RAMIFICATIONS - awty.org
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RAMIFICATIONS LITeRATuRe ANd FINe ARTS FROM The AwTy INTeRNATIONAL SChOOL
Transcript of RAMIFICATIONS - awty.org
RAMIFICATIONSLITeRATuRe ANd FINe ARTS FROM The
AwTy INTeRNATIONAL SChOOL
Covert Art by Valeria Mancera
RAMIFICATIONS 2016Sarah Smati, Editor-in-Chief
Bitsy Brandfield-Harvey, Editor-in-Chief
LAYOUT EITORSSarah Smati
Bitsy Brandfield-HarveyMaria Zaharatos
Eloïse CowanAndrew Jaynes
UPPER SCHOOL SELECTION STAFF Maria Zaharatos
Lou AbécassisCecilia BurnsEloïse Cowan
Mohammed HamzaEvin Heintz
Andrew JaynesMathilde Raybaud
MIDDLE SCHOOL SELECTION STAFF Eka Savajol
Connor WrightDalal DaherLucia Urreta
Aliya Mamedov
SPONSORSTricia McFarlin, Upper School Club SponsorCarol Munn, Middle School Club Sponsor
The Awy International School | 7455 Awty School Lane | Houston, Texas, USA 77055 | T 713 686 4850 | www.awty.org
Art by Catherine Ohrt
Omar Abbouchi Lili Alamshenas
Tarek AliBernardo Amare Lucas Anderson Blanca Burgaleta
Marina Carlos Eloïse Cowan
Emiliano del Valle Bani Dhother Leila El Masri
Leslie L. Farant Alberto Fenoglio
Lily FrautschiAlejandra GerlachSpencer Gershon
Margot Hasty Sarah Hendry
Amber Kibsgaard-Petersen Mathilde Lévêque
Jaїra Ligtenberg Cassie Mai
Felipe Monteiro Sumair NibberAdela NicolaeGabriel NurkoOma Nwafor
Shahrzad RazekhRomain RousselNatalia Rylance
Anya SarnaAxelle Sinambela
Amar SinghCourtney Smith
Lucia Urreta Tobias Vanderheyden
Enrique A. VezgaLauren Wade
Caleb WeeConnor Wright
Maria ZaharatosAlexander D. Zsigo
LITERARY CONTRIBUTORSCONTRIBuTORS
ARTISTIC CONTRIBUTORSEva Alamkan
Katerina ArellanoFrancesc BaizanSarah BakloutiKamilia Bamik
Nathaniel BlackBeatrix Brandfield-Harvey
Doreen CaiThomas Capderou
Caroline ColeKristine de LunaCélia de PatoulSophie HashmiAbby HendrySarah Garcia
Amanda Gerlach Valeria Mancera
Matthew MekhaHala Morsi
Oma NwaforCatherine Ohrt
Selin OneyMichelle Ong Jocelyne Oritz Sophie Peralta
Fanny RibaArmelle Rohrbach Misha Salahshoor
Isabella SciontiVanessa Vezga
Mathilda von BismarckChloé Zakhem
Art by Michelle Ong
It was a dark, rainy night, and friends Stephan and George were standing in an even darker and inexpli-cably rainier alleyway.
“Are you sure we’ll be okay?” George’s voice pierced through the night like a knife, a really shaky, un-certain knife.
“Shut up, we’ll be fine,” Stephan’s voice was the steady surgeon’s scalpel of the knife world, but that was beside the point. The point was that they were in an alley on a dark, rainy night.
“Why are you wearing that?” Stephan asked.
George was wearing a neon yellow raincoat. “My mom didn’t want me to get run over.” See, George was one of those people whose mothers were extremely overprotective. He was also one of the people who were constantly out of breath, which was a side effect of wearing five layers of clothes at all times because their mothers did not want them to catch pneumonia.
George started fidgeting, which made the water under his similarly colored boots slosh around.
“Does your mother think we are going to go hunting or something?” Stephan scoffed. “No, obviously, she doesn’t want me to get mugged,” his friend replied.
“First off, I thought it was supposed to prevent you from getting run over, and secondly, how is that supposed to stop you from getting mugged? Is it supposed to blind them?”
George didn’t respond.
“Whatever! I’m going home,” Stephan snapped as he started to walk away.
“No, wait!” George started to run after him. Okay, walk. Fine, waddle. His five layers impaired his movement greatly. As was to be expected when wearing a raincoat, a thermal jacket, a fleece, a long-sleeved tee shirt and an undershirt, George was so caught up trying to get to his feet that he did not notice there were weeds on the sidewalk. He fell, crying, “Ow!”
Stephan turned around to see his friend splayed out on the weed-covered sidewalk with his leg bent at an odd angle. “That looks painful,” Stephan cringed as he walked over. “Do you want me to call 911?”
George gave him that look. “No, it’s fine.” There was a pause. “Yes, of course, I want you to call 911!” He gestured frantically to his leg, still bent in that painful-looking angle. “Does this look like something that I can handle by myself?”
