambling to her feet. “Wouldn’t want to get grounded for the next 300 years.” MaCall reached out a hand to me and looked at me with mischief in her bright green eyes. I reached out my hand to clasp hers, and at that moment, I knew she was my sister. * * * MY SISTER THE SPY “Hey, Cam, guess what?” MaCall giggled. “What?” I groaned, knowing this meant trouble. “I made us these files for our ‘agency,’” MaCall chirped, slapping down a manila folder with a mysterious number 52 on it. “Did you steal these from Dad’s office?” I asked, looking at them suspiciously. “Yeah, well that is not the topic,” MaCall said breezily. “The topic is that we are starting our own spy agency.” “Oh.” “Aren’t you excited?” MaCall breathed, her eyes practically popping out of her head. “Uh, the thing is, MaCall… whenever we do something together, I usually get in trouble.” MaCall looked offended. “Name five times that happened.” “Well, there was that one time that you convinced me to eat candy on the roof with you because it was a magical island and then dad found the wrappers when he was hanging the Christmas lights.” “Umm—that’s one,” MaCall shrugged in disgust. “And then there was the time you hid your stray cat in my closet and Dad thought it was my cat.” “Well…” MaCall hemmed. “…after which Dad made us knock on every door in the neighborhood to ask if they had lost a cat—which was really embarrassing.” “That was last year,” MaCall said, rolling her eyes. “And then you’re always making me play Naiads… ” I began. “I object to the word ‘always,’” MaCall interrupted. “Dad yelled at us for three hours for that!” “It’s not every day you can pretend you’re a water nymph and steal your little brothers’ souls,” MaCall said smugly. “Also, just recently you gave me five dollars to buy you a drink and a brownie and it ended up costing $6.25…” “How was I
Fiction
CHAPTER ONE Thomas was ten years old and on a plane, a plane going to his grandparents’ house on the shore of Lake Michigan. He hadn’t seen his grandparents since his father’s funeral three years ago. All he could remember was his grandpa smelled like apples and his grandma made delicious chocolate-chip cookies. Thomas got off his plane at the airport. He took a taxi to his grandparents’ address and had the driver drop him off at the beginning of the long winding driveway. He slowly dragged his suitcase up the driveway and found… nothing. It was as if there had never been a house there. Thomas did recognize the old dead oak, but for some reason, it was alive. Strange, but he was sure he was in the right place. Grabbing his suitcase, he ran back down the driveway, which was now nothing but dirt, rocks, and dead leaves. Thomas tripped and skinned his knee but got up and kept on running until he reached the road. It was now dirt with wagon ruts on either side. He saw the beginning of another driveway a little ways down the road to his left. It took Thomas a short time to reach it and he walked up the flower-bordered drive. A stately white Victorian house appeared, enclosed within a wrought-iron fence. It looked very out of place. Thomas stepped through the gate, walked onto the porch and knocked. The door was answered by a redheaded girl about six years old wearing a white dress and a sash that matched her sea-green eyes. “Um, e- excuse me, but could you tell me the date?” Thomas asked, somewhat afraid of the answer and unnerved by the way the girl was staring at him. “It is June 15, 1908, of course!” she laughed. This is not happening, Thomas thought. This only happens in movies or comic books! I’m dreaming. Yes, that must be it. Wake up! He pinched himself. It hurt. But wait a minute… this doesn’t seem to be a dream because I can feel and smell and hear everything. It isn’t fuzzy like my other dreams… so maybe this isn’t a dream? He pinched himself again just to make sure. “You’re from the future, aren’t you, Thomas. 2004 to be exact,” the girl said quietly. “And all you want right now is to get back to your grandparents’ house.” “Yeah, but I don’t see how that’s possible,” Thomas said. “Unless you know some magical way to time travel,” he added sarcastically. “My name is Charlotte, and yes, I do know a ‘magical way to time travel.’” Charlotte shut the door and skipped around the back of the house to the lakeshore. Thomas stood there, stunned, not sure if she was joking or if she actually could time travel. He decided it was worth a shot because he somehow trusted her. Thomas dropped his suitcase on the porch and followed her. Down by the lake, the mid-afternoon sun was glinting blindingly off the water. Charlotte handed Thomas three pebbles she had picked up from the shore. How were pebbles going to get him back to 2004? “Skip them while wishing as hard as you can to get back,” she said cheerfully. “But what happens if they don’t work?” Thomas asked. “Oh, don’t you worry, Thomas. My pebbles will work, I guarantee it, just as long as you believe,” she said confidently. Slightly unsettled by Charlotte’s certainty, Thomas skipped the first pebble. Nothing happened. He glanced at Charlotte, who smiled innocently at him, then skipped the second one. Again, nothing. Thomas was starting to wonder if he was going to be stuck in 1908 forever. Gloomily, he picked up the last pebble. He threw with all