My legs were shaking, my heart pounding. As we neared the edge of the cliff, I double-checked all my rappelling equipment to make sure it was secure. Quickly, I went through all the safety precautions in my mind. I felt anxious, but not eager for my turn as I waited in line with the members of my group. Fear rose from the pit of my stomach as I realized there was no one else to let in front of me. Slowly, I lowered myself to the edge of the nearly 200-foot cliff. My skin shook like a dozen earthquakes when I reached the belay man, the person who hooks me to the belaying ropes, which keep me from falling. He was tied to a tree probably tighter than his true love would have held on to him. He hooked me up, and I slowly lowered myself over the edge of the cliff, inhaled deeply, and went into a sitting position with both feet in front of me. I closed my eyes, gulped, and began to rappel. I had traveled no more than five feet when a man I didn’t recognize appeared over the edge. With camera in hand he smiled and said, “Cheese,” then snapped a picture of me. “Funny,” I replied. In my head I heard the words, Listen, wise guy, I’ve more important things to do . . . like, say . . . surviving. With camera in hand he smiled and said,”Cheese” My anger was soon forgotten as I reached a point where my feet could no longer touch the rocky wall. Panic took over. The wall was right there, mocking me. I can’t stand to be mocked. Thump, my foot made contact with the wall, causing me to rotate. As I slowly began to spin around an interesting thing happened; my panic vanished. The panoramic view of the surrounding area overwhelmed me. All the different-sized trees were evergreens, which seemed to blanket the hillside. The forest was teeming with life as different types of animals raced across my field of vision. As I looked upward the sky seemed to open up into a blue vastness. A sense of excitement overtook me. I’d been waiting for this moment, night and day, for one long month, and finally my dream had become reality. I began to feel more calm and more relaxed. Impulsively, I blurted out, “My name is Bond, James Bond.” Someone climbing back up the cliff overheard me and started laughing. His laughter made me realize that my sense of humor had returned. As I finally neared the bottom of the cliff, there seemed to be less animal activity. Looking up, the cliff did not seem as intimidating as it did going down. My feet were shaky when they finally touched the soft and muddy ground. Mixed emotions were in the back of my mind. I was happy that the rappel was done, yet longed to do it again. Pride swelled up within me. Traveling the muddy road, I began the long climb upward. Jason Lee, 13Prospect, Kentucky Bonny Reynolds, 13Wannaska, Minnesota
July/August 2000
Carrying Heart’s Roses
Nicole opened her eyes with the reluctance of one uneager to face the day. She hadn’t slept well that night, nor on any other night for the past few days. Her mind screamed the reason for her lack of sleep, and she remembered all too clearly the importance of that day. Stumbling out of bed, Nicole staggered toward her desk, hoping against hope it would be any other month than June, any number than the seventeenth. But when her gaze focused on the large calendar angled artistically over her desk, her eyes riveted to a square circled in unforgiving red; it was Saturday, June seventeenth, and it was the day she had been dreading for a long time. * * * San Francisco was teeming with people walking up and down its sidewalks, some holding bags of vegetables bought cheap from Chinatown, some walking their dogs or children. Nicole sat near the window with her chin propped up in her hand, staring vacantly at the light beige house across the street. As the morning grew into afternoon, so did the hollowness in her stomach. She didn’t stray from the chair all day, until the front door opened and her father was home. “Nicole, have you been there all day?” he asked concernedly, glancing down at his only daughter. He knew today was a solemn day for her. But he also knew that today was necessary, for in order for Nicole to move on, she had to see her one last time. Carrying Heart’s Roses “Nicole, have you been there all day?” he asked concernedly “Dad, why do we have to move?” Nicole asked quietly. He sighed wearily and sat down on the couch beside her. “Nicole, we’ve been over this a thousand and one times. I’ve been offered a very good job out in Boston. It pays well, and I’ve checked out the schools and the environment there. They’ve gotten incredible reviews. All in all, the move will be good for us.” Empty resignation tinted his voice when he added, “We have nothing here.” “I know,” Nicole said wearily. The pair was silent for a moment. “Ready to see her?” Nicole’s father finally asked. Nicole nodded. But I’m not ready, she thought silently. I’ll never be able to say good-bye. Soon they were cruising down Clement Street. Passing various flower shops, her father suddenly asked, “Do you want to bring her flowers?” “Good idea,” Nicole agreed. They parked illegally by the curb and entered the small, dim flower shop. There was an old lady sitting behind a desk, jotting down what appeared to be numbers on a small pad of paper. She glanced up at them with no particular interest, then resumed her task. Nicole looked at all the clear plastic boxes stored inside refrigerators. A flower, she wondered, or a bouquet. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed a beautiful arrangement of red roses, then selected a single white rose to slide in the center of the bouquet. She handed it to her father, who paid for them without a word, though she was sure he noted the extremely expensive price. Then they were on their way again. Nicole switched on the radio to her favorite station. A loud rap song filled the car, sounding brutal and sharp, and she quickly switched to a soft rock station. Somehow, that too, sounded too loud. Sometimes you don’t know what you want, Nicole remembered her saying. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her,” her father remarked in a half-hearted attempt at conversation. Nicole nodded briefly, and silence once again filled the car. The rest of the drive was tense and endless. After what seemed like an eternity, they drove through the stylish black iron gate, finally stopping in the gravelly road. Nicole hesitantly opened her door, then closed it. The sound reverberated through the empty fields, on and on. To the end of the world, Nicole thought absently. Her father stayed in the car. He knew she needed to talk to her alone. Carrying the roses, Nicole stumbled across the dewy grass, toward the spot she’d memorized by heart. Three down, eight across. Kneeling down to face her, Nicole lay the bouquet at the head of her mother’s bed of lush green grass. Her fingers caressed the cold, wet marble, running over the engraved letters that marked her mother’s final resting place. “Hey, Mom,” she said softly, a single tear sliding out of the corner of her eyes. She watched the salty drop splash onto her mother’s headstone, then drip down the side into the grass. “Dad and I are moving to Massachusetts, so I won’t see you for a while. We’ll . . . miss you,” she struggled to get out the words, her throat tightening on the last word. Suddenly, a cool breeze rushed down from the heavens, despite the warm summer afternoon. It seemed to swirl around Nicole, chilling her body but warming her soul. Her hair blew around her, yet the leaves of nearby trees didn’t waver. The sorrow and emotion she had locked inside herself finally bubbled out in the form of tears, but Nicole kissed the tombstone and smiled. “I love you too.” Kirsten Moon, 13Honolulu, Hawaii Erica D. Pratt, 13Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Little Pal
I saw it in an old country store. All around it were dull tools of an earlier generation. What caught my attention at first was the flash that I saw when I opened the door. I walked over eagerly. In my pocket was a five-dollar bill that I had gotten for my birthday. My dad had taken me to the only store in town and told me to get anything with my money. Surely the flashing thing was under five dollars. It was a golden model dog with a silver tail. I gasped. I had never seen the color gold in our little town. I lifted it gently and looked on the bottom, then I rolled it around. Still, I couldn’t find a price tag. Holding it gently I went up to the counter. The only thing distinguishing the counter from the shelves piled with broken stuff was an old lady standing behind it. “Could you tell me the price of this model, ma’am?” I asked as politely as I could. “You can’t buy that dog, young lady,” she replied, “it’s thirty-five dollars.” “You’ve got to be kidding,” I laughed. “There isn’t any model dog worth thirty-five dollars.” “Then you can kid yourself out of here. That model is worth more than thirty-five dollars.” She stomped out of the shop and into her house across the muddy yard. The dog was glittering in my hand. It flashed temptingly. I wanted something gold and silver. Something that would look like what the rich people have in their fancy houses. I looked around and saw that my dad was bending over the old pickup trying to get a squirmy puppy out of the back. I started trying to shove the model in my pocket when the lady came back. He licked my fingers and I felt that the model dog didn’t matter to me anymore “What are you doing with that dog, young lady?” she demanded. “Oh,” I said, while my brain started racing frantically. “Is that your father out there?” she asked, going to the door. “Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, and tried to sneak the dog back onto the shelf. “I see what you’re doing, young lady,” she snapped. “You can leave it in your pocket while I get your dad.” There wasn’t any way out. The bell jingled as they came in. “I’m sorry, ma’am, for the trouble my daughter has caused,” my dad said. “I assure you that you won’t have her coming into your shop in the future. Come along, Sara.” He jerked his head to the door and we marched out. I was feeling terrible, but not because I had been caught stealing. No, I was just mad about not getting that model. On the ride home my dad was silent and so was I. The only sound was a lonely yip now and then from the pup in the back. My dad was going to sell it to the lady in the shop because we didn’t have any need for another puppy. He couldn’t sell it after what I had done. I wasn’t sorry. All I wanted was to get that model, and I would sneak out tonight and go to the village and get it. I stayed awake long into the night while I waited to make sure everyone was asleep. When it had been at least an hour after the last light had gone out, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was really uncomfortable to lie in bed in overalls. As I crept to the front door I felt something grab my pant leg. I whirled around and saw the pup digging his claws into the floor with his teeth through my cuff. I was furious! I grabbed him and set him on the floor none too gently. He whimpered and I turned away. He was back, trying to rip my sock off. Over and over I’d try to get away and he’d stop me. I finally stuck him in the broom closet and ran outside into a pounding rain. I started running toward town with my bare feet slapping on the mud of the road. It was crisscrossed by torrents of water cutting little canyons into the dirt. There was water everywhere. The trees were dripping with it and the stream was flooding out of its banks. Little pinpoints of light beside the road told me that the raccoons were watching me. It gives you an eerie feeling seeing unblinking eyes watching you from the forest. I felt something hit my back and I froze. A wet tongue licked my face and I knew the puppy had gotten out of the closet. How, I didn’t know, but I was sure that it had damaged the woodwork a little. It whimpered and tugged at my pant leg. Then I realized what he was doing. He was trying to keep me from going to the store and stealing the model! I reached down and patted his head. He licked my fingers and I felt that the model dog didn’t matter to me anymore. The little dog leapt into my arms and I started running home. “You know,” I said into his fur, “I’ve got the perfect name for you. You’re my Little Pal.” Little Pal, as he was now called, fell asleep on my bed right after we got home. After I told my dad I was sorry, I used my five dollars to buy myself the best birthday present ever, Little Pal. My very own genuine dog. He was adorable, the most perfect puppy ever, in my opinion. Nikki Morse, 12Boulder, Colorado Garrett Landon, 11Santa Cruz, California
