“Ms. Pushkin, it’s me, Jessie, from next door” Jessie walked up the stairs of the old Victorian house, carrying the sticky chocolate cake her mother had made. Jessie had met Ms. Pushkin quite a few times, but always accompanied by her mother. Now that she was twelve, her mother had decided that it would be better if she went alone. She was only there, Jessie reminded herself, to deliver a Christmas cake for their elderly neighbor. Still, what if she wasn’t home or something went wrong? Reaching the door at last, Jessie gripped the brass doorknocker that was shaped in a lion’s head and knocked three times. She waited, no answer. She knocked again, still no answer. Jessie was about to consider leaving the cake on the steps when the door creaked open. There in the doorway stood a frail old lady in a silken nightgown and a pair of yellow slippers. “Hello, Ms. Pushkin,” Jessie said tentatively. “Who’s there?” she asked, rather confused. “Ms. Pushkin, it’s me, Jessie, from next door.” The old woman was silent for a minute, and then, as though she had just remembered who Jessie was, she said, “Oh, Jessie, come in, come in.” Jessie entered the house, remembering her mother telling her it was the polite thing to do. Ms. Pushkin led her into a cozy sitting room with a roaring fire. “Come, sit down,” Ms. Pushkin pointed at the empty armchair. Jessie sat down and then, remembering why she was there, she said, “Merry Christmas, Ms. Pushkin, I have a cake for you.” Jessie held out the cake, which was in a pink cardboard box. “Oh thank you, dear, do me a favor, just put it in the kitchen,” she waved a hand toward a small doorway. Jessie got up and, doing as the old woman had said, she entered the small kitchen and set the cake down on the green tiled counter. Returning to the sitting room, Jessie sat back down in the armchair. It was then that she noticed them. Sitting on the large mantle over the fireplace were seven or eight intricately designed snow globes. They were all different sizes and looked as though they would have been rather expensive. Ms. Pushkin sipped a cup of tea that had been sitting on a large glass coffee table. The two were silent, just taking in each other’s presence. “You like my snow globe collection?” Ms. Pushkin asked Jessie, who was still gazing at them. “Yes ma’am, they’re very beautiful,” Jessie answered as she finally tore her gaze from them. “That first one on the right, yes that one, that was given to me on my seventh birthday,” Ms. Pushkin said. “And to think that I still have it.” The old woman gave a snicker. “Now that second one I was given as a present for joining the circus.” “You were in the circus?” Jessie blurted out before she could stop herself. “Oh yes, I lived in Russia my entire childhood, you see,” Ms. Pushkin went on. “Moscow to be more exact. I had it all, the big tents and the face make-up that takes forever to get off. I was a juggler for my group. On stage I would juggle anything from potatoes to flaming torches of fire. It was the time of my life!” As Jessie listened to the woman’s story, she could see a gleam in her eye. “But,” she said solemnly, “all good times must come to an end. It was the fifth show of the night for the Fire Catchers, that’s what we called ourselves. I was doing my act, juggling the fire and all, when I spotted a small girl wandering onto the stage. She kept coming towards me and, when she was only inches away from my whirling balls of fire, I had to stop. But you see, I couldn’t. It was Charlie’s job to come out and extinguish the fire torches one at a time, while I was still juggling, but since it wasn’t the end of the act, he didn’t come out. Charlie was one of the people in my performing group. I stopped the fire just as it was about to hit the little girl, but in the process I was burned quite badly.” Jessie looked in amazement from Ms. Pushkin to the snow globe. “Well, that ended my circus days and, to tell you the truth, I still miss them.” Ms. Pushkin sipped her tea again and leaned back in her chair. “Well now, dear, I have kept you much too long.” She suddenly looked rather sad and apologetic. Jessie stood up. It was hard to draw herself away from the warm fire and the wonderful stories. “Thank you for the visit, my dear, and a merry Christmas to you,” Ms. Pushkin said. “Feel free to come back anytime you wish, although I expect that you have much more important and enjoyable things to do than sit and listen to me rattle on and on.” “Ms. Pushkin,” Jessie said slowly, “would it be all right with you if I came back tomorrow to hear another story? I do enjoy them a lot,” she asked hopefully. “Oh, it would be my pleasure,” Ms. Pushkin said delightedly. “I tell you what, you come over at around four and we’ll have tea.” And that’s what Jessie did. Over the next few days, Jessie learned about Ms. Pushkin’s adventures meeting the Indian prince and her exciting trip to Spain. She heard about the woman’s trip to the Galapagos Islands and her expedition on an African safari. Jessie’s mother was delighted that she was spending so much time with Ms. Pushkin, and Jessie was always eager to come again and again and to hear the wonderful stories of the old woman. “Now that one I got when I went to the ballet with my friend in Australia.” Jessie and Ms. Pushkin were seated in the two armchairs in the sitting room, a roaring fire in
