September/October 2011

Maddy’s Last Beach Visit

For the rest of time itself, the spirit of Maddy will always live on here at Fort Funston Beach Our sleek black Highlander pulls up into the parking lot atop the steep cliff. I open the door and jump out, my feet landing on hard gravel with a soft crunch. The salty ocean air fills my lungs, and the roaring of the sea is faint in my ears. My sisters file out of the open car door after me, while my parents are helping our dog Maddy out of the car while our other dog Lila waits eagerly behind. Had this been a normal weekend, this would just be our average trip to the beach this cloudy afternoon. But it will never be the same. Maddy has cancer. This will be her last trip to the beach. Maddy is too weak to walk, so my dad carries her on her dog bed. After everyone is out of the car, we start the walk down to the beach. The trail to the beach is a sandy one that winds through a small forest at a shallow angle. It is a very quiet walk; even the girls are silent for once. The only talking we hear is when we meet people who are coming up from the beach on the other side of the trail. Some notice the hospital band around Maddy’s leg and feel sorry for us. Some stop to pet her, and others walk by without any notice. It’s all right though; I don’t blame them. It’s hard to understand a type of pain until you’ve felt it yourself. We walk through one more grove of trees and then we are at sea level. We can hear seagulls cawing overhead as my dad finds an empty spot on the beach and lays Maddy down. I can see in her eyes that she knows, somehow, she knows that this is her last visit here. The final ending to her story. The cancer has been attacking her body for weeks now, but Maddy puts that out of her mind for this one time. Slowly, she brings herself to her feet. This is the first time she has stood in three days. Then, when she is steady, she begins to walk. Soon Maddy is trotting around in the surf and burying her favorite tennis ball, which we brought to the beach for her. Like the same old Maddy I’ve known my entire life. Carefree and happy, without a thought of cancer in her mind. It is this sight that makes me feel happiness and hope along with a cold, bitter sadness at the same time. A dying dog’s last visit to the place she loves. Eventually, we have to leave. I can tell that Maddy doesn’t want to, but she accepts it. She knows she can’t stay here forever, and she seems content. But for the rest of time itself, the spirit of Maddy will always live on here at Fort Funston Beach. Maddy is put to sleep the next day. Madison Avenue Dreams Kearns, 1997–2010. My mom’s dog baby, my golden retriever sister, and our family’s protector and companion. I think that losing a loved one is one of the most powerful emotions a human can feel. It leaves you with an icy black void in the pit of your stomach, and you selfishly think only of having that loved one here on earth with you. But it was Maddy’s time to go to heaven. She feels no more pain now; her suffering has ended. And while it feels wrong without her on earth, I know that she is still with us. Still watching over us, guarding us, now as I’m writing this, and for every day for the rest of my life. Ryan Kearns, 12Hillsborough, California Jordan Lei, 12Portland, Oregon

Icarus Falling

I awake early in our small, candlelit prison a stone tower high above the sands of Crete. Father melts hot wax from his thick candle dripping it on my shoulders his gentle hands press something into place. Wings! Giant, feathery white wings unfolding from my bronze shoulders I stand in awe. Suddenly guards pound on our bolted wooden door breaking the rich silence I hear loud shouts of rage and sharp panic cuts me like a knife. A whispered warning a soft shove I stumble out of the tall window nothing to hold onto and I’m plummeting toward the ground and armed guards my heart pounds wildly I squeeze my eyes shut waiting I’m a heavy stone dropping into the deep death abyss. Then my wings snap up trapping the cold wind I glide softly through the blue sky I’m alive! The wind rushes past me tangling in my black locks and slapping my flushed face exhilaration locks away my thoughts of dark, suffocating towers and nightmare labyrinths. I look down the sea is blue a deep, glittering mass of rolling waves spread forever before me I skim the cool surface feeling the tingling spray breathing in the scent of salt and freedom. Behind me Father whoops loudly “Icarus, my boy! We’re free!” I break into happy laughter, and he smiles. We fly together father and son beating our wings to a lulling rhythm we claim the vast sky. I see the sun a blinding golden sphere hanging high above I can reach it! Up I soar higher and higher leaving Father below passing astonished seagulls the sun burns hotly and my face glistens with sweat I reach out to the bright light. Then I feel it the hard wax softens in the raging heat and trickles slowly but steadily scalding my bare skin I’m terrified. Now I remember Father’s urgent warning Don’t fly too close to the sun! It’s too late. Feathers fall around me drifting away suspended in midair I flap my arms desperately and I scream to my father the harsh sound of sharp chilling fear but all he can do is watch helplessly the seagulls don’t catch me in their beaks and I sink into the black, icy depths of the sea all that is left is haunting silence and floating white feathers. Leila Yaghmaei, 12Aliso Viejo, California

