“Once upon a time—no, no, that’s not right . . .” Laura chewed on her thumbnail and pouted. “Gosh, I just can’t seem to get this right!” Finally, she threw down her pencil, crumpled up the paper and jammed it into the plastic trash can in the corner of her room. Smacking her forehead with a sweaty palm, Laura threw herself on her bed and punched her pillow. “How am I supposed to become the world’s greatest novelist, let alone the winner of this writing contest, if I can’t even start the dumb story?!” she questioned her tattered teddy bear, Henry. In exasperation, Laura rolled onto the floor and stared up at the chipped ceiling of her room. Smothered in the sticky embrace of the stiff quiet in her room, Laura’s mind filled with cloudy memories of the past. Tiptoeing in, they seemed to fill in the chinks of her brain connecting her to the world, and she was lost to reality. Images of a pleasant, smiling face and bubbling laughter flickered in Laura’s mind, as if she was watching her past on a movie screen. That’s when she saw it—the face. Like a dangerous beast, it haunted her dreams, serving as a token of what she had lost. Choking on a sob, Laura clung to her teddy bear. Blinking, she returned to the present. Slowly rising to her feet, she quietly padded over to her night table, and tugged open the wooden drawer hesitantly. Rummaging inside for what seemed like hours, but was only a matter of mere minutes, Laura’s shaking fingers clasped what she was hunting for—the photograph. Revealing the picture, she stroked the figure lovingly. “Dad,” she whispered. “Dad . . .” Revealing the picture, she stroked the figure lovingly. Dad,” she whispered. Dad . . . ” Suddenly, her mother’s voice bit into the haziness surrounding Laura. “Laur, hon? Laura! It’s lunchtime! C’mon, sweetie, I have to leave soon! Laura, lunch!” Sensing the impatience in her mother’s summoning, Laura quickly stuck the picture back into the drawer and scampered down the steps. Sliding into a seat at the kitchen table, Laura drummed her fingers on the table as she inhaled the delicious smell of the grilled cheese baking in the toaster. Quickly gobbling up every last morsel of the sandwich, Laura listened to her mom tell her of the appointment that she had to run off to and that “she hoped Laura wouldn’t mind if she had to fix herself some dinner and she would be back early tomorrow morning.” “You know, there’s canned soup in the cupboard, honey,” Mrs. Hanley called from the front hall as she shouldered her purse and flipped up her sunglasses. “Be a love and take out the trash, will you sweetie? Oh, and don’t forget you do have homework to do even though it’s Saturday. Laurie — don’t spend too much time on that writing contest thing, you know just as well as I do that you have plenty of more important things to be spending your time on. Well, I’ll try and call when I get there, OK? Bye, sweetie!” Sighing, Laura cleared her place and rinsed off the dishes, after watching her mother’s beat-up station wagon rumble off into the distance. Typical mother, she thought disgustedly. Nonetheless, she did as she had been instructed to and emptied the trash out into the bin at the back of the house. Back inside her cozy room, Laura kicked off her tennis shoes and plucked the clothespin off her nose, pulling up the broken blinds on her window. Once again sitting silently at her desk, Laura stared solemnly at the picture of her dad that she had placed gingerly down in front of herself. Studying the man’s unique features, she decided she had a lot in common with her dad—the same wispy chestnut hair and twinkling green eyes. In fact, looking closer, Laura could see she and her father had the same smile, creasing at the corners and slightly lopsided. Laura could remember that smile from a long time ago—at her third birthday party when her father had dressed up like a clown and performed silly tricks; and at the beach when she was eight, when together they had built a tall, stately sand castle, crowned with a small stick and soiled piece of fish netting. Chuckling to herself, Laura recalled the time that her father had spilled an entire orange soda on his jeans on purpose to match Laura’s own when she had wet her pants. Smiling sadly at the picture, Laura felt that hole in her heart, that missing piece in the puzzle. True, it was a corner piece, hard to accommodate without. But, nevertheless, as Laura’s father had taught her, everything is possible. How many times had he said, time and again, no one’s a winner without making the effort? And Laura wanted so much to be her father’s daughter—to be the winner that she knew he had in his heart. Sharing the same secret passion, Laura and her father had always thought alike and acted alike. Now he was merely a whisper on the wind. But now Laura realized that it was up to her to carry on that special passion and bring out the real winner inside her that was bottled up. These selfish tears she had cried from time to time were the cork that kept her true self inside. And now, she was ready to unplug the cork. Filled with new inspiration and soaring spirits, Laura picked up her pencil and a clean stack of paper, and wrote. And wrote. And wrote. In fact, she set up her flashlight and was still busy scribbling well into the night. At last, when the first golden purple streaks of the sunrise were painted across the sky’s easel, Laura set down her pencil once again and sat back into her pillows to read what she had written. What her hand had written, with a mind of
