I can hear the crowd around me, talking amongst themselves, just waiting for the race to begin. I can hear people betting, “I’ll take ten on Lightning! Twenty on Bullet!” I’m what you can consider an underdog. Lightning and Bullet, they are the true racers. I don’t necessarily come in last, but I’ve never won. I love the feel of racing, watching the rabbit bounding about in front of me. We know it’s mechanical, but we run for the thrill of it. Suddenly, I get my confidence boost for the race. “I’ll take five on Cassie!” That’s me! I think happily I won’t let you down! It’s an honor enough to hear someone knowing my name. Usually, people refer to the lesser racers by their number. I’m number 2, I’ve actually grown rather fond of the number. I can sometimes pick out individual voices in the crowd, little children talking to their friends. “I like that one the best, number 2i!” “Well, I like the black one the best.” Suddenly a family sits down up front. Next to my pen. “Hi there,” a little girl whispers to me. “Daddy, what’s this doggie’s name?” she asks her father. He looks at the brochure. “Number 2… Cassie…” he mutters. “Hi Cassie,” she says. “I bet she’s the best one!” the girl squeals enthusiastically “Daddy, can we put money on her?” she asks. The man looks down at her, and stares into her eyes for a moment. Finally, he smiles. “All right,” he says softly The man stands up. “Fifty on Cassie!” he shouts. “Go Cassie! C’mon girl!” It’s the little girl from before Fifty! Not even Lightning and Bullet get that kind of money on them! “All right girl, give it your all,” he says to me with a smile. I prefer it on the track, I love having everyone watch me, well, watching us… It’s much better than the kennel that I get forced into when I’m not out. I can’t lose, if I do, then I’m gone. Someday I know I’ll win. I look at the racer next to me. It’s number 12, Manfred. Another underdog. Lightning holds his head up high and gives all of us a menacing glare. Bullet paws the ground and lets out a quiet bark. I think that Bullet will win this one. Lightning strained his paw a few weeks ago and hasn’t fully recovered. Just then, the gates open. I know exactly what to do, I’ve done it many times before. I take off sprinting, I can hear panting behind me, there are at least ten in front of me. Slowly I pass one, I try to pace myself for the rest of the race. Suddenly I hear a noise. Faint at first, then louder, and I tune myself into it. “Go Cassie! C’mon girl!” It’s the little girl from before. With a sudden surge of confidence, I pass another racer. “Atta girl! Keep it up!” This time it is the girl’s father. I pass another greyhound. Soon, their two voices mix together, into one constant cheer. I run faster, and faster. I begin to pass more and more dogs, but I don’t notice, I’m listening to the sound of cheering. Then, the noise grows, more people are standing. “Keep it up!” “Number 2 is number I!” “Cassie! Go Cassie!” Soon I realize that I am neck and neck with Lightning. Bullet is only a few feet ahead of me. I can see the finish in the distance. Now the entire crowd is cheering me. I push myself, using the last bit of power I can muster up, I speed ahead of Lightning. I run harder, trying hard, so hard, to reach Bullet. I can feel Lightning’s dark gaze boring into the back of my head, but I don’t care. Even those who didn’t bet on me begin to cheer. Everyone wants to see me win, everyone wants to see an underdog finally take charge. Bullet shoots a nervous gaze back at me. I move my legs, pumping them faster and harder than I ever have before. I am at a dead tie with Bullet. I can hear a startled whimper escape him. He tries to push forward, but it’s no use. He used all his energy with his grueling pace. I pass him, and soon I pass the finish line. The crowd erupts into one huge cheer. “Cassie! Cassie! Cassie!” they shout my name over and over again. I’ve never felt so tired in my life. I pace back and forth. I can hear the announcer, “Truly an amazing feat, number 2 has won it all!” That night I sleep comfortably in my kennel. I can still hear our trainer’s voice, “Don’t know how you did it, but you did!” I can still feel the sense of importance that rushed over me as I passed the finish line. I can still see the look in Lightning’s eyes. And I can still imagine the little girl, “Go Cassie! C’mon girl!” My dreams of winning come to an end the next morning. I yawn, stretching my legs out as far as the kennel will allow them to move. I can hear the dogs above me shifting restlessly I hear Lightning whimper, his paw must still hurt. Soon, our caretaker comes in. “Hey guys. Good race yesterday, especially you, Cassie,” she says and scratches me under my chin. “OK, everyone, give it your all today,” she says, then she lets us out of our kennels and serves us breakfast. News must spread pretty quickly, because today everyone is betting on me. I look around for the little girl from the other day, but I don’t see her. “Twenty on Cassie!” I hear from a few feet away I look up excitedly, but I don’t see the girl, or her father. Several more people put bets on me, then the gates open. I race off again, passing others, but with no motivation for me to
July/August 2007
The Sea’s Hug
