Mara was entranced. The shop blurred before her in a tribute of glory to the necklace. Draped carelessly over a slender black velour cone, its gold, glassy pendant gem glittered as if with dew. It hung on a short golden chain. Mara could tell, without even trying it on, that it would nestle snugly in the hollow of her throat with a cool, fluid ease. The shop vendor, an old man, smiled at Mara kindly. “Try it on if you like it, dear. Don’t be shy.” But Mara was hesitant even to touch the exquisite thing. Just as she reached out trembling fingers to grasp its chain, she felt a tug on her shirt. She turned to see Tommy, her little brother, clutching her tightly. “What?” she said sharply. The old man tutted and turned away. “What?” she repeated angrily, pulling her fingers regretfully away from the necklace in order to pry him off of her. “Mommy says to come, Mawa.” “Now?” “Yeah. Mommy says to come now.” Mara fairly flew across the store to her mother, who was waiting impatiently in the cosmetics section. Tommy jogged after her. “Mom… look… I found this gorgeous necklace—come see,” she gushed. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes, Mara,” her mom warned sternly. “We can’t stay any longer.” “But Mom.” Mara thought she looked rather like a goddess, or perhaps some sort of sprite or tree nymph “Nope. Come on.” Taking Tommy’s hand, her mother exited the store. Fuming, Mara followed. The moment they got home Mara jumped out of the car and ran into the backyard. Sinking down onto a stone bench covered with lichen, she scowled at the ground. She wasn’t spoiled. She knew that she hardly ever asked for anything, but she really, really, really, really wanted that necklace. Her mother didn’t listen to her. Her brother was annoying. She probably had the worst life in the whole world. Mara sighed. What really irritated her was that she knew that wasn’t true. Mara raised her head and looked around the peaceful backyard where she sat. Dusk was falling, and the plants were shrouded in blue-gray shadow. Mara spotted a big white flower lying on the ground near the ivy-smothered wall. As she knelt to pick it up Mara corrected herself. “White” hardly seemed to do it justice. The flower was silver, and in the center where the petals met and twined into a cup for the chalky pink pollen, the hues deepened into a warm sapphire blue. There were others like it, spread-eagled on the wet grass, but they were limp and the colors neither so beautiful nor so vibrant. Presumably, they came from the tree above, reaching over the wall from the neighbor’s garden. The sky darkened as Mara turned the flower over and over in her hands. “Mara—dinner!” called her mother from the kitchen window. Mara stood and, as though following whispered directions, tucked the flower behind her ear. As she ascended the creaking steps of her porch, she glimpsed her reflection in the dark window—and caught her breath. The silvery flower glowed brightly in subtle contrast to her wavy brown hair. With the fireflies coming out, flickering on and off around her, and her pale leaf-green eyes, Mara thought she looked rather like a goddess, or perhaps some sort of sprite or tree nymph. She thought again of her golden necklace, only now it didn’t seem very important. Struggling to find the cause of this new apathy, Mara’s eyes left those of the nymph staring back at her and alighted on the silver flower fixed stunningly in her hair. The nymph’s coral lips curved into a knowing smile. The necklace, for all its gaudy gold, could never have given her pleasure or beauty like this. “Mara!” called her mother again. “Your dinner is getting stone cold.” Mara gave her reflection one more angelic smile, before dashing into the house. Emma Watson, 13Los Angeles, California Mary Campbell, 13Fort Worth, Texas
March/April 2010
A Special Kind of Family
Our car trundled along a dusty gravel road one day in the middle of July. I stared out the window at the clouds of dry dirt that billowed from beneath our tires, picturing what our car must look like from the outside. Aside from the layer of dust covering it, our big red Subaru looked completely normal. With two kids in the back seat and a trunk filled with towels, bags, and blow-up water toys, our car was the image of an ideal family headed off for a fun summer day. I sighed. I wonder what it would be like to have a normal family. How different would life be if Aaron were an average ten-year-old boy? I pondered. I knew that if anyone looked past our car and surveyed the people within, they would not find an ideal family. They would see that my younger brother has autism. They would see that, at age ten, he can’t do certain simple things like dress himself, read, or talk in full sentences. And they would see how much Aaron’s special needs keep our family from being perfectly normal. After a few more miles, our car crunched to a stop in a dusty parking lot, and my train of thought was interrupted as I climbed out of the hot back seat. I was relieved to be back at the lake that my family travels to every summer for a day of swimming. It looked just as I remembered it, a small green lake nestled into a wooded hillside. I inhaled the