We call you, songs of life serene, You dive, our beauty never seen Until you’re trapped in worlds of green. To land you won’t return. For beauty won’t your life you trade And join us in a brief parade? The countless lives we’ve took and played All men for beauty yearn. So join us, hear our siren song Your lifetime left you’ll come along Until no more for breath you long So turn, green waters, turn. O gentle waters turn. – Ariella Pearl There was a conversation going on at the moment, but I wasn’t paying any attention to it. I added in a “cool” once in a while, but my mind was far away from my cousins’ small talk. I stood, clad in a damp T-shirt and swim trunks, on the wet sand of the beach, the ends of waves lapping at my bare feet. My two cousins, Kyle and Mark, stood by me in similar beach garb, involved in a conversation that included various and frequent interjections of “dude,” “man,” and “bro.” For Mark and Kyle, this was the height of the Californian beach experience: looking cool, wearing overpriced sunglasses, and exclaiming over bikini-clad, blond-haired, sun-tanning teen girls. I was uncomfortably bored with their so far fifteen-minute-long conversation about a certain exceptionally “hot” bikini-wearer. I wanted to be deep out under the ocean, my new goggles strapped over my face, with a clear view of the green, underwater world. But Mark and Kyle would have none of that, especially the goggles, which they said made me look like a dorky robot. I noticed that her eyes were almost exactly the shade of the ocean “Jarren!” I broke my gaze from the ocean horizon at the sound of my name. “What?” I turned to Kyle, trying to pretend that I had been interested in what he was saying. Kyle groaned. “I said, ‘Jarren, check out that…’” But, even though it was no doubt some girl, I never got a chance to hear exactly what I should check out. A skinny, pale-skinned girl on a boogie board, with dark, stringy hair and a seagreen one-piece bathing suit, was ejected from the ocean with the waves, whooping and cheering as she shot right into Kyle, knocking his legs out from under him. “Oh!” The girl jumped to her bare feet and flung her dark, stringy hair over her shoulder, revealing a face clouded with freckles. “I’m so sorry!” She took Kyle’s hand and yanked him to his feet with a surprising amount of strength in her skinny arm. “Are you OK?” She peered into my cousin’s face. “There’s no way to steer on these things, you know. Someone should invent boogie boards that steer, don’t you think?” Her voice came out in a lively, enthusiastic burst that made me wonder whether she took the time to inhale at all. “No problem,” Kyle said quickly and shakily, stealing a glance at Mark. All three of us turned away from the girl, expecting her to rush sheepishly back into the ocean. Kyle and Mark returned to their conversation and I, imagining the quiet peace I could have beneath the ocean, looked towards the sea— and found myself faceto- face with a freckled, dark-haired girl: the kid with the boogie board had never left. “Oh!” I took a leap back. “Er… um… are you OK…?” Oddly, to my surprise, I noticed that her eyes were almost exactly the shade of the ocean. “Yeah,” she said perkily, looking unfazed. “My name’s Rosie.” She stuck her hand towards me. “Um…” I looked over to Kyle and Mark for help, but they’d abandoned me and moved on to another conversation on their own. The girl, Rosie, reached down and grabbed my hand, giving it a firm shake. “I- I’m Jarren…” I stuttered, not wanting to hurt the kid’s feelings but longing to leave the awkward situation. “Nice to meet you, Jarren.” Rosie kept her grip tight on my hand. “Come on, you aren’t really interested in what those guys are saying anyway. Why don’t you come and swim with me?” She gave my hand a hard tug. “Listen, kid, I can’t…” “Who’re you calling kid?” With her freckled face screwed up in anger, she could have been a laughable sight, but I, a head taller than her and much heavier, was strangely frightened. “I’m thirteen years old,” she said proudly. “How old are you, anyway?” My face flushed, an annoying attribute that popped up at the most embarrassing times. “Th-thirteen,” I stammered. Rosie humphed triumphantly. It was hard to believe this scrawny little imp was my age; she was a full head shorter than me and looked unhealthily skinny, like someone who had been starved or underfed. Her swimsuit hung as loosely on her tiny frame as someone’s baggy jeans might. “Just come on, OK?” she said to me, never loosening her grip on my hand. “We don’t have to go swimming. Don’t you like books? I’ll show you a really great book.” I completely froze in my tracks with enough force to make Rosie’s fingers untangle themselves from mine. Suddenly, I was shaken deeply. I did like books, but how did she know? How did she know that I would have rather been enclosed in a solitary garden or forest, living incredible adventures through written words, than here, looking cool on the beach? She could have been a good judge of character who randomly popped out of the ocean. Or, she could have been something more than that, something abnormal, something fantastical like you’d find in a story… “Jarren?” Rosie turned toward me. I hesitated a moment. “Yeah… yeah, coming.” Then, somehow finding my hand back in Rosie’s, I followed the tiny sprite of a girl beyond the sands of the beach. * * * Why do I need to see this book so badly, anyway?” I was squatting in a sparsely furnished room, wondering why I ever followed this little stranger to her
July/August 2016
Rainbows in the Sun
I never knew how small the fountain could look Water trickled from in between the cracks of the fountain, the sun glinting off its surface as it set, going drip… drip… drip… I watched the water splatter into my palm. I never knew how small the fountain could look. I used to be smaller than a soda can, with wings and bright blue feathers. I used to drink from this. I used to fly about the lakes, flip about the treetops and see rainbows in the sun. I wouldn’t think of eating anything other than birdseed. I never saw the world as the big, fast, killing predator. Just the innocent prey. But then… the bullet… a flash of light… then darkness… and I was back. Just… not as a little blue jay. I had become akin to the one who killed me, ate poultry and fish and hamburgers and cheese sandwiches… But normal people don’t remember being killed… or their lives before. They only remember their current life. I stared at the water in the fountain… I could not see the rainbows in the sun. Only the darkening sky. I can’t see anymore. And… a warm glow spread across the water as the moon hit it. I can see again. The woods loom large around me, their shadow and mystery curling around me, holding me close, hugging me tight. I hear my former predators, the night owls, hooting and flapping their wings like I wish I could. I hear the rustling of leaves, feel the light of the moon on my face, and the ground beneath my feet. Maybe tomorrow, I will also feel the wind beneath my wings. Hannah Mayerfield, 10Scarsdale, New York Matthew Lei, 11Portland, Oregon