his might, but the third stone came skipping back. It was shining with all the colors of the rainbow, flying back towards him. There was a flash of bright blue-green light and Thomas found himself standing on his grandparents’ front porch with his suitcase. * * * CHAPTER TWO Thomas’s grandparents were, of course, happy to see him. They fussed over how much he had grown and asked what had taken him so long. Thomas mumbled something about delayed flights. His grandma, sensing that something was wrong, immediately fed him a plateful of warm chocolate-chip cookies and a glass of milk. Soon feeling better, Thomas put a Band-Aid on his skinned knee and helped his grandma with the dishes. In his bed that night Thomas replayed his conversations with Charlotte in his head and noticed something that he hadn’t before. She had known his name, the year he came from, and exactly what he wanted. How? Who was Charlotte? I’ll bike down the road tomorrow and see if I can find her house, he promised himself as he drifted off to sleep. At seven o’clock the next morning, Thomas wrote a note for his grandparents and dug the old bike out from beneath all the other junk in the garage. Coasting down the driveway, he turned left and pedaled hard up the hill until he found the spot where Charlotte’s driveway had been. Now, it could not even be called an animal trail. Hopping off the bike, he walked up the trail until he found the fence, and beyond it, the house, still standing, if a bit overgrown and falling apart. Leaning the bike against the fence, Thomas walked cautiously onto the wobbly porch and knocked on the door, half expecting Charlotte to answer it. “Hello? Is anybody here?” he called, slowly forcing open the rusted hinges of the door and peeking inside. “Um… Charlotte?” he whispered. “Hello, Thomas.” Charlotte’s voice sounded whispery and seemed to come from everywhere at once. “I told you my pebbles work.” * * * CHAPTER THREE Thomas’s mouth fell open. He was stunned. What was happening? “Follow my ribbon, Thomas,” Charlotte said. Thomas noticed her sea-green sash draped across a coat stand. Suddenly, the sash twitched and started floating. OK,
Poem
I curl my cold fingers Around the yellow Frisbee Coil my arm back Dip it low, flex my wrist, Release. It sails smoothly through the air Floats gently above my father’s head And then The wind carries it slowly Into his waiting hands He smiles and tosses it Back into the wind I am prepared My arms are open, ready As his were To grasp it, to hold it in my clutches But instead The wind takes it, Swoops it, low and high Suddenly I am snatching air, And the Frisbee lands Softly in the grass, Wet with mud I pick it up Bend low, Step forward, Let go. Dad leaps With a ballerina’s grace His hands clasp Around its plastic yellow body Our eyes lock He nods, I nod, A mental understanding Then it’s whizzing through the air A bright, lemon-colored streak against the violet sunset. I push off the ground My feet lift from the grass I reach for the sky, Palm open Instinctively My hands snap shut Like the pincers of a crab on the beach And suddenly it is there I am holding it Thud. My sneakers meet the ground And I am thrusting it into the air A triumph He smiles I smile The yellow disk Is in my hand We smile We nod Go home Now we are done here.
Poem
Loud chirping surrounds the house. It is hard to concentrate on anything else, While the wood frogs and peepers are calling. Silently, I put down my book, and slide away from my chair. I lean out of the window, seeing nothing, But feeling something in the air. The stars are shining brightly. I cannot see the tiny creatures, But their voices are calling, calling, Begging to be heard. Suddenly, I am through the window And into the night. Sitting on the porch roof, Letting the chirps and peeps envelop me. The tiny animals of the swamp are calling, calling, We are alive.
Poem
A dull, cloudy morning, On the couch with my parents, Cozy, like the three little bears. My dad holds the camera, …Why? An unexpected turn in the lethargic morning conversation My dad tells me to look at some papers, Confused and unsure, Why are they meant for me to read? All the words on the paper were blocked out, Except for one—like a lighthouse, flashing news… PREGNANT My legs jump in the air, My feet tap out the sound of joy. Then I know what the camera is for. These new and different feelings and thoughts Crowd my head Like a crowded pack of people at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I would have to take care of someone Small, gentle, and fragile like a feather. What to do, what to do? This new baby—new person in my life Will change the way I think of others, And will change the way I care for others. A baby brother? A baby sister? Someone I am excited about, Someone I’m looking forward to—someone absolutely new.
Poem
My black-and-gray rooster crows. The sound of birds’ chatter filters through the morning. I open the icy gate and walk the familiar trail. A cool, damp haze swirls around me. I carry the rusty bucket filled with a ton of feed; It pours like sifting sand into the concrete trough. Cowbells reverberate as they prance over the hill. Stopping beneath my willow tree, I watch them eat. I turn around to head home, But first I pick the first Wild buttercup.
