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| Photograph by Charley W., Grade 9 |
The Mystery Man's Shoes
When I was six years old, I shook my
bloody hand with a random man. Turns out, we live together now.
Hours
earlier, it began with curiosity. What does he look like? What does he sound
like? Is he nice? This mystery man was in our house: Taking up time with my
mom. And I can’t even meet him.
My
parents had been divorced since I was two. It had always just been the two
girls, so my mom and I were inseparables. About four years after, my mom
started “talking” to someone. I was only six, but I was not happy. Some man I
didn’t even know was coming over, and I had to stay in my room and sleep. Now
even though I was extremely eager to meet this person, I stayed in my room like
a good girl and respected my mom and her little “friend”.
As
my mom tucked me in bed, I could tell she was antsy. And then the doorbell rang,
and my door slammed shut. My mom rushed out of my room and forgot to turn my
nightlight on. This was a strict routine broken for some random person. Already
a red flag in my head. At the time, my nightlight needed to be on for me to
sleep, so I quietly got out of bed. It was so dark; I was swatting around
trying to feel for the switch.
All of a sudden, I
knocked over my collection of Dr. Seuss books right off my bookshelf, where it
hit me straight in the nose. I could immediately feel the blood ooze out. I
quickly ran out my door, straight to the bathroom. I felt fine, but my nose did
not want to give up. I could hear laughter under me. My mom told me not to come
downstairs because she didn’t want me to meet the mystery man yet, so I was
alone and panicking. From the stairs I knew I could stand near the balcony
where I could peer downstairs and possibly get my mom’s attention. I sat in the
bathroom trying to stop the blood thinking of all the ninja moves I could do to
get to my mom, but also knowing I only have one hand with the other holding the
tissue firmly.
About
an hour had passed, and the blood did not slow down. At this point I could feel
it drizzling down my throat as I would quietly gag. I finally gave up and
peered over the edge of the stairs like a spy. I kept watching their feet move
from the kitchen to the living room. My number one thought at the very moment
was, “I really don’t like his shoes.” When I was done my shoe critiquing,
I could see the man walking out where I could get a clear vision of him. I shut
my eyes immediately when he came out like he was Medusa. I wanted to play it
safe, just in case my mom could tell I saw him. She somehow knows everything.
I
stood there for another hour. Thoughts raced back and forth to the pace of my
feet. Finally, I realized I need help.
“Mom…”
I called down.
“Ava!”
my mother shouted surprisingly.
“I’m
really sorry. I hit my nose and I—”
My mom looked at me and
saw the tissues piled into my face like a cushion. She ran upstairs. Mom to the
rescue! I explained to her what had happened. She laughed and helped me stop
the blood. After cleaning my nose, my mom brought me downstairs to finally meet
the mystery man. After all this, she knew she couldn’t keep me away. I was
brought downstairs where I shook my sweaty hands full of dry blood with Dave.
My stepdad of almost 10 years. I made sure that he never wore those shoes
again.
Growing up with a
stepdad was difficult for me at a young age. I missed my mom. I missed my dad.
I was jealous that my mom had another focus. It turns out, having a stepdad is
one of the best things that had happened in my life. I had someone else to take
care of me, to take care of my mom. I was introduced to my love of snowboarding
and traveling. I learned how to toughen up, and standup for myself. I got the
opportunity to grow up with a father. Even if I just call him Dave. Now I have
to do it all over again, this time with a stepmom…
by Ava L., Grade 9
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| Photograph by Charley W. |
The Summer
Tree
It was a perfect day to go to the tree that
beautiful summer afternoon. Birds were singing their joyous and playful songs,
the flowers were in full summer bloom, the sun was up and smiling down at the world,
and the soft hum of cicadas finally coming out of their shells created a warm,
comforting environment. “This is a great day to go out into the woods!” 8th
grade me exclaimed to my aloof brother, who was too busy playing FIFA on our
Xbox to care about what I was saying. “Maybe I’ll go out to see the tree today
again…”
“The
tree” was an irreplaceable staple of our woods, which resides right behind our
backyard. It’s not any ordinary tree; however, it stands miles above the rest,
wider than all the others combined, and there was one thing about it that
really made it stand out as one in a million, quite literally. During a
thunderstorm a few summers back, it was struck by lightning. But instead of
falling over or catching fire—as trees always seem to do—it did something
seemingly impossible and utterly inexplicable. All of its bark exploded off of
its exterior, like a bomb that only touched the exterior of trees, leaving the
white wooden interior exposed. The branches were desolate and void of life as well,
without leaves, bark, squirrels or anything at all, looking like daggers
pointed to the sky in rebellion against the forces that made it like this. And
somehow, whether it be through luck or some sort of undiscovered magic, the
tree continued standing proud like the god-defying giant it is.
Ever
since I found the tree when I was in 6th grade, I made it a yearly
summer ritual to make my visits often to the tree, where I’d sit down on one of
its collapsed, smaller and more unfortunate brothers and read a book or examine
its black burn marks on its white skin, stretching up, down, left and right,
like veins on a leaf. Making sure that the area around the tree stays clean has
always been a chore for more, but one that I generally enjoyed doing. Making
sure no weeds got too close to it, ensuring no one left their litter around,
and especially making the ground a good place to sit down and chill out with a
bag of chips and some entertainment on a hot summer day.
This
time around, for the second time that week, I had decided I would go out with
my phone, earbuds, some snacks, a towel and a book. “I’m heading out now!” I
called to my parents, who were still asleep on this calm, uneventful day. Once
all my things had been gathered, I left the house. Through some thorn bushes,
over our creek, taking the route of another tree that had fallen, and through a
small make-shift path of dirt and stones, I reached the tree.
Once
I had made it to my destination, I looked up at it, admiring its resilience and
stubbornness, refusing to fall down despite its suffering. It was a source of
inspiration for me. I laid my towel I brought over the ground, took my earbuds
out, and started reading my favorite fantasy book as some Twenty-One Pilots
played loudly in my ears while I bumped my foot softly to my favorite song of
theirs, “Bandito”.
I
still have no idea how long I read for. It was likely multiple hours on end,
since I was nearly finished my book by the time my phone buzzed. “Anthony, come
home soon, we’ll be having dinner in a couple minutes”, the text message from
my mom read. As soon as my eyes finished reading the screen, I was already
standing and packing my things up. Since the walk was fairly short and I still
had ten or so minutes to get home, I took my time walking back. Appreciating
the scenery, such as the other trees, small canopies created by hollow bushes
and the winding creek, I slowly trekked my way back home, back through the
walkway, over the creek and through the thorns, when my house came back into
sight.
I
walked in and was immediately greeted by a loud “Anthony, wash your hands
before you sit down” from the kitchen, even though I always did that and there
was no need to remind me of such basic human decencies. Either way, I was calm,
relaxed and we were having chicken a la king for dinner. I was perfectly
content with that day, and slept like a baby that night, my thoughts filled
with peace, calm, and trees.
Ever
since then, I’ve learned that whenever I’m stressed or angry or filled with any
other negative feeling, I always remember that tree, because in the end, I
learned that when I’m feeling down, I’ll have somewhere to escape to at any
time. Whether it be my bedroom, the internet, with friends or the dead center
of the woods with my favorite tree, having somewhere to go when I just need to
let my feelings out always has and always will feel good.
by Anthony M., Grade 9
