surrounded every day by glow-in-the-dark stars gummed to the ceiling and photos like a virus engulfing the walls images of wooden birds and chlorine-rich summers cherry blossoms and children in plastic hats taped mosaic across plaster the house over a century old with closed-off dumbwaiters grimy stained glass tin ceilings sagging canned antiquity house under tree bower turns pink at dusk mourning doves nest on the air conditioner crying night house drowns in dark ink facade retreating into obscurity windows glow over the street where light from passing cars swims into dark rooms disappearing into the walls again Olivia AscioneD’Elia, 13Brooklyn, New York
May/June 2007
First Horse Show, Ever
I was nine years old and it was my first horse show ever. Pacino, my steady ride, was the picture of blue-ribbon pride with his black coat shimmering and his mane in neat braids. There I stood, next to him with my peach show shirt, newly pressed navy-blue blazer, and my hair in long silky braids with matching peach ribbons. Everything was perfect… on the outside! Inside I was trembling with fear. I was more nervous than I had ever been in my life. My body was quivering and my mom noticed. I blamed it on the chill of late fall and refused a warm jacket because that would cover my show dress glory. I searched for distraction to steady my nerves and began to focus on the task ahead. The familiar smell of leather and the rhythmic sounds of the clip-clop of horses’ hooves soothed my anxiety as I entered the tack room to grab my pony’s saddle. Calmer now but still shaking, I began to tack up Pacino. Pad, saddle, girth, rein, bridle, stirrups… I slowly mounted Pacino and softly pressed my heels into his soft belly, letting him know it was time. We entered the ring, both of us counting on each other for the teamwork that lay ahead. I held his reins tightly and he walked forward with a nice pace. I took deep breaths of the crisp November air, and the chill intensified my focus. We began a brisk, even trot as we passed the judge in the center of the ring. She had ten riders to keep watch on. Would she notice me? I felt like I had been competing all my life We trotted for what seemed an eternity, and then the judge said the words I dreaded and longed for all at once, “Canter, please.” I felt apprehensive, but I knew this was no time to be timid. With a kick of my heels and cluck of my tongue, I asked Pacino to go faster into a canter. He hesitated and I felt the panic set in. One more kick, one more cluck… and we were off, whizzing past the other horses arid kicking up moist dirt. It felt like we were flying. We were a blurred flash of shadow-colored fur, racing through the ring. I felt in command, in control of my horse. I felt like I had been competing all my life. I felt totally shocked that I was still on my horse! The judge spoke again, “Walk and line up, please.” I slowed Pacino’s pace and we lined up in the middle. Here it was, the moment of truth. The judge studied us, and scribbled away on her sheets of paper. My stomach turned somersaults but I tried to keep my composure. They announced the placing order from above over the speakers: “First place, number 223.” Oh well, not me. That’s OK. “Second place, number 220.” Oh well, still not… wait, that is me! I placed second! My first competition and I took second place! My heart beat so fast as I nudged Pacino forward to receive our prize. It was a red ribbon and the color red had never looked so beautiful to me! A grin from ear to ear was plastered across my face and stayed with me, thrilling me until I lay in bed that night, remembering the day and sweetly drifting off to sleep. Emily Saso,12Brooklyn, New York Abigail Stephens, 11Amman, Jordan
Play to the Angel
Play to the Angel by Maurine F. Dahlberg; Farrar, Straus and Giroux: New York, 2000; $16 The most memorable book I have read in a long time is Play to the Angel. Beautifully written characters breathe life into this interesting plot. The city of Vienna is well described, and the individual locations are so convincing I almost expect to see the dark interior of Cafe Adler or the snowy streets when I open my eyes. This book, by Maurine F. Dahlberg, is the story of a girl named Greta and her dream to become a concert pianist. Greta’s big brother, Kurt, is a talented pianist, despite his life-threatening illness. He tutors Greta, and together they play on a wonderful piano. Then, Kurt dies. Greta’s mother is heartbroken and withdraws from her life. To make matters even worse, Greta’s best friend moves away Greta is all alone, except for her dream. Even that is threatened when her grieving mother decides to sell their precious piano. Greta’s last tie to her beloved brother seems about to snap until a strange piano teacher moves in nearby. This mysterious man, named Herr Hummel, won’t reveal the secrets of his past, except that he comes from Germany and left because of the growing Nazi threat. Herr Hummel wins Greta’s trust in a different way Instead of confiding in her, he convinces her mother to keep the piano and finds a concert for Greta to play in. At the edge of success, Greta’s dream is once more postponed as Hitler invades Vienna and she discovers the truth of Herr Hummel’s dangerous past. The black and white of the history is richly supplemented by the colorful characters and places. The picture of how Kurt’s death broke apart Greta’s family is both believable and touching. Admirable characters add a warm element of love. Greta’s perseverance, Herr Hummel’s generosity, and the friendliness of Greta’s schoolmates build the sense of community. As the story progresses, the flaws of the characters are revealed, but that makes them more interesting and attractive, not less. One part of the story I can connect to is the pain of losing your best friend. Even though I was only five when I moved away from my friend Jane, I still miss her all the time. The relationship between Greta and her dead brother is also very realistic. Fortunately, my wonderful younger brother Aaron is still alive, but the mixture of love, jealousy and admiration Greta experiences is very reminiscent of real siblings. To read the story of siblings so much like Aaron and me separated forever by death was a very moving part of this book. Greta and I are the same age, and we are both growing up. Even with the trauma of her life, Greta is like me in so many ways. We both want to make friends, fit in, make our mothers proud, do well in school. If Greta were to live next door to me, I think we would be friends. The one thing I disliked about this book was the climax. I thought the plot was good, but the whole climax took place in the last twenty pages of the book. The beautiful detail evaporated, and little pieces of the action got lost in the fast pace. Despite this shortcoming, I would recommend Play to the Angel. A spotlight on an important historical event, it also brings to life a cast of realistic characters struggling toward bettering themselves. Anya Josephs,12Chapel Hill, North Carolina