It was one of those winter days that seemed much more like spring. There had been a storm yesterday but the only trace of it now was the slightly dark mist suspended in the vast open sky. Weak sunlight crept through the open windows, casting a timid sort of light throughout the room and a quiet chirping of birds could almost be heard outside in the maple tree. It was just one of those days begging for me to go outside and find out what it would bring. “Will someone take Scooter for a walk?” I heard Mama call. Jumping up, I skipped down the stairs two at a time, grabbing our dachshund’s leash as I flew down the hallway. “I will!” I called out loudly. As I found our little puppy snoozing on the couch I approached him quietly, not wanting to startle him, and then whispered gently, “Hey, little guy. Do you feel like going outside with me today?” Which was of course a very unnecessary question, considering the fact that he was already starting to wake up, wagging his tail excitedly. “I take that as a yes, then,” I said happily, picking him up and burying my face in his warm fur. Outside the weather was cold and crisp, but at the same time there was a type of warmth in the air that filled me up like a helium balloon, so that I was so full of happiness I might have lifted off of the ground. I tugged gently on the leash and then whispered softly, “Come on, little guy. Let’s run!” It was just the perfect day to run And with that we were off, racing against the wind that was whipping my long hair out behind me. We were racing against the sunlight that trickled towards us gently, creeping serenely into my little puppy’s eyes, illuminating his look of sheer delight. It was just the perfect day to run. I looked over to my side to marvel at how Scooter’s long back and powerful little legs could propel him forward so quick and gracefully. I was laughing inside, as his big, silky ears flapped like maple leaves in a windstorm. He was panting slightly, and I realized that I was too. Our breath turned into small little clouds that teased us and then floated away wispily, finally diffusing into the rest of the foggy air. The grass beneath my shoes was crunching slightly and I was amazed at the thin layer of frost that laced every single blade of grass, big or small. I thought of how not a blade was left bare, how incredible it was that every piece was wrapped in the tiny little ice crystals. We ran for a while, until our hearts pounded like drums. The chilly air started to sting my throat like a sharp knife piercing through my neck, down my throat, and into my heaving lungs. The dog was so swift, it was hard to keep up, but gradually his pace was slowing down. His eyes were widening in concentration as he looked up at me, signaling that our walk was now over. I nodded, unable to muster the breath required to speak, and turned towards home. One step at a time, we worked our way back to the front door. Then I turned to my beloved puppy. “Oh Scooter, I love you so much. What would I do without you?” My little dog’s eyes dilated and he raised a paw hopefully. I put my hand out, and he jumped into my arms. I hugged him tightly and felt his soft fur against my face. Then I carried him inside the house where he knew that warmth, love, and dog biscuits would always be there for him. And he would be there, for us. Emina S. Sonnad, 12Ojai, California
January/February 2008
Parachute Prom
I twirl around and around in front of my mirror. I quickly smooth out the crinkles beginning to form on the beautiful silk dress. Glancing at my face I notice a stray hair and quickly pin it back into place. Reapplying a coat of lipstick, I nervously look at my dress one last time. It is beautiful. I am filled with pride I cannot explain. Just three weeks ago it was an old dirty silk parachute, filled with memories of a war that we thought would never happen. Filled with memories of the terror my brothers experienced when they dropped behind enemy lines. Filled with memories of the dread they experienced if the Germans found them. However, even these feelings of worry cannot overwhelm my feeling of eagerness to wear the dress. I savor the way the silk slips through my hands like warm butter against my skin. The top hugs me tightly then carefully flows into a billowing skirt. It has been gathered in at places to give it a ruffled look. The dove-white silk carefully accents my tan skin. Just like this happiness accents the hardness that I have gone through in my life. Behind me in the mirror I see my room. It is a mess from all my getting ready. I see shoes strewn about, towels flung on the floor, and a whole slew of makeup, bobby pins, and the little jewelry I have. Behind that I glimpse my childhood pictures of chocolate cakes with pink icing and fairy-tale cities that existed only in my wildest dreams. Old birthday cards and letters from close friends fill me with nostalgia. My eyes fill with tears as I think of how happy I feel. I remember the times that led up to this moment. This is the moment I have been waiting for and now it has finally come I remember that it was a Saturday afternoon and I was in the living room getting fitted for the dress. I watched my mother carefully to be sure she wouldn’t stick me with her pins. I watched those graceful hands gather the silk tight across my front to show off a slim figure. The dress was starting to look like a dress and less like the parachute that it was. The dove-white silk hugged my body carefully as I imagined the prom. I looked out the window and saw our yard in full bloom. The flowers were bright colors and the grass green. Shifting my gaze to inside the house I saw my sister carefully doing her homework. A little beyond that I saw my youngest brother reading intently a book called The Odyssey. It was about his tenth time reading