By the time I was thirteen, it seemed like I was too old to admit my love of animals. I’d hidden my true feelings about the subject for so long it just didn’t seem right to change them so late. When I was five, a dog had scared me badly, and for a short time I had been afraid of animals. Ever since then, my parents had been way too over-protective about keeping me away from animals, and I had gone along with the flow instead of speaking up that I wasn’t frightened anymore. Now I was too nervous to tell my parents—I figured they wouldn’t believe me and just think that I was saying it to make them feel better. But, then I met Cinnamon… It all started one day in early August. School was going to start again in a few weeks and I was over at my friend Millaina’s house. “I’m sure that the violet dress will work fine, Millie. The color brings out your blue eyes and if you wear the little flower brooch, it’ll be perfect,” I said. “Are you sure, Kirsten?” she asked me, looking at the dresses scattered across her bed. “Yes. The green one is too bright and the pink washes you out. The rest all have their own problems. You’ll look wonderful at the wedding—I promise. Can we go downstairs now?” I was getting hungry and Millie’s mom always had muffins or cookies baking. I laughed and scooped up the naughty kitty “Sure, but only for a minute, I signed up to help out at the animal shelter at 3:oo PM and it’s already 2:4o PM. You can come with if you want, but you don’t like animals—right?” Hopping up from her bed, Millaina headed towards the stairs. “I’ll come and see what it’s like, a kitten or two won’t hurt me,” I smiled, thinking how awesome it was that I could finally be by an animal without Mom or Dad standing there to make sure I wasn’t injured by “vicious” puppies and “terrifying” kittens. Maybe, just maybe, by helping Millie out at the shelter, I could slowly show my parents that I loved animals. After grabbing an oatmeal-raisin cookie, I followed Millie out the door and we jumped onto our bikes. The animal shelter was only a mile and a half down the road, so we didn’t have to rush. We didn’t talk on the way there, but I was thinking about telling my parents. I decided to keep it a secret for now and maybe have Millie come over, then have her talk about the animal shelter and… My thoughts were interrupted as Millie came to a screeching halt in front of the animal shelter. Wiping the sweat from my brow—it was 94 degrees—I took my purple helmet off and hung it on my handlebars. Millie and I both leaned our bikes against the shaded wall and walked into the shelter. On the floor in a corner was a little beagle puppy, it was frisking around like a madman. “Where to first?” I asked. “I normally feed the dogs first and then the cats. But, since you’re here, I can feed the dogs while you feed the cats. Things will get done faster,” she said, heading towards a door marked “Food and Supplies.” I followed her and looked around in the small closet. Grabbing a bag of Andersons’ Cat Food, I followed Millie back out the door. “The cat room’s that way—the door says ‘Office,’ but it’s not one. Each house of three kittens gets a scoop of food and single kittens get half a scoop. Full-grown cats are all single-caged and get a full scoop.” Millie headed left and I went right— to the cat room. The door swung open easily as I pushed it with my shoulder—there was cat food in my hands. There were about thirty felines in the room, most of them kittens. As I set the bag down on the floor, I felt something rub against my sandal. Looking down I saw a dark brown kitten with bright blue eyes staring at me. I laughed and scooped up the naughty kitty. Glancing around the room, I saw that one of the cage doors had swung open. Above the door was the name Cinnamon, along with a piece of paper that said: Cinnamon is a female tabby She is often escaping from her cage. No special care necessary —Marie I figured Marie was a volunteer and gently placed Cinnamon back into her cage. She mewed at me and I laughed. Latching the cage shut, I grabbed the food and, starting at the beginning of the row, fed all of the gorgeous animals. Cinnamon had the last cage and I took an extra minute to stroke her. Poor Cinnamon, I thought, I wonder who could have deserted you. She looked up and purred at me and I smiled down at her. During the next few weeks, I helped out at the shelter many times. Each time, I cuddled Cinnamon a bit longer and stroked her a little more tenderly I was growing to love that darling kitten. * * * Once I had Millaina tell my parents that I was working at the shelter with her, I planned on adopting Cinnamon. I was sure my parents wouldn’t care and was looking forward to the date I planned to have Millie come over for dinner—in two weeks. But then it happened, the plan was ruined and my secret was out. It was two days before the planned dinner and Millie and I were both working at the shelter. We were the only ones there and about to close up when a man wearing a big camera around his neck and holding a large pad of paper in his hand came rushing in the door. “Excuse me ladies, can I speak to Mr. McLonvul?” he asked politely Mr. McLonvul was the owner of the shelter. “Sorry,” Millie
March/April 2007
Mismatched
Paperwhites were sagging about the sink. You could smell fresh air on them if you got close enough. Their curtain, white and green, the only one on the kitchen window And through it, snow refused to budge. Odd to have flowers and snow even if they matched in color. Except the stems, of course, they stood out like the green bottle next to the clear glasses, like the chicken magnet among those little magnetic words that never spell what you want. Words like “bubble” but not “the” or “and.” Why would I need to write about bubbles? My toe rubbed against the polished maple rung of the tall kitchen stool silent rhythm to the dog’s tapping nails, parents mumbling, ever-present radio, NPR or a Cuban CD. A jumbled soundtrack to my moment of thinking nothing, forgetting to check the notes that came and went, muddling over the fridge; my tiny collage. Pierie Korostoff, 12Spring Mills, Pennsylvania