Diablo’s Apology

The sun enhanced his golden coat, making it shine like a diamond The smell of baking bread filled my nostrils as I walked into the house, carrying my basket of eggs. “Carrie! Did you bring in the eggs?” Mama called from the kitchen. “Yes, Mama.” I set the basket on the table, where Mama was kneading bread dough. It was strange seeing her alone in the kitchen; usually Colleen was helping her. But since Papa died, Colleen had been spending more time with her friends to avoid the emptiness of the house. Jack took care of the cattle and the horses, and it was my job to look after the sheep and chickens. “Give me that salt, please, dear,” Mama said, nodding toward the can on the table. I scooted the can her way. “Can I help?” I asked. “Please. You can chop those onions and potatoes for the soup.” I quietly went about my work, then asked, “Where’s Colleen?” Mama sighed, folding the dough over once again. “She’s off with Katie and Nancy again.” “Why don’t you make her stay here?” I asked. “She’s seventeen years old, Carrie. I can’t just make her stay in the house.” “But you’re her mother! She should do whatever you tell her to.” “It doesn’t work that way.” I could see the sadness in her eyes as she rinsed flour from her hands. Her body was here, but her mind was far away. With Papa. “Thank you for helping, dear, now why don’t you go outside?” Mama said. I could tell she needed some time alone. I went to the room I shared with my brother, Jack, and grabbed my sketching pen and paper. Once I was outside, I did not waste any time climbing my special tree and beginning to draw. First I sketched the brook running alongside the barn; it was unusually pretty today. Then I began slowly shaping the outline of a pony’s head. Pointed ears, alert eyes, flaring nostrils, streaming mane—when I was finished adding details and wisps of stray hair, I was surprised at how good it had turned out. Some say I should be angry with horses. After all, it was because of one that my papa had been killed. But my love for horses was as strong as ever. Three months ago, my papa had gone with a group of cowboys to round up mustangs. It was the cowboys’ job to round up horses when the herds got a little crowded; the mustangs were then sold. On that particular day, the lead stallion had not been happy with his mares being taken. So he charged around, neighing and bucking, and finally Papa’s horse was spooked. The horse reared, and Papa fell under the flailing hooves of the lead stallion. I sat in my tree, thinking about Papa and how much I missed him. My mind was so occupied that I almost did not notice the beautiful horse on the horizon. But when I did notice it, I was amazed and hypnotized. He was gorgeous. The sun enhanced his golden coat, making it shine like a diamond. His mane and tail were white, pure white. Other than that, he was completely golden, all over his body. I could not resist climbing down the tree to get a better look. He was not any less beautiful on the ground. He stampeded across the earth as if he owned it. I ran inside. “Mama! Mama, you have to come see him, he’s beautiful, it’s…” “Calm down, Carrie. What do you want?” Mama asked. “Just… come outside!” I grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door. “Look!” Suddenly, Mama froze. She became pale, and her eyes glazed over with bitterness. “Carrie.” She spoke sharply. “I don’t want you near that horse.” I stared at her in confusion. “What? Why?” “It’s… it’s that devil horse. Just stay away from it.” She gulped and went back inside. As I watched the beautiful horse galloping around, I tried to understand what Mama meant. Suddenly, I realized. That horse was the lead stallion who had killed Papa. *          *          * When I walked into the barn the next day, I did not expect to see the palomino stallion munching hay that had fallen from the loft. I had figured by the open the door that Jack was inside caring for the horses, but I was met instead with the surprised eyes of the palomino stallion. When he saw me, he flicked his ears back and took a tiny step backward. Not thinking about the fact that he could easily bolt and mow me over, I slowly held my hand out. With a fair amount of hesitation, he sniffed it. Overjoyed as I was to be petting the mustang, I knew Jack would be coming out soon, and Mama would surely order the horse shot. “You need to go,” I said. I backed against the wall and raised my voice. “Go! Go, or you’ll be killed!” His muscles tensed and, laying his ears back, the stallion galloped past me and out of the barn. As I watched him become smaller, approaching the sun, the perfect name struck me. Diablo. It meant devil in Spanish, and devil horse was how Mama had described him. *          *          * Diablo did not come so near the house after that; I just watched him on the place where earth and sky met to make a beautiful picture. Each day that I watched him, I developed a stronger bond with him, and I felt I had an obligation to him. It was strange. But I felt we were great friends. Over time, I began to wonder if Diablo had come back to apologize. It sounded crazy, but I thought it was possible. No; I knew it was possible. Something else, too; it seemed that every day, Diablo galloped closer and closer to the house. It was like he was gradually trying to get closer to me. One day,