it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my grandmother washing the dishes. I can still hear her humming an old tune her mother had sung to her on their farm in Greece when she was a little girl. However, even through all that happiness on that day, I still remembered the fit I had when I heard I was to be wearing a silk parachute to the senior prom. I was crying. I was crying and I could not stop. I had made sacrifices my whole life but for once I was hoping to have something for me. I ran to my room and I slammed the door. All I was thinking of was the dirty parachute in a box with all of the other things that my brother had brought back from the war. It was festering away in a dark corner of the hall closet in all of its gory glory. The bullet holes from where it had been shot at showed proudly. The smell was unbearable; it was a mixture of dirty muddy grass, and sweat. I had thought, Father, don’t think of me as selfish, but why did you leave us with nobody to bring in money? Why couldn’t you have held on for the good of your family? I had thought that before but never as fiercely as then. If he had not died so suddenly, I remember thinking, Mother would have enough money to buy me a new dress and she wouldn’t have to work. I realize now that those initial reactions were silly, but at the time it seemed so important. Now, I wonder, do I deserve this dress? Our family is poor and it was so even before Father died. He lost his restaurant job and he went to work in the shipyards, which didn’t exactly make him want to go to work each day. And then Alex and Perry went to war and we didn’t hear from them. Three months after they came home, Father died. And here I was thinking that my mother’s best effort wasn’t good enough for me to wear. I don’t think that now. This is the moment I have been waiting for and now it has finally come. I survey myself with a critical eye. I can’t help but feel happy with the young woman I see staring back at me. With one last glance at myself, I open the door. * * * AUTHOR’S FOOTNOTE This story was inspired by a real person and a real dress! Helen Phillips wore this prom dress in January of 1946. She still has the dress that was made from her brother Alex’s silk parachute. Alex Phillips was in the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) during World War II when he parachuted into Greece to help the resistance fighters. Helen’s granddaughter Emily first heard this story in the fall of 2005 when she was ten years old and her grandmother was seventy-five. Emily Waxman,10Los Angeles, California Adele Hall,11Simi Valley, California
The Forest in the Hallway
The Forest in the Hallway by Gordon Smith; Clarion Books: New York, zoo6; $16 You can’t judge a book by its cover. How many times have you heard that phrase? Still, when I picked up The Forest in the Hallway, I took a good look at the cover and thought, Looks OK. I was incredibly, absolutely wrong. I was expecting an average fantasy book. This one is extraordinary. The wonder begins in the first eight pages, where Gordon Smith introduces Beatriz. She seems like a nice, normal girl in a bad situation. Her parents have recently disappeared. Not a lot of details about her are given, but, in that first chapter, I get the feeling that she’s a sweet, smart, obedient girl. Beatriz reacts to her problems the same way I would. She deals with her loneliness and fear by thinking and watching the city outside her window, as well as thinking sarcastic things about her Uncle M, who’s taking care of her. When a strange face tells her to go to the nineteenth floor, she does, seeking adventure. Here, in a forest-like hallway, she meets the great character of Death, who needs some help collecting a witch. Death is a perfect mix of creepiness and humor. He’s funny, and almost kind, but continually reminds Beatriz that he is Death with small, unsettling habits and comments (for example, he wears a black, hooded robe). Other fabulous characters are Rose, a winged woman, and her two children, Pyramus and Thisby. Rose is sarcastic and tough, and her wings at first unsettle Beatriz. However, it’s clear she loves her children and wants to help. Pyramus and Thisby are silly, kind children. They remind me of Sarah and Claire, two little girls in my neighborhood who treat me like I’m their best friend and are always eager to share things with me. I think it’s very realistic that these two enthusiastic kids are even bored by their adventure. I am especially fond of Pyramus and Thisby because I’m in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, where two characters are named Pyramus and Thisby. This book touches on some big issues. For example, Beatriz is at first afraid of Rose, Pyramus, and Thisby, because they have wings. I think this is how the author mentions the issue of racism. By allowing Beatriz to gradually become good friends with Rose and her children, he also shows that it’s silly to fear people who look different. However, it’s the little touches that really bring this book to life, for example, “Beatriz loved animals. She wouldn’t even kill insects, but she made an exception for mosquitoes.” I have said the exact same thing to some of my friends. I’m a vegetarian, but I loathe mosquitoes. This book is hilarious. I laughed out loud at least five times while reading it. Angela, the villain, is a great character. She’s distinctly evil, but funny, with traits such as wearing really ugly clothes (think miniskirt, pink fuzzy sweater and white tights). She’s much more realistic than a villain who’s just cruel. I heartily recommend this book to everyone. The journey of one normal girl through a host of hilariously harrowing adventures will fascinate you through its humor, imagery, character, and details. Anya losephs,12Chapel Hill, North Carolina