Stephan fumbled for his phone and punched in the number. After two rings, a cheery woman an-swered, “Helloo, this is 911, how may I help you today?” Her Canadian accent distorted her words and made it difficult for Stephan not to break out laughing.
“Yeah, hi, I’m at the center of Fourth and Ludlow. I think my friend has a broken leg or something.”
“Ookey then, we’ll be right on our way.”
By this time, George had started to pass out. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it. I’m heading towards the light . . . ”
Stephan slapped him. “You have a broken leg, not a gunshot wound!”
“Oh, right.” Who could blame him? He was a theater kid after all.
A Dark, Rainy Night
The wailing sirens and flashing blue and red lights signaled the arrival of the ambulance. Stephan knew he had to tell George’s mother, but he didn’t feel like telling her so he sent her a text telling her what had hap-pened and where to find them. For the next few minutes, his phone felt like a beehive due to all the texts she sent him demanding if this was his fault and telling him not to hang out with her son anymore.
“There goes my data for the month,” he muttered under his breath.
As he was walking home, a barf-colored minivan rushed past him. The driver was an old woman with thick-rimmed glasses pressed against the windshield in typical old-lady fashion, with the only passengers being a dozen cats. Stephan mysteriously knew in his heart that this was George’s mother. Just kidding—that car is parked outside of their house all the time.
As he was trudging back home, he realized he could not stop singing “Call Me” in his head. People stared at him when he started whispering, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, he speaks the languages of love.” He didn’t care. He only cared about one thing: getting home and going to bed, and that was exactly what he did.
Connor Wright 4ÈME
Photo by Amanda GerlachTwelfth Grade
CIRCUS IN
TOWN
The circus is coming to town With that hilarious clown!
I see the circus train That came all the way from Spain.
I see a lion in car one Having lots of fun.
I see some elephants in car two. They are trumpeting choo, choo, choo!
I see monkeys in car three. Trying to catch a jumping flea.
I see horses in car four. Can you hear them snore?
I see the clown in car five. He was the last to arrive.
The circus is leaving town, So I waved goodbye to the clown
Jaїra Ligtenberg Sixth Grade
Art by Isabella SciontiTwelfth Grade
A little bird told me you’ve already forgot meI’ve lost your love and my heart’s key.
I hope you’re happy on cold winter nightsAnd that your love will be your light.As for me, my heart’s a sealed tomb
A never healing, open woundA fatal blow, an infected scarThe one I love is oh, so far.
Do you think of me from time to time?When the cardinals sing, when the clocks don’t chime?
Alejandra Gerlach Ninth Grade
Art by Selin OneyTenth Grade
A Little Bird
The calm, the warm, and still mystiqueTecopa Pupfish of the Desert grazing at the creek
The Gold toads of Cost’ Rica hanging at the mountain peeksThe Madeiran butter’ flying with great technique
The Pyrenean Ibex running every week
Buildings, span the world with color-bredSteel and beams that are way wide spread.
The factories releasing gas with number 666 from overheadIt can’t be more patent. It does mean dead!
Destroying 5,000 year old buildings that look blood redBecause they cannot harbor beds.
Oh what a dread.
But it does not matter if we have missed the boat,We’re still afloat.
We still have leather coats,And cereal with oats.
But if you want your kids to see a goat,You will have to see a cemetery which is remote.
And when they’re ten there will be no cemeteries which are remote,There will be cemeteries with millions of notes.
And when they are twenty, they will not hear another note.
Felipe MonteiroTenth Grade
ALL THE GASES
Art by Kamilia BamikCP
I wish I had been there.
Helping those in need.
Why
This year and the past.
So many people killed around the world. Syria, Turkey, France.
If people could just understand
Why war is so bad. Oh how wonderful the world would be.
But every week The same news, “Bombing here,” “Shooting there.”
Why is it that people destroy families, lives?
All that malignant chaos. The sound of a child crying
Heartbreaking ambulance sirens.
Why is there war right now?
Wasn’t there peace before?
Lucia Urreta Sixth Grade
Photo by Amanda GerlachTwelfth Grade
Eyes of the
heart
Art by Oma NwaforFourth Grade
Immense oceans Crushing waves
Cars honking like birds squawking Lights
Flashing in my eyes Like I’m next to the sun.
My dad is piloting this ship.
He is a fine captain. The Golden Gate Bridge is immense.
Traveling in the car Slowly Slowly Slowly
It’s a giant barracuda Swimming on top of the ocean
Its pointed teeth and shimmering body
Make me feel small.
Gabriel Nurko Fourth Grade
Golden Gate Bridge
Eighty, seventy, sixty,These make students crazy.Students strive for that A,
And when students fall short,They slowly decay.
Learning should be wonderful,And make students powerful.
Students’ pressure is so intense,So they always attempt their best,But in the end, they have no sense.
Parents and colleges are a few,They always tell students what to do.
