The wind Is blowing strongly into my face. It feels good. I close my eyes and lie back In the wet grass. It is dark out and everyone else is sleeping. Everyone but me. It’s a nice feeling, being alone Out here. Ticktock. I hear the sounds of my watch, Every second, every minute. Why does my watch have to remind Me of the time passing? It was nice to forget About time. Always people are so busy, They never have time to think About who they are And who they want to be. Am I really here, all alone, so close to my home, Yet so far? Is this a dream? Everything that happened and everything that will happen Rides away on the wind— Up, up it goes Past the moon and into infinity. Dawn creeps in on me and I quietly let myself In through the back door. I tiptoe up the stairs into my bedroom— Like a burglar in my own house. Safe in my bed again, I pretend I’m sleeping. No one will ever guess where I was that autumn night— But I will never forget it. Rhiannon Grodnik, 12San Francisco, California
November/December 2008
Bowl of Strawberries
Jacky kept a steady pace, enjoying the scenery around his neighborhood. His old, worn sneakers kissed the asphalt every time he took a stride. The sun was out, and clouds scattered the sky like the stuffing from a ripped pillow. Jack felt his heart pound in line with his breathing. His legs slowly relaxed as Jack continued on his run. It was good to be alive and moving. As he approached his house, Jack slowed to a jog and stopped on the front lawn. He sat down and stretched, easing the muscle he had just warmed up. The grass felt cool against his thighs. He took a sip from his water bottle, stretched some more, and walked inside. “How was your run, Jack?” Jack’s mother greeted him. “Was it hot out?” “It was fine, Mom.” “Well, it’s nice to know that you’re not wasting this beautiful day.” Jack’s mom had dark brown hair that matched her eyes, with a serious smile that radiated her affection for her kids. Jack plopped down at the kitchen table. Grabbing an apple, he opened the track-and-field magazine his grandfather had given him. It was a collection of a bunch of neat articles about the different events in track and field, tips for staying fit, and how to have a healthy diet. His grandfather had given it to him as a birthday present, knowing that Jack had recently made his school’s track-and-field team. Jacky kept a steady pace, enjoying the scenery around his neighborhood “Hey, Mom? When’s my next meet?” “I wouldn’t know, honey. Why don’t you go check the calendar? I’m sure it’s sometime this week.” Jack smiled. He threw the apple core into the trash and walked to the family calendar, tracing his finger over the paper. “Hmm. My practice on Monday goes until 5:15 this week, Mom. My meet is on Tuesday. You’re all coming, right?” Jack’s mom came into the room, wiping her hands on her kitchen apron. “This Tuesday? I’m sorry, Jack, I forgot to tell you. Grandpa said he wasn’t feeling well these past few days. I have to go stay with Grandpa on Tuesday, but I think your dad might be able to come. I’m sorry about your meet, but your grandpa will have to go some other time.” “What’s wrong with Grandpa?” Jack looked at his mother. “Is he all right?” “Yes. He’s just feeling a little ill. He complains that his ankle hurts more than usual. Why don’t you go visit him after practice tomorrow? You could run there, and I’m sure Grandma will be happy to see you too.” * * * “Oh, is that what she said, ill and not feeling well?” Jack’s grandpa chuckled the next day. “I’m as fit as a violin.” When Jack gave his grandpa an odd look his grandpa merely said, “I never really liked fiddles. “I just have to stay in bed for a few days. My doctor said my ankle’s acting up again. Nice of you to come though, Jack.” Jack put his backpack down, relieved at seeing his grandpa so well. “Good to see you too, Grandpa. I’ll have Dad tape our meet for you.” “Your meet on Tuesday? I haven’t forgotten, you know, but I’m sorry I won’t be able to come. But you know what? I used to be on the track-and-field team too, back in high school.” “Really?” Jack looked surprised. “You never told me that, Grandpa.” “ I haven’t now? Didn’t I ever tell you how I busted my ankle?” Jack shook his head no. “Well. It was a very long time ago. My junior year, I think. I had joined the track-and- field team and was as excited as ever for our last meet. Let’s see now. I was doing the long jump and the 400-meter dash. Huh, I never was good at jumping.” Jack’s grandpa sat up higher in his bed. “My baby was definitely the 400-meter dash. Fastest on the team, I think, except for maybe the few seniors that were too lazy to sprint more than 200 meters. I was pumped that day, expecting to break my personal record.” “Did you?” Jack asked. “Well, almost.” His grandpa gave a sigh of disappointment. “I was coming around that last bend for the straightaway when I saw one of the runners from the other school gaining on me. I sprinted as fast as I could, but he kept on getting closer. I was about 50 meters away from the finish line when he closed in to just a pace behind me. Suddenly, I felt something clip my heel, causing my right leg to buckle. I tripped and fell hard onto the track. I tell you, it wasn’t pretty.” “He tripped you?” Jack was indignant. “That guy should have been disqualified!” “No one ever proved anything, and the official wasn’t exactly paying attention,” explained Jack’s grandpa. “Heck, I don’t even know myself. I might’ve tripped myself by accident. But I learned to accept it over time. After all, if life throws mushy apples at you, you can always make applesauce. Anyway, I twisted my ankle and felt a deep pop. Heard it, more like. I didn’t feel the pain until five seconds later, sprawled there on the track. The people had to call 911 for a stretcher to bring me to the emergency room. Well, I could still walk then, but I had to be extremely careful. In my old age now it’s been bothering me more and more. I spend so much time in bed now I wish I could have just finished that last race. If I had kept my lead over that kid and ended the race, I would still be up and walking now.” Jack looked in wonderment at the determined look on his grandpa’s face. “The 400-meter dash? I’m doing that for Tuesday too, Grandpa!” “Really now? Well, good luck, Jack. I wish I could watch, but I’m still expecting great things from you.” His
Silence Is Golden
The bus shrinks in size as it trundles down the tree-lined street Every day, when I arrive home, I step off the bus after chatting loudly with my friends. The bus engine roars, and the passengers’ voices swell, and then the wheels begin to turn. And I watch over my shoulder as I walk up the drive. The bus shrinks in size as it trundles down the tree-lined street. And now, the only things heard are the faint sound of my shoes on the concrete or a squirrel pawing at the ground for an acorn. As I walk up the steps, I fish for the key in my bag, find it, and with a satisfying “click,” open the lock. Once inside my house, I kick off my shoes and put down my bag. I walk towards the kitchen, now dark and empty. With the flip of a switch, the room is flooded with light and the little blue tiles on the wall twinkle. I stand in the middle, surveying my surroundings. At this time, every day, I realize something. I realize that, though I am alone, and all is quiet and still, the world outside still goes on. I can stop and stare at the plastic carrot magnet on the fridge for an hour, seemingly going no where, pausing time and space, but no! Other things happen, the universe progresses, time continues… Ken across the street finishes mowing his lawn and the Mougin girls begin a game of baseball in their front yard. Three blocks away, the pizza place cashier rings up a mushroom slice as a gum ball zigzags through a maze into a child’s hand. Many, many miles away, a little blond pigtailed girl is celebrating her birthday, and an old woman holds her daughter’s hand in a sterile, white hospital ward. An airplane takes flight, another one lands, the president signs a document, and an audience erupts into applause. And yet, all the while, I stand in my quiet little blue-tiled kitchen, the silence enveloping me. And at that moment, I may not be adorned with diamond rings and bracelets, but I am the richest person in the world. Why? Because silence is golden. Aviva Leshaw, 13Teaneck, New Jersey Sarah Jessica Osburn, 12Lindley, New York
