For Mom, and all the “Emmas” out there. “Healing does not mean going back to the way things were before.” –Ram Dass “Em? Wanna go bike riding with me today?” “Can’t,” I mumbled and grabbed my backpack. “Emma?” Jennifer asked, “Are you OK?” But I was already out the door and sprinting down the sidewalk as fast as I could. “Emma?” Jennifer called, “Emma?!” I ignored her. I didn’t care. I just ran. I just ran toward nowhere in particular. And I didn’t care. I didn’t care about biking with Jennifer. I didn’t care about moving to Maine. I didn’t. I didn’t! And then, quite suddenly, I realized I was standing in front of Maddy’s house, and just as suddenly I realized that was where I’d intended to go all along. Maddy! I should have thought of Maddy sooner. * * * Maddy was the strangest kid in my class. Every day at recess she sat on the swings and rocked slowly. In the beginning lots of kids asked her if she wanted to play with them, thinking she had nothing to do. Maddy replied (very politely), “Maybe another time, right now I’m thinking,” though what she thought about beat me. She was a quiet kid, not the shy kind of quiet but the thinking kind of quiet. Maddy was the kind of person who spoke only when speaking was necessary. No more, no less. Whenever someone was sad, or stressed, or when a pet or relative died, people went to Maddy. When they went away again they were, if not happy, calm. I had only been to Maddy once. It was after Coral died. Coral was my border collie, the first dog I ever had. We got her a few years after I was born. I’d played with her and fed her, and slept with her, and loved her, and suddenly she was gone… I’d stayed home from school, refusing to talk to anyone for two whole days. “To you this is dirt, but what is it to me?” Then I found myself at Maddy’s. Maddy had listened to my story without saying anything. After I finished she was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Pick up a stone.” That had seemed far too simple. I stared at her. “Just any stone?” I asked. “The right stone.” “How will I know which one is the right one?” “You’ll know.” I looked down at the ground. It was littered with stones, but sure enough one stood out to me. I picked it up. It was not particularly smooth or shiny. It was just an ordinary gray stone. I closed my hand around it, the hard crust of the stone against the soft skin of my hand. It felt good. Really good. And suddenly I knew that Coral had a long, happy life and that it was time for her to return to the endless circle from which we all come, the circle of life. I still have that stone under my pillow. * * * Maddy was weeding a flower bed when I came to a stop in front of her house. “Hi, Emma,” she said. I took that as an invitation, so I opened the gate and stepped inside. Maddy continued weeding. Was it the rhythm of her work, or was it just the way her light brown hair fell over her shoulders that made me feel at home? “My family has to move to Maine because of my parents’ jobs, and I really don’t want to go.” I surprised myself. I hadn’t really meant to tell her, because I was trying so hard not to believe it. But deep down I knew what I said was true. I didn’t want to leave my friends. Especially Jennifer. “Mom says we can come back in a few years, but I don’t want to go at all.” Maddy slowly looked at me. Her soft brown eyes gazed straight into mine. Her face was gentle, yet unreadable. After a minute she said, “Come here, Emma.” I walked over to her. She had turned her attention to the flower bed and was digging with gentle and strong intention. After a minute she scooped up some loosened soil and held it in her cupped hands. “What is this, Emma?” she asked. “It’s dirt,” I said, knowing all the time that I was wrong. That soil wasn’t dirt. Not in Maddy’s world. To my surprise, she smiled. “To you,” she said, “this is dirt, but what is it to me?” “I don’t know,” I said. She looked at me for a long time before she spoke, but when she spoke she did so with such passion that it touched me to the heart. “It’s a little bit of home, Emma, it’s a little bit of home!” * * * Later that night, while my parents were talking in the living room, I slipped outside. I took an old plastic bottle out of the recycling and got a hand shovel from the garden shed. In the backyard I found an out-of- the-way place behind a bush and began to dig. In a minute I scooped some soil out of the hole and put it in the bottle. Now I had my own little bit of home. * * * My family’s move to Maine was not as hard as I expected. Though I really missed Jennifer at first, after a while I started to make new friends. I grew particularly close with a girl named Maria. I told her everything. We spent lots of time together: hiking, drawing, talking, or even just sitting and staring at the sky. Life was rich and wonderful. And then one day, three years later, my mother asked me if I wanted to go back. I felt a great surge of happiness rise up in me. Then I remembered Maria. The happiness melted away as fast as it had come. Mama saw this. “Emma,” she said, “maybe I