September/October 2000
Enchantment of the Wolves
The farm looked old and dull, but in my thoughts everything, even the quiet farm, was eerie. I had the dream again; the same dream I had every full moon, the only dream I ever had. The gentle eyes of my mother looked down at me. All I could see were the soft, green eyes. I could feel the warmth and fear of my mother, fear that was for me. “Terry!” called my father. “Breakfast!” He was actually my adoptive father. He found me in the woods and took care of me. He knew that adopting me would be a bad idea. He had no experience whatsoever with raising a child, and the only person who could help him would be his younger brother. He spent weeks searching for my family, but found no one. He could give me up to an orphanage or adopt me himself. I suppose he felt responsible for me, or maybe it was sheer pity, but he took me in and I was brought up living on a farm with him and my uncle, Dude. He is really my Uncle Ben, but “Uncle Ben” makes rice, and Dude was a childhood nickname. I suppose I liked Dude all right, but he was gone so much that I didn’t really get to spend much time with him. “Coming!” I yelled. I ran hard and fast, I was good at that. Dude says my mother and father were probably great athletes. Besides, today my father was making waffles for breakfast. * * * It sat down and pulled the straw out of my tangled hair. I had slept in the barn with the animals again. I felt at peace with them. My father could tell I had been sleeping there, but I suppose, against his better judgement, he let me be. My father and I did not talk much. It wasn’t that we didn’t like each other, it’s just that we didn’t “click.” Neither of us was a very good conversationalist, so silence filled the gaps in our relationship. But it wasn’t a comfortable silence. It wasn’t awkward either. There was simply nothing there; no words, no thoughts, no feelings. I had lived twelve years with someone I barely knew. His tired face was that of a stranger that looked different every time I saw it. I did not miss my father when we were apart, and I did not notice when we were together. I was never angry with him, nor was I happy. He was simply there, nameless, my provider, but don’t get me wrong. I was grateful to him. Only sometimes I wondered if his choice to adopt me was a smart one. Did I really belong here? Could things really go on like this? “Did you finish all of your homework?” my father asked, breaking the silence. “Yep,” I answered. “What are you doing in school today?” he continued quietly. “Nothing.” “Hmmm. Do you like your new math class?” “No, not really.” We both went back to poking at our waffles. It was a typical breakfast conversation. I thought of saying more; telling him how I despised math class and how I learned more walking home through the peaceful woods, tasting the fresh air, than I ever could at school, but I decided that I would sound silly and thought better of it. Many long, silent moments passed before the next conversation began. “I got another one this morning.” This time it was Dude speaking. My father nodded. “Two more chickens are gone.” “Suppose I’ll go down to the market an’ get some more.” He looked tired and distressed. I knew what they were talking about. I hated it. Our chickens were disappearing. My father decided it was wolves, but we never actually saw them take the chickens. Although with so many wolves running around Stoneland, Wyoming, what else could it have been? I had my own ideas. When I proved that the Hoster boys from next door were taking the chickens, no more innocent wolves would die. I couldn’t be absolutely sure they were taking them, but whenever they came over they snooped around, and day by day their chicken flock seemed to grow larger and ours smaller. I stared blankly out the window as a beautiful full-grown wolf stepped into our yard Off in my own world, I stared blankly out the window, but my thoughts on the chickens came to an abrupt halt as a beautiful full-grown wolf stepped into our yard. It was far away from the chickens, but close enough. Even though the wolf wasn’t after them, it was in danger simply by being here. I had to get to it before my father did. I tore across the yard, each step faster than I could count. As I neared the wolf I did not slow. For my own safety I should have stopped. I did not. I knew the wolf wouldn’t hurt me. I could feel it in a place deeper and more spiritual than my heart, and somehow, somehow, I knew she felt the same. The part when I actually, physically tackled the wolf was a blur of forgotten memory. All I knew, or rather felt, was me running with the wolf, for the wolf, to a place I knew by heart and yet had never seen. The feel of my legs straining to push my body through the force of the eager wind felt natural, completely natural. When my heart finally stopped urging me forward with the force of a thousand fists, I found myself at the entrance of a cave. Unsure of what to do next, I glanced over at the wolf. Taking sure and gentle steps, she proceeded inside. I followed, a bit bewildered. There must have been fifteen . . . no, twenty wolves! The soft gray texture of their fur made me want to reach out and touch them but I kept my distance. They were all peaceful and quiet,