Growing Season
“Ryan, honey, guess what?” Mom bounced into the room, a cheerful smile on her face. “Grandpa just called. He is delighted to have some extra help on the farm this summer!” Oh no! Ryan thought, dragging his eyes away from his tablet. He pulled off his headphones. “But, Mom! We’re going to Disneyland this year!” Mom’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, honey, we can’t quite afford Disneyland this year. I’m sorry. I know you want to go. But Grandpa needs your help, and besides, a real-life experience is far more precious than Disneyland could ever be.” Her smile was back. Ryan groaned and went back to his game. Maybe this was all just a crazy dream. But it wasn’t. Two weeks later he found himself hugging Mom goodbye and boarding a plane for middle-of-nowhere Montana. Grandpa picked him up at the tiny airport in a beat-up white pickup, hardly visible under layers of dust. “Hi, Ryan,” Grandpa greeted him. “Hi, Grandpa.” Suddenly, a furry mass catapulted out of the car and tackled Ryan, covering him with kisses. Grandpa chuckled. “That’s Bolt. I think she likes you already.” Understatement of the century, Ryan thought as he heaved the dog off of him. Grandpa lifted first Ryan, then his suitcase into the truck. “So, you excited to work on a farm?” “It ain’t much, but it’s home!” Ryan didn’t bother to remove his headphones. “No,” he mumbled under his breath. After a good hour of driving along mostly unpaved roads, the pair reached Grandpa’s small farm. There was a little house surrounded by pine and cottonwood trees. To the left of that was the animal barn where the goat, Sukie, and the ten chickens lived. Behind the house was a blooming garden where Grandpa grew his vegetables. It sure didn’t look like much. Ryan scanned the roof, searching for a satellite dish—nothing. This house didn’t even have TV. Ryan slowly climbed out of the truck. Grandpa whistled as they walked to the front door. He flung the door open wide. “It ain’t much, but it’s home! Ryan, your room is upstairs. Can you find it OK?” “I guess.” Ryan could hardly remember his last visit here, but the stairs were right next to the front door. He trudged up them, opening the first door he found. It was a tiny, plain bedroom. Ryan deposited his suitcase on the floor and surveyed his surroundings. In the corner of the room was a large window. He glanced out. A lush, emerald field stretched to the edges of the boundless sky. On the very edge of the horizon, a faint blue smudge of mountains was visible. Bored, Ryan shifted away from the window and flopped on the bed. He switched on his tablet, tapped his favorite game, and waited for it to load. The moment was ruined, however, by Grandpa’s call up the stairs. “Ryan, you settled in? C’mon down, we got some work to do.” Grumbling, he thumped downstairs, trailing headphones. “There you are.” Spotting Ryan’s tablet, Grandpa held out a hand, face creased with an odd expression. “Why don’t I keep that safe for you? I don’t hold much with these newfangled electronics. Besides, we’ll be so busy this summer you won’t have any time for it.” Ryan’s mouth fell open a little and he stared at the outstretched hand. “But, Grandpa!” “No ‘buts’ about it.” Grandpa’s eyes twinkled. A shocked Ryan slowly handed over his prized possession. First I had to come to this stupid farm to work all summer. Now this! It was inhumane. “All right. First thing, we got to change the irrigation.” So Ryan, clad in tall rubber boots and armed with a shovel, walked out into the field with Grandpa. Bolt trotted happily along, and while the two shoveled mud and changed the canvas dam’s position to redirect the water flow, she hunted mice in the grass. Then Ryan fed the flock of chickens. They gathered around his feet in a fog of feathers. After that Grandpa cooked supper and Ryan had to wash the dishes. He finally fell into bed, exhausted to the bone, or so he told himself. When Ryan opened his eyes, Grandpa was shaking him. “Wake up, son! Time to milk!” It took Ryan a moment to register his surroundings. And then he groaned what he imagined to be a groan of long suffering. Really, he just sounded pathetic. “Get dressed and meet me at the barn.” Grandpa clomped down the stairs but Bolt jumped on Ryan, refusing to let him fall back to sleep. She wagged her tail fiercely and gave an exuberant bark as he pulled himself out of bed. He yawned and glanced at the clock. What is this unimaginable hour? Good grief! No one should be forced to rise before the birds!!! But he yanked on his clothes and wandered out to the barn. Grandpa was in the barn, sitting on the milking stanchion (a sort of table) with Sukie on top. There were two slats which held the goat’s head in place and a box for her to eat out of. Milk was streaming from her teats into a bucket with clear regularity. Grandpa glanced up from his work and saw Ryan, who was standing uncertainly in the corner. “You come try,” he commanded. “Hold the teat like this, pinch it off, and squeeze the milk down.” He guided Ryan’s hands through the motions. Ryan was clumsy. By accident, he squirted his shirt with milk and the sticky warm felt queer against his skin. After the milk was strained and put away, the irrigation had to be changed again. So Grandpa moved the canvas dam and Ryan shoveled the wet dirt into mounds, while Bolt hunted. When they finally got to eat some bacon, eggs, and toast, Ryan’s thoughts kept straying to his tablet and all the great games and things he was missing out on. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince Grandpa to let him have it back again.
