It seems we have had trouble escaping the winter chill this March, but that means it's time to snuggle up to some excellent writing, right?!?
Enjoy this month's post!
 |
| Artwork by Yana R., Grade 9 |
Prerequisites to Eating Your Birthday Cake
In
my family there are three prerequisites to eating your birthday cake: you blow
out your candles, smear your name, and make a wish about something irrelevant
to the world. I wish I could get a Labrador puppy. I wish I could be the queen
of England. I wish my mom would buy me a trampoline to keep in our backyard.
My
15th birthday that all changed.
My
dad is sick upstairs, locked away in his room. My friends are unable to join
the “party”. My brother complains that he prefers chocolate to the creamy
vanilla icing that decorates the smooth vanilla cake. ‘Happy Birthday Calli!’,
it reads in beautiful cursive. All in all, this was a birthday too easy to
remember, yet sometimes I want to forget.
When
Covid-19 struck America in early March, nobody expected that in mid-June it
would still be raging; nobody expected hundreds of thousands to die. Yet, here
I am four months later blowing out my birthday candles with a paper plate,
smearing my name with a plastic spoon, and wishing for people to stop dying.
I
woke up on June 15th, 2020 on the right side of the bed. My golden
birthday! ‘15 on the 15th’ I caption my Instagram post. Creative, I
know. I walk down the stairs to sprinkle-covered pancakes and a brother with
presents in hand. My mom stands next to him, a proud smile on her face.
“She
didn’t burn the pancakes this time,” Aidan chuckles.
“Very
funny,” my mom throws back nonchalantly. Nothing seems off for a moment, but
then my mom’s smile begins to falter a bit. I look around and walk into the
answer of the question I didn’t know I had asked.
Aidan
slowly states, “He couldn’t taste his breakfast this morning.” There’s a gaping
dad-sized hole at our kitchen table. Oh no. Everyone knows that losing your
taste and smell are sure signs of Covid-19. Nobody wants someone they love to
catch the virus. Who knows how my dad’s weakened heart will take it? Quickly, I
whip my phone out of my flannel pajama bottoms.
“U
feeling okay?” I text my dad.
It
takes thirty long seconds for him to respond. Like watching a rocket prepare to
blast off from its sturdy structure, I count down the seconds to a reply.
Houston, do we have a problem? Finally, my phone vibrates in my pocket: “Meh.
I’ll survive. Happy birthday Caj!” Everyone’s spirits rise a bit when we see my
childhood nickname being used. If my dad has the energy to poke fun, then he
must be feeling okay.
I
scamper up to my room to change, wearing a blue medical face mask just in case.
I bound back down the stairs in a flash and grip the golden doorknob to the
outside world; quickly, I shove the door open and am bathed in the glow of the
early morning. A flash of color on our typically dark driveway catches my eye.
“Happy
Birthday Calli” shouts the chalk. I run down the steps and see my neighbors
lining the driveway. They’re an odd
group, ages ranging from 5 to 55, but there’s no one else I’d rather celebrate
with. JJ, my 5-year-old next door neighbor, tutoring trainee, and babysitting burden
runs up to me to do our not-so-secret handshake. At first, I’m excited, but
then I realize what I must do.
“Sorry,
not today little man!” I shout as I jump backwards, “My dad’s not feeling too
great so keep six feet away.”
“But
I only have two feet!” he complains.
I
guess that’s the next unit we need to study... I think to myself. The
three other families around the driveway take an unconscious synchronized step
backward.
“Is
your dad alright?” JJ’s mom asks.
“He
will be,” I respond. “or now he’s staying locked up.” The mom frowns as she
pulls a card out from behind her back, ‘Happy Birthday’ it reads. I’m starting
to think this birthday might not be so happy. I run back inside for a moment
and slide the buttercream covered birthday cake into my arms. Slow and
steady wins the race. I remind myself. When I step back on to the rainbow
covered driveway a small card table is set up in the center… We used to play
poker right here, using goldfish as our chips… my dad always dealt…
Carefully, I slip the cake onto the table.
My mom and brother, each wearing the dreaded
blue medical mask, walk out the front door. The click of a camera flies into
the air and slowly people begin to sing. “Happy Birthday to you…” they begin,
adding “HAYAH”’s between each line. Nobody ever knows what to do when others
sing happy birthday. Standing over my cake I awkwardly dance and wave in a
circle. JJ does the same, convinced the cake was made just for him. Finally,
the last “HAYAH” arrives and I reach down to smear my name for good luck. My
mom grabs my hand and pushes it away.