The sea opens its arms to me Hugging me by pulling me into its deep cool waters My head goes under The waves crash overhead I hug it back I swim deep To the bottom No rush to get air My feet feel the sandy bottom I swim back up To smell the crisp fresh salty breeze pass by me I see mossy rocks slipping under the waves Seagulls cry loudly for their friends I see bright neon-colored sea glass glittering in the sun I walk onto warm sand But the sea calls me back to play I can’t resist I run into its cool hug once again Annie Rudisill,11Ann Arbor, Michigan
JuJu
Juan (pronounced Ju-an) walked into our living room where my parents were sitting at the table. My mom and dad knew right away that she would be the one. She was wearing jeans and a Barbados T-shirt. She had brown hair, brown eyes, and brown skin. My sister, Emily, was two at the time and I was not yet born. Emily walked up to Juan and shook her box of Tic Tacs. “You want one?” Juan smiled and shook her head. “No thank you, Emily” Juan had a look on her face that said, I think I’m going to like this kid. Emily gave her the same look right back. Then Juan sat across the table from my parents. When the interview was finished Emily walked up to my mom and said, “Mommy, I like that lady” She was only two years old but even then she knew that Juan was going to be our babysitter. Juan took care of Emily until Emily was five. Then I was born and she would take care of both of us. Juan sat in the waiting room with Emily and then an hour after I was born she came in and held me. I have a picture that the nurse must have taken for my mom of Juan holding me. From then on Juan and I were as close as we could get. She sang songs to me like “Oh My Darling Clementine,” and songs that she knew from when she was growing up in Barbados. Even now I remember her voice clearly singing them to me. I remember one day very clearly. We were in a park (I can’t remember which) and I had stubbed my toe and was crying. Juan picked me up and sat us both down and rocked me like a baby She sang those songs to me and it calmed me so much. Juan or Juju as I liked to call her was like a second mother to me. I sat at the kitchen table while Juan made me drool with all of the great smells of her cooking “How long do I gotta stay with you, girl?” Juan would often ask in a joking manner. “’til college, Juju!” She would laugh and then kiss me on the head. Our family always said that Juan knew our apartment building better than we did. Because later on in the years that she worked for us she was mainly alone in the house with our dog, she was able to do laundry and hang out with all of the staff’ that worked in our building. When she and I were going somewhere and we saw someone new that worked at our building Juan already knew their name. “Hey Pablo!” she would shout from across the lobby “How’s the wife and kids?” “Sharon is good, so are Benny and Samantha,” the doorman or maintenance guy would say Then they would pause a minute and be happy that Juan remembered. “How are Harry and Kenny?” (Juan’s husband and daughter). “They get by,” she would say with that great smile. “See ya later! Stay sweet!” Pablo (in this case) would walk away with a happy feeling, while I would walk away feeling bad that I didn’t know Pablo’s name until then. I used to, and still do, go over to Juju’s house for sleepovers. Juan and I play dominos there. She makes me barbecue ribs for dinner. She lives in Brooklyn so every so often Juan and I take the train to her stop and walk the couple of blocks to her house. Along the way we can’t get a block without running into someone that we know. Juan will say hello and introduce me. “This Natalie, I babysat her since the day she was born.” Her neighbor or friend would widen her or his eyes and say, “This is Natalie?” They would look shocked. “The one you don’t stop talking about?” Juan and I would smile shyly “Well,” they would smile back, “it certainly is a pleasure to meet you.” They would stick out their hand and I would shake it. When we finally got to Juan’s house we would relax and talk to Kenya, Juan’s twenty-three-year-old daughter. She always had stories about college and questions about my school. Soon Harry, Juan’s husband, would come home. He was a doctor. He would ask me how I was and join the conversation. Then Kenny would go do homework, Harry would watch a baseball game or the news, and Juan and I would go into the kitchen. I sat at the kitchen table while Juan made me drool with all of the great smells of her cooking. She would make the best barbecue ribs ever. She usually made peas and corn along with it too. When I asked her once where she learned to cook so well she would smile and say, “I’m from Barbados,” as if that would explain everything. “I remember one day when I was about eight Juan and I were walking hand-in-hand on our way down the street. Two men stared at us with hatred. “Why don’t you take care of kids your own kind?!” they yelled at us. I could see a tear spark in Juan’s eye. “You don’t talk like that to me and my girl!” Juan yelled back and just like that we continued walking, but in silence. Me being Caucasian and Juan being African- American never seemed like a problem to me but apparently some people really needed to grow up. Emily and I just finished doing the dishes when our mom called us into the dining room. We sat down, thinking our parents were going to tell us the plans for the weekend. We were trying to be shocked when my mom told us that it was time to have Juan stop working for us, but we knew that this conversation had been coming up. Juan had been our family’s babysitter for thirteen years.