Book Reviews
The Year the Swallows Came Early
The Year the Swallows Came Early, by Kathryn Fitzmaurice; HarperCollins: New York, 2009; $16.99 What happens when someone you love betrays you? Well, in this book, The Year the Swallows Came Early, you can learn that understanding and forgiving someone you love is the key for your own peace of mind. The main character of this book, Eleanor (Groovy) Robinson, deals with disappointment and anger, but later she finds out that you can’t hate someone forever and that, sooner or later, you’ll have to forgive them. When this story starts off, taking place in the historic town of San Juan Capistrano, Groovy witnesses her dad being arrested and has no clue why. That night her mom reveals to Groovy that her great-grandmother had left her a lot of money. Upon hearing this, Groovy starts to eagerly make plans for using this large sum to go to cooking school. But she only gets a few seconds to be excited because her mother shatters Groovy’s dreams by informing her that her father had lost all that money on a single bet, and that was why she had called the police. When I read this part, I was automatically hooked because I so desperately wanted to know how Groovy would react to this news. Groovy was disappointed about losing that money, but she also started to doubt that her father cared about her. Meanwhile, Groovy’s best friend, Frankie, doesn’t even want to think about his mother or read her letters. He is mad because his mother went on a voyage with his stepfather and left him with his stepbrother, Luis. She promised to be back in three days but didn’t come back for three years. That whole time, Frankie believed that she had betrayed him, and so he never chose to read or hear the explanations from her, and he doesn’t even want to know the real reason she didn’t come back. Even when she appears at Luis’s shop, Frankie still chooses not to listen to her, and so she leaves with a broken heart. But there are wise and helpful people in Frankie and Groovy’s neighborhood. Mr. Tom really wanted to help Frankie. He once said to him, “All that anger will turn you to stone.” Unfortunately, that’s exactly what ends up happening to Frankie, and then to Groovy as well. From just being sad and discouraged, Groovy becomes very angry and starts to hate her father. When mid-spring came, so did the scout swallow, and this time early. The rest of the swallows followed, bringing many changes. Groovy finally talked to her father on the phone, and she decided to forgive him and give him another chance. After a while, Luis explained to Frankie what really happened with his mother. Frankie understood and sincerely forgave her. It was a year of much disappointment and loss, but it would be a year to remember, the year the swallows came early. I learned from this book that “people are just who they are.” That means you need to be able to accept and trust the people you love before jumping to conclusions or thinking negatively about them. I also learned that you can’t carry so much anger and hatred inside yourself because it will slowly destroy you and make many people around you miserable and unhappy. You should try to do as many good things as you can, and stay positive, because it will not only make you feel good, but it’ll also brighten up the world around you.
Book Reviews
After the Train, by Gloria Whelan; HarperCollins: New York, 2009; $15.99 Picture this: you are thirteen years old and living in Rolfen, West Germany, ten years after WWII has ended. All your history teacher talks about is the war and how big an impact it had on history, along with how horrible it was for the Jewish people. You know all this already and you think everyone should move on and live in the moment. Of course you have sympathy for all the people who suffered and died, but right now your biggest concerns are playing summer soccer with your two best friends and helping your father rebuild the town’s church in your spare time. This is Peter Liebig’s life in a nutshell, until he discovers a treasure trove of letters that had been exchanged between his mother and father during the war. While their country fought, Mr. Liebig, an architect by trade, built barracks in the prison camps. At home Mrs. Liebig, eager to play her part in the war, worked as a nurse at the Red Cross organization, treating mild wounds and making care packages for the soldiers. She saw the trains shipping off thousands of Jews to concentration camps but chose to ignore it all. The couple was happy helping the cause and blissfully unaware of the terrors going on around them. That all changed when a desperate woman held a baby out the window of a train and begged Mrs. Liebig to take him. The small child, later named Peter, had changed the Liebigs’ lives forever. Peter, now grown up, had always assumed that he was the son of his parents, just as anyone would. But when he discovers his Jewish heritage, his world is flipped upside down and he scrambles for anything to hold onto while he gets his head around this newly discovered information. When Peter talks to one of his father’s Jewish friends and starts attending some of their religious services and dinners with him, he finds it easier and easier to come to terms with his past. I thought I knew everything about my family and my past, but two years ago, when my father told me how my great-grandfather and great-uncles survived Auschwitz, I was astounded! They had lived in Poland and were helping Jews escape persecution. But the Nazis caught onto them, and they were sent to one of the worst prison camps created. Luckily, they all survived, but not without injuries. I was most certainly not in the same predicament as Peter, but I could relate to him and his sense of astonishment. Peter is a good role model, and easy to relate to. He has the mind of an adolescent, making his thoughts about soccer and friends easy for the young reader to understand, but he is also a very kind boy with a logical mind and a generous heart. He is curious and works hard, as evidenced by the sections of bricks he carefully and dutifully laid while learning the trade with his father. He helps his friends with their crazy ideas and is respectful and polite to his parents and other adults, making him my favorite character in the book. Because it is short in length, I found this book to be slightly predictable and some parts repetitive and slow moving. Overall, however, I enjoyed it. The book is a wonderful example of how learning about your past is not always a bad thing, and can be a grounding experience.