Nicely Johnson and Caylan
As I recall, it was early in the morning, around seven or eight, when I first arrived at summer camp. The beautiful summer breeze whisked through my nose, giving me a vague sense of freedom. How I had longed to leave school and have this feeling tingle my senses. This had marked my third year at summer camp, and I was ecstatic to meet my friends again. I walked across the new green grass leading to the main campus. Directly in front of me, I would say about twenty-five yards, a red-haired boy paced back and forth. He looked at his feet, as if he had just discovered them. I came closer, and noticed his pale white skin. I had never seen anyone like him before. Now, I was several feet from him, but he managed to still keep his head faced to the ground. “Hello. I’m Daniel Lyons, it’s very nice to meet you.” I held my hand out for a handshake, making him slowly lift his head up. “I am Cay . . . Cayla . . . Caylan . . . I am Caylan.” “Hi, Caylan, it’s very nice to meet you.” I was puzzled by the way he talked. As he spoke, he would change the position of his head and hands. As I walked away, I got a quick glance at the back of his white T-shirt. “Johnson School for Special Students.” I began to formulate why he was different from the rest of us. It gave me a drooping feeling of sadness, but I kept walking. “Hey Dan! What have you been doin’ with that Caylan kid?” I would say a week or so had passed by when Gary, the head of the drama section of the camp, informed us that we were going to put on the production “Guys and Dolls,” and auditions were to be held that afternoon. I thought I did fairly well, because I earned the part of Nicely Johnson. I would perform the song “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat.” I walked down the cobblestone path leading to the boys’ bunk. Caylan walked over to me. “I hear that . . . that you are Nicely . . . Nicely Johnson. That song you sing. I know the words. Can you . . . you take me out on stage with . . . with you? OK then. Bye.” He began to walk away. “Wait, Caylan! Umm . . . I dunno if you can do tha- . . . I’ll talk to Gary.” He smiled at me. * * * “You’re it, Caylan!” I ran away from him laughing. He was laughing more than I was, and I don’t think I’d ever seen him so happy. He reached for me, and missed. I kept running, until he had finally caught me. I now chased him around, until we were both tired. We sat down, breathing heavily. “So, did you . . . did you talk to Gary?” “No, I didn’t, Caylan; I guess I will now.” * * * “No! Are you outta your mind?!” Gary’s face turned a dark shade of red. “But he doesn’t understand! He may be thirteen years old, but he’s really just a young child; he can’t take your refusal!” “No, and that’s final!” I walked away, my tail between my legs. Caylan walked up to me. I stared at him darkly. He understood, and walked away. I kept walking a different direction. I smashed into the water, still amazed on the height I gained on the diving board jump. I opened my eyes as a girl swam under my feet. It was Jenna, one of my good friends. She and I surfaced. “Hey Dan! What have you been doin’ with that Caylan kid? You don’t hang out with us much any more. And why the heck won’t he come in the water?” “He hates water, it scares him. He really likes to stand on the edge and look in. I dunno why.” I looked at him still standing on the edge smiling. Krist came up behind him, ready to push him in. I sprung from the water, and rushed Krist, pushing him and me into the water. “Don’t push him in! You know he hates water!” “I’m just playin’. What’s wrong with you?!” He swam down under the water and swam away. Caylan smiled and kept gazing into the water. Jenna swam back up to me, a frown spread on her face. She shook her head and swam away. I walked down to the boys’ bunk dribbling a basketball. I looked in and there Caylan was. He hummed the tune to my song from the play. He danced to himself, the exact movements I do in the number. He knew as if choreographed by my rehearsals. It was amazing, a flawless mirror of myself! I smiled as he finished, and clapped loudly. He swung around and began to laugh; he bowed and walked past me. Two weeks had passed since then, and Caylan and I went our separate ways. We talked now and then, but not as much as we used to. I had focused more on my other friends. Now I walked with Jenna and Krist. We were talking, and mid-sentence, Krist was interrupted by a magnificently huge boom. We were showered with water as the sky turned darker. More booms followed, preceding more rain. Jenna, Krist and I ran to our bunks, where roll was called. “Dan.” “Here.” “Krist.” “Here.” “Caylan . . . Caylan!?” Oh no. A feeling of dread shot through my stomach. I ran outside, barefoot, running through the mud. Rain pattered painfully now on my back. I ran to the pavilion. Empty. I proceeded running to the music shed, a great distance away. No one was there either. I ran past the tennis courts, where a white flash glared in my eyes. Caylan was sitting in the corner of the court. “CAYLAN! Let’s go! C’mon!