Isabelle
“Truly a form of art,” Isabelle Wilcox imagined a sophisticated British voice saying. “And now down the long wall at the extended trot!” (Here Isabelle pressed her spur into Kaptein’s side.) “Oh and such beauty! Never before has the world seen such an extended trot. Never before has the world seen such a …” But Isabelle never quite decided what the world had never seen because at that moment, Kaptein snorted and shied at something up on the hill. “What is it Kaptein?” Isabelle asked her horse. Kaptein shook his long chestnut mane and pranced with his head high in the air. “Kaptein!” Isabelle gathered up her reins with annoyance. She knew daydreaming on a horse, especially one that could get spooky and silly like Kaptein, was a guaranteed, tested-over-thousands- of-years formula for disaster. “Don’t you try those dumb saddlebred stunts on me, mister.” Kaptein finally responded to her squeezes on the reins and put his head down a bit. “That’s better.” Isabelle relaxed her fingers. Then she saw what her Arabian was spooking at. A small rider was trotting up on a fat pinto pony. Truly a form of art,” Isabelle Wilcox imagined a sophisticated British voice saying “Ugh.” It was Abbey and her pony, Rainbow Daughter. Named after some dumb horse in some lame TV show. In Isabelle’s opinion, horses should not have names that sounded like a kindergartner named it. But in this case, it was true; Abbey had named her pony when she was in senior kindergarten. “Hey Isabelle!!!” Abbey waved enthusiastically from atop her small mount. “Hi Abbey,” Isabelle said wearily Abbey didn’t seem to notice. “Guess what!” Abbey didn’t wait for an answer. “Ava said that since I have been doing so well on the trail, I can go with an older rider.” Isabelle knew what was coming next but she crossed her fingers in the pocket of her new vest anyway. “Do you want to go on a trail ride, Isabelle?” “Um, OK.” Isabelle bit her lip. She liked trail rides fine, but Abbey was so annoying. She was what her friend Will would have called uber-annoying. Uber. It was such an elastic word. “Isabelle, did you know I’m going to Sacramento for Thanksgiving? It’s true. Will you miss me? Cause I know you go on trail rides with Sammy but she isn’t a very good rider. I think anyway” “Sammy shows three in the pony jumper division, remember?” Isabelle said through clenched teeth. “Oh I know but she takes from Claire, you know. I don’t think she is a very good instructor at all, well you should know, Isabelle, she hated you when you used to ride Thomas…” “Abbey—shush up! She could be out here.” Isabelle was regretting her decision to ride with Abbey “Let’s long trot a serpentine when we get to the field, ‘K?” “All right,” Abbey said cheerfully “I just love long trotting—especially outside. It’s so fun! I can’t canter without Ava so we shouldn’t go too fast; I know Kaptein can get excitable…” And so the trail ride dragged on with Abbey chattering and Isabelle getting more fed up with her. Finally, it began to get dark and Isabelle suggested they go back to the barn. As they rode back, Isabelle did what she had been doing for the past couple of weeks. She thought about the long process and eventually final decision that had led her parents to move to Wisconsin. Her father had been offered a high-powered job in Wisconsin, one with more pay and respect. Her father didn’t always get along with his employers, but as a sought after medical research doctor, it was usually the hospital that was scrambling to meet his needs, not the other way around. However, if there was a way to stay fairly local, Edward Wilcox would move to a different hospital. Now, the whole Wilcox family would be moving to Wisconsin so Edward could be a research surgeon heading up cloning in the Midwest. Pretty amazing once she thought about it. “Isabelle!” Abbey’s annoying voice cut through her thoughts. Isabelle glanced at her. The little girl was pointing at something. “What?” Isabelle asked with as much patience as she could muster. “There’s an enormous log blocking the path.” Abbey sounded genuinely scared. “And I can’t really jump, especially not out of the ring!” “Well…” Isabelle frowned. “Looks like you are going to have to try. Because the way we came is about a half-hour ride from here. And we can’t go back, it’s already pretty dark. Unless you plan on camping out here.” Abbey really did look for a second like she was ready to go galloping recklessly back to the barn. But then she shook her head. “I’ll try, OK?” Abbey even managed a small smile. “But don’t expect it to look like something out of Young Rider!” Isabelle grinned. “That’s the spirit!” Normally, Abbey wasn’t her favorite person, but she did want her jump to be a success, not only for safety reasons, but Isabelle didn’t want the younger girl’s confidence to be damaged. “OK, go for it, Kim Severson!” Isabelle shouted to Abbey, naming an Olympic cross-country rider. Abbey cued her pony into a canter and gamely looked ahead of the log. “Nice, Abbey, keep looking ahead, give her little squeezes if she feels hesitant…” Rainbow popped easily over the three-foot log and Abbey landed laughing on the other side. “Yes!” From where Isabelle sat on Kaptein, she saw a tiny fist pumped in the air. She could also hear Abbey praising and patting her pony as though she had just won an Olympic medal. In a way, she had. Isabelle circled Kaptein as large as she could allow and pushed him into a canter. “Heads up, Abbey!” Isabelle shouted to clear the way for her and her gelding. Kaptein galloped strongly up to the obstacle and then stopped and rolled his eyes. “Kaptein!” Isabelle whispered fiercely into his mane. Isabelle couldn’t believe Abbey had