spicy scents of sagebrush and pine, wafting from the central Oregon vegetation. As I exhaled, glad to be back in this beautiful setting, thoughts of my family’s imperfections were momentarily wiped from my mind. Emerging from the car behind me, Aaron let out a joyful yell, exclaiming “Oh! Oh yes!!!” He then picked up a nearby stick and attempted to hit a pinecone with it, pretending to play baseball. He associates baseball with happiness and does not hesitate to grab a makeshift ball and bat whenever he is pleased. Embarrassed with his behavior, I grabbed my towel and ran down to the rocky lakeshore. I immediately plunged into the chilly water, frolicking around and shouting that everyone should hurry up. It was a sweltering day, and the lake was dotted with other swimmers, many in the vicinity staring at Aaron, who was still playing “baseball.” Upon reaching the point where ripples of water lapped up against the pebbly ground, my dad plodded slowly in, punctuating each step with a loud “Ow!” as the icy water made contact with his skin. Aaron tried to run right in but forgot to take off his shoes, shirt, and glasses. After my mom removed them, he proceeded with painstaking care until, with an enormous splash, he lost his footing and fell chest-deep in water. Finally my mom, who has a notoriously low tolerance for cold water, screwed up her courage and dove under. We took off swimming—Aaron swims with a peculiar dog paddle—until we reached the very heart of the lake, where huge white driftwood logs floated and provided nature’s best toy. I pulled myself up onto one, noticing how pale and eerie my feet looked as they kicked a few feet below the surface. Aaron struggled for a moment to pull himself up on the log, the difficulty of this simple action reminding me how much his disability affects his coordination. I took pity on him and helped hoist him up. I had just spent the last hour completely enjoying my family just the way we are Exhausted from his efforts, Aaron collapsed on the log and pushed his sopping brown hair out of his eyes. Suddenly remembering last year, he exclaimed, “Jump!” Upon his command, I sprang off the slippery wood and dove into the water, causing the log to rock and create a sea of ripples. Following my example, my mom jumped off, and my dad helped Aaron to fall off the log in an uncoordinated dive. After dozens of crazy, log-rocking, water-spraying jumps, many involving disastrous attempts at cannonball contests and synchronized diving, we finally took a rest. My mom stretched out on the sunlit log, and my dad sat next to her. We were all lost in the moment, a whirl of happiness and fun that warmed us as much as the late afternoon sun did. Aaron, perched a few feet down the log, patted the wet patch of wood beside him, smiling proudly as though he offered the coziest chair in the world. “Sit! Come sit!” he invited me. I climbed closer to him, and together we sat. My feet dangled in the cool green water and I listened contentedly to the buzzing of millions of pine needles tingling in the forest. My nose took in the wilderness-like, sunny smell of the set- ting. We were just a family sitting on a log in the middle of a lake. My family. And in a dawn of realization, it occurred to me that I had just spent the last hour completely enjoying my family just the way we are. Anyone looking on wouldn’t think about how strange and different Aaron is. They would have seen how happy we were, they would have been caught up in the joy and fun we had been radiating. It seemed to me in that moment that nothing, not even perfection, could match the happiness, spontaneity, and love that makes my family unique. Overcome by my new thoughts, I scooted even closer to my brother, and together we gazed at our reflections in the green lake. The image of our smiling faces was bent a little by the water, but the imperfection made us look all the better. Emily Boring, 13Salem, Oregon Hannah Phillips, 12Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Frisbee
I curl my cold fingers Around the yellow Frisbee Coil my arm back Dip it low, flex my wrist, Release. It sails smoothly through the air Floats gently above my father’s head And then The wind carries it slowly Into his waiting hands He smiles and tosses it Back into the wind I am prepared My arms are open, ready As his were To grasp it, to hold it in my clutches But instead The wind takes it, Swoops it, low and high Suddenly I am snatching air, And the Frisbee lands Softly in the grass, Wet with mud I pick it up Bend low, Step forward, Let go. Dad leaps With a ballerina’s grace His hands clasp Around its plastic yellow body Our eyes lock He nods, I nod, A mental understanding Then it’s whizzing through the air A bright, lemon-colored streak against the violet sunset. I push off the ground My feet lift from the grass I reach for the sky, Palm open Instinctively My hands snap shut Like the pincers of a crab on the beach And suddenly it is there I am holding it Thud. My sneakers meet the ground And I am thrusting it into the air A triumph He smiles I smile The yellow disk Is in my hand We smile We nod Go home Now we are done here. Laura Dzubay, 11Bloomington, Indiana