“Better
safe than sorry,” she says as she hands me a plastic spoon and paper plate. The
spoon doesn’t smear icing as well as my finger, but hopefully it brings the
same amount of luck. I “blow” out the candles by fanning the paper plate: up,
down, up, down. A slow, squeaky noise comes from above our heads and the
neighbors go quiet, looking up towards the window. My dad stares down at us
from behind the window screen in Hershey pajama pants and an oversized
sweatshirt.
“Happy
birthd-“ he starts to say before breaking down into a coughing fit.
“Thanks
padre. Go get some sleep,” I call up to him.
A
second later millions of worries shove themselves into my head: How many
more sailing trips will we go on, trapped in the middle of the sea with waves
crashing down? How many more pens will we steal from the cleaning carts around
The Hotel Hershey? How many more movies will he force me to watch: Dirty
Dancing, JoJo Rabbit, The Polar Express? I pull these thoughts from my
brain and place them into the ever-growing list of things I want to forget.
In
my family there were three prerequisites to eating your birthday cake:
you blew out your candles, smeared your name, and made a wish about something
irrelevant to the world. Did blowing out the candles and smearing my name truly
make my wish come true? I’m not sure. All I know is that two weeks later my dad
was finally able to get out of bed, but eight months in the future half a
million Americans are dead and dying. I didn’t get to smear my name, sure. But
they will never again get to eat a cake or make a wish. Who will celebrate
their birthdays?
by Calli P., Grade 9
 |
| Artwork by Jacob D., Grade 8 |
Last month, we published the opening to a play, Pheidippides, written by a group of seventh grade students. Though we do not have ample space to publish the entire play, we did want you to see the intrigue of the concluding scenes, published below. We hope that when Broadway reopens you will have the chance to see Pheidippides live and on stage.
The curtain rises in the deserted agora. There is no one to be seen in the usually busy agora. The wooden stands are abandoned. Pheidippides continues to walk through the streets of the agora.
Pheidippides: That is weird. Usually, the agora is buzzing with people.
Narrator: Pheidippides spotted a person hurrying through the street. When Pheidippides asked him where everybody was, the man said that everyone was in their houses because the Persians were about to attack. He also said that he was left behind to tell Pheidippides that he needs to go to the battlefield so he can bring the Spartan army with him. So, with all the strength Pheidippides had left, he ran to report to the battlefield. When he got there, Miltiades was waiting.
Miltiades: (with a disappointed look on his face) Oh, you’re here.
Pheidippides: (Pheidippides out of breath) You sound disappointed.
Miltiades: I am not.
Pheidippides: Am I too late?
Miltiades: Yes, you are. But we won anyway.
Pheidippides: So, you are telling me I ran who knows how far, for no reason?!
Miltiades: Hmm...let me think... yes you did! Now I need you to run back to Athens and tell them we are victorious.
Pheidippides: What? Are you insane!? No. I need a break.
Miltiades: You wanted to do this job, so finish it.
Narrator: And with that, Pheidippides ran all the way back to Athens to ring the town bell. By ringing that bell, he is telling everyone to meet in the agora.
Everyone cautiously walks out of their homes and into the agora.
Pheidippides: (now wheezing and clapping) We...are...victorious. (he is starting to cough.)
Narrator: And with that, Pheidippides is soon wailing as he passes out and falls. Many people ran to get help, but by the time a doctor got there, Pheidippides, the best runner in Athens, had died.
In the background there is Dun-Dun-Dunnnnn. Miltiades gets word of Pheidippides and is the happiest man alive at that moment.
Miltiades: (with a smirk and happy tone) Well, that’s the end of him.
The camera cuts to the event of Pheidippides’ funeral, where Miltiades happens to be making a speech. Almost the whole city of Athens is there.
Miltiades: (As sad music plays in background) It is so unfortunate that we are gathered here today to grieve over the death of Athens’ own Pheidippides. He was a great friend of mine, and was without a doubt the best runner in Athens! I-
Miltiades is cut off by a man who comes running from the street. The music cuts off.
Athenian Man: As if you have a right to be speaking like this! Pheidippides was the first to volunteer to run to Sparta, but instead, you ignored him and acted like he didn’t exist. When he was gone, all you did was insult him and say how he would never make it back. Then, when he ran all the way to Marathon to find you, you sent him back HERE to declare a victory. So long story short, this guy would still be alive if it wasn’t for you.
The crowd of Athenians nod and mumble in agreement, and Miltiades soon rushes off the platform in embarrassment. The Athenian man rushes up onto the platform.
Athenian Man: Pheidippides was one of Athens’ true heroes. Strong, respectful, and willing to do anything for his city. I went to school with him, and all of Miltiades’ tales of him being a “bully” and “dishonorable” are completely untrue. So, everyone, please take some time to pay your respects to the best runner in Athens, and possibly Greece. Pheidippides!
The crowd cheers as the curtains closes.
No comments:
Post a Comment