November/December 2016
Black and White
The recess bell pierced through the hallways like a needle puncturing a piece of soft velvet. Students threw back their chairs and stampeded towards the classroom door. I grabbed my leather jacket and stepped into the unfamiliar corridors. Alone, I walked down the deserted hall. It all started when my dad got fired from his job at the post office. My mom had to work two jobs at a time just to feed us. Our family had to rent out our house to strangers for extra cash. We couldn’t afford private school after that, so we decided to start fresh and moved to Fleetwood, Pennsylvania. Being a transfer in the middle of January made it ten times harder. Especially on your first day. I burst through the doors and onto the recess yard. There were kids dribbling basketballs, playing on the monkey bars, reading, drawing, and playing tag. I spotted one of the kids from my math group, the only class I had taken so far at this new school. “Hey,” I said as I walked over to the boy. “I’m Tanner. I came here from Connecticut.” The boy looked up at me and walked away. I scanned the horizon for any other place to sit. That is when I saw the chessboard. I strode over to the chessboard. Before saying anything, I took in the atmosphere. There were four kids clustered around the board. They all had a somewhat intense vibe. Two of the kids were engaged in the game while the other two kids watched intently. One of the players had darkish brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The other kid had thick, black glasses. This was the deciding moment. The endgame. I watched as glasses kid slid his rook onto A-5; not a very good move. It opened a hole in his castle. Blue-eyes immediately slammed his queen down onto H-2. “Checkmate,” said Blue-eyes. “Good game,” said the glasses kid as he reached his hand across the board. The victor shook it. “Hey guys, can I play?” I questioned. “Do you even know how to play?” asked the winner. “Yeah…” I said. “It’s my favorite game.” “Sure,” said the blue-eyed kid. “You probably won’t win though, so don’t get your hopes up too high,” he warned. “My name is Dexter. You can take a seat right over there.” I sat down on the smooth, wooden bench. “So,” began Dexter. “Hand me all of those black pieces.” “Actually, can I be black?” I pleaded. “It’s my lucky color.” “No,” said Dexter. “I am black and always will be. Now hand me those pieces.” I ignored him. “Can’t we at least flip a coin?” I tried. Dexter thought for a moment. “Sure.” * * * I handed all of the black pieces to Dexter and set up the white pieces on my first two ranks. A few kids gathered around the table, waiting anxiously to see who the victor would be. “Go,” Dexter snarled. The buzz of the playground slowly blurred around me, leaving Dexter and me as the only ones in focus. I took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. I instinctively moved my king pawn up two spaces. The casual opening move. Dexter glared at me hard before copying the king pawn move. I slid my G-1 knight to F-3. This time, Dexter advanced his bishop, pinning my queen pawn. I squinted at the board, trying to catch an early threat. I decided to try the Fried Liver Fork, to test how good he was at reading attacks. I moved my bishop into attacking position. Dexter didn’t see the threat. He pushed his queen pawn one space. I continued my tactic, moving my knight into position. One of the kids sitting next to Dexter leaned to the side and whispered something into his ear. Dexter’s face lit up as he thwarted my attack. He gave me a smug look. Pretty stupid, I thought as I saw he could’ve taken my knight. I quickly moved it into a safer position. I zoned out as Dexter prepared his next move. What if I lose this game? I thought. Will I still be an outsider? Will kids like me more if I win? Or maybe they’ll think I’m a show-off, trying to be smug and cool. Maybe the… “Your turn,” said Dexter, interrupting my thoughts. Dexter had castled, leaving himself in a great defensive position. My palms began to sweat as I scanned the board for a good offensive move, looking for a weak spot in his lines to attack. There. His king pawn was completely unguarded beside the king. If I could set up a Roman Blitz right on that spot, I could end this game, I thought. I decided to try it. As the minutes passed, more kids accumulated around the table. They were watching with a little dash of pity for me, knowing that Dexter would come out victorious. Dexter still had that smug look on his face, like it was plastered there. I looked behind me, just to see how many supporters there were on my side. Not one soul stood behind me. I turned back to the game. After several intense moments, one of Dexter’s supporters pulled out a chess clock. “You guys are taking too long. Recess ends in twenty minutes. We’ll give you each ten minutes to start out with,” the kid with the clock said as he wound the numbers to ten. The clock thumped down on the metal table with a clang. “Go,” said the clock boy. * * * The sounds were getting to me. Each time the clock ticked, it felt like a small chisel was digging into my skin. My heartbeat matched the clock’s ticks perfectly and beads of sweat dribbled down to my eyebrows. One kid was gently drumming his fingers right next to my hand. My quick, angry glance in his direction made him stop. My king was stuck. Trapped by my
Counting Thyme
Counting Thyme, by Melanie Conklin; G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers: New York, 2016; $16.99 When I’m picking out books to read, I usually try to avoid the sad ones. Counting Thyme is definitely ranked amongst the saddest books I’ve ever read, and yet it lies with my favorites. How? Maybe it’s because the underlying theme of hope even through sadness with hints of humor scattered throughout gives it a unique touch like no other book I’ve read. Maybe it’s because this book does not avoid stunning reality, like others do. All I am sure of is that I would and will choose to read Counting Thyme again and again, and each time I will enjoy it as much as I did the first time. I am willing to do anything for my brother. That’s what Thyme thinks. Her little brother, Val, has cancer, and she’s ready to do whatever it takes to help him. And wait—there’s a chance to cure Val, and it’s a special test in New York. Thyme’s family. temporarily moves to an apartment in New York, because this new treatment opens too many opportunities to ignore. People who have siblings, like I do, can relate to the struggle she went through between doing what was best for her brother and doing what she truly wanted. Of course, Thyme is very happy for Val, but… moving. Away from her friends, and her house, and everything that she can call home. In my whole life, I have never moved. However, I have had friends that have moved far away, and so I understand having a best friend move away and can only imagine how much worse it would be to lose all your friends. The first week, you start out thinking that you can always keep in touch and call each other or email each other. But you just start drifting farther and farther away—not physically, but emotionally. And within the third week, it is all but a dream. Sure—you might email sometimes, but, as Thyme finds out, there’s a big difference between actually talking to someone, and hanging out with them, and just communicating electronically. Speaking of friends, Thyme isn’t especially eager to have her cool, popular new classmates see Val bald and in a stroller at five years old. They might think he’s odd, and weird, and if they start thinking that about Val, they’ll start thinking it about Thyme, too. I know that people in school can be mean and judgmental. People are always looking at what you’re wearing and don’t necessarily think before they speak. Luckily, busy with her best friend in her old school, Thyme hadn’t noticed school drama. But in her new school, she is tossed into the middle of a lot of drama. Did I mention that the move was temporary? So why is Thyme’s old best friend reporting a “for sale” sign at Thyme’s old house? Thyme’s parents never said anything about selling their house. Thyme never even thought about it. This move was supposed to be temporary—only temporary. So are Thyme’s parents hiding something fishy, or is her best friend wrong? I would be outraged and hurt if my parents told me that a move was temporary—and then sold our old home. Hopefully, Thyme can get to the bottom of this and figure out what’s really going on! Thyme finds out what “home” really means to her in this touching and unique, tear-encouraging book. Along the way, she might make some unexpected friends! Samantha Abrishami, 11McLean, Virginia