November/December 2010
Red Fox at Dawn
Red fox at dawn Picks its way across dewy ground Leaving footprints His fur gleams Like fire In the rising sun As if he groomed it Just for this. Ears pricked high His tail a banner for All to see Proud of himself But not vain How could he be vain? A red fox all alone Then joined By another. She turns A signal passes. Then. Wait. Cautiously At first Then faster Come little Fox kits Throwing themselves On the Wet grass Delighted. Then the sun comes Kisses them good morning And sets their coats on fire For all to see. They hold their heads high Then disappear the way they came It would all have been a dream But for the footprints left on the lawn Olivia Smit, 12London, Ontario, Canada
Backyard Battlefield
Cold wind made me shiver as I stopped to observe the beauty of my backyard As I slid open the door a valley of fun stood before me. The bright sun sliced through the cold air, leaving patches of bright grass on the backyard’s surface. With no one around this was the perfect time to have fun at my favorite place. I looked back through the glass door, making sure not a single soul was there. As I set out to the swings, the creaking of the porch sounded like the roar of a lion in the peaceful evening air. The earth slid under my feet and, in a fraction of a second, I was taking a step that would lead me to the core of fun. On the ground, dead grass was covered by colorful fall leaves that fell from trees. As I walked, squishy mud sank beneath me as the soothing sound of rustling leaves overcame me. Cold wind made me shiver as I stopped to observe the beauty of my backyard. Suddenly, the sun heated up like an oven and ceased my shivering. A frantic hunt of squirrels was happening around me like a search for your most prized possession. I made my way through the tall grass, slicing like a knife towards the swings. The smell of rotting logs wafted towards my nose. My smelling machine scrunched up from the horrid smell. I dodged through dark shadows and then through wonderful light patches. The forest looked so lively but the whistling wind distracted me and invited me to dash across the beautiful yard. It said, “Come on, Jack, you know you want to.” Resisting the temptations, I swerved away, knowing that I would have to use all of my strength to resist. The wind continued and eventually I gave way and turned around to the starting line. I needed to improve my racing skills to beat my friend the Dashing Devil. Off the track we were friends, but, when it came time to race, our years of friendship vanished. Some knew him as John Meyer. Those kids thought that he was the fastest kid in Shrewsbury, but they thought wrong. The fastest kid in Shrewsbury was me. The air got chilly, but that didn’t bother me. The sun took shelter behind a fluffy cloud, knowing that this clash wasn’t going to be pretty. As I lined up at the starting line, John appeared next to me. “Have you tasted defeat?” I asked. “No, and I probably never will. Well, at least not from you,” he said, chuckling. “Prepare to taste defeat,” I spat back to him in disgust. We got into our starting positions, ready to go head-to-head, man-on-man. Go! We took off. Me in first, him in second. The colorful trees turned into blurs as he gained inch-by-inch on me. My heart began to pound, I lost energy and he gained as we flew across the grass. We were neck-and-neck as we closed in on the finish line. I knew that if I could dig deep down inside of me I could beat him. The sun peeped out from behind its bodyguard but then went right back, not bearing to see the ending of our battle. Using my last bits of energy, I took the final steps to… “Victory! Yes! I finally beat John Meyer,” I screamed in my head as my whole body filled with happiness. With no energy left, I collapsed to the ground, still breathing hard. The trees looked down on me, approving my victory. “Yes!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “I won!” I was exhausted. Hauling myself up, I noticed the tired sun sinking behind the trees. Hobbling towards the start, I felt an urge to do it again, but the torch had gone out for these games. Later, I lay on the couch, exhausted from my battle. I could still see the grass flying beneath my feet as I glided over the finish line. I drifted off into a deep sleep, satisfied with knowing that I’d finally knocked the Dashing Devil off his throne. Jack Taitel, 10Shrewsbury, Massachusetts Alondra Paredes, 11Bentonville, Arkansas