Students do things to stay on the ground,And also do things to reach their goals,
But they are often left with no soul.
Grades should not stress students,Because they are humans.
Grades should not drive one’s life.And students need to get over the strife,
Of trying to please everyone.
Art by Jocelyne Oritz Twelfth Grade
Grades
Bani DhotherTenth Grade
An electric fence is a tower of power Horses are like cars
They take you places Horse is to neighing as dog is to barking
Brown black bunches of horses Horses, horses, horses
Will this stallion buck me off? Maybe yes, maybe no, maybe so!
Saddles are seat belts Horse shoes are luck givers
Horses whinny!
Big bucking broncos buck big beach balls I’m feeling skittish
Will this stallion buck me off? Maybe yes, maybe no, maybe so!
Leslie R. Farant Third Grade
Art by Hala MorsiThird Grade
Horses
Rough hay scratching my knees. Hay is to stack as horse is to herd. Flashing lights due to the shower.
Rain drops splatting on the ground Cold as ice.
Hay cracking under my feet while I walk.
I ask myself
Will I be able to get down from here?
Climbing, climbing, climbing
Rusty gates singing songs Filling the horses’ happy souls Trees shaking from the wind,
I feel strong and courageous.
I am the queen of the world on my haystack throne.
Sarah Hendry Fourth Grade
Art by Mathilda von BismarckFifth Grade
Grandma’s Haystack
He is always there, Determined.
Though confronted with great ordeals, He manages to face them.
Always vigilant, Alert.
Will he ever give up? Never.
Will he keep trying? Always.
For he is brave, Even if he has fear.
He does not fight with a sword, He fights with his pen.
A true hero is not just physical strength. He is a cup of courage, A stick of enthusiasm, A pinch of kindness,
And precisely 120 grams of determination. The movies can’t tell you everything.
You know, it’s not reality. A suit just cannot make you a hero.
You need genuine experience, A kind heart,
And a willingness to stand your ground. What makes you a hero is not being afraid of nothing.
It is to face your worst fear. That makes a true hero.
Art by Nathaniel BlackThird Grade
Lucia Uretta Sixth Grade
Hero
I Can
Art by Valeria ManceraTwelfth Grade
I feel determined. My Mind has answers.
It’s fast and strong Like ballroom dancers.
Legos shape me. It’s what I love.
They’re so exciting. I can build a mug.
I’m good at guitar. I try my best.
My hands touch the strings softly. I’ll never rest.
I wish I could fly. I would soar through the sky.
To be able to glide I would have to concentrate
With my mind.
Tarek Ali Fourth Grade
The hard white wall supports meHolding up my dreams
Holding back fear and doubtRigid security keeping me safe
Keeping me outOut of the world of chance
Out of freedomOut of the wild
Out of trialsAnd troubles
The strong white wallFencing me in
Forcing me outKeeping me safe
Keeping me unsatisfiedI say such conflicting thingsYou must not understand.
How can you know what to think?About the strict white wall.
Truth be told I love it,Embrace it,
Appreciate it.I know it’s for my own good
And would never try to breach it or break it down Alejandra Gerlach Ninth Grade
Photo by Sarah GarciaTwelfth Grade
I Lied
Le Longhorn, pacifiste de nature, Gouverneur du Texas avec un cœur pur
Majestueux avec son pelage blanc, Trop naïf et trop innocent.
Un jour, le problème se pose De passer une loi avant toute chose
Autorisant le port d’armes à feu Partout on entendait des cris furieux
Laissez nous nous défendre correctement! Sans armes, le danger est imminent
Le manqué d’armes est périlleux Ce ne fut pas sans quelques hésitations du gouverneur sérieux
Celui ce se fit guider par ses deux employés L’écureuil vif et conseiller avisé
Et le serpent vicieux; Ce dernier était préféré a ses yeux
Le rongeur, fils de Gandhi, ne semblant pas sûr, Rappela la violence et les blessures
Elles étaient dangereuses Dans les mains de personnes malicieuses
Le reptile récalcitrant, voulant se faire entendre, Dit: “Quelle bonne idée pour se défendre!
Les armes à feu seront notre salut Sans elles, tout est perdu!”
La loi passa et le soleil brillait Un raton-laveur, armé d’un pistolet Entra dans le logis du gouverneur Celui-ci prit peur devant sa fureur
Le bandit tira, Le Longhorn expira.
Ne soyez naïfs envers les armes à feu Car faire des victimes n’est pas un jeu
Elles finiront bientôt en cendres Si vous pensez qu’elles ne servent qu’à se défendre.
Le Longhorn et le Raton-laveur
Shahrzad Razekh and Mathilde Lévêque2NDE
Art by Francesc Baizan Second Grade
I Love You
Anonymous
I love you.
I love you in a way that I cannot explain.
I love you in a way that words cannot describe.
Despite all that people have said about you,
Despite all that you have done to me,
I don’t care.
I love you.
If only you knew just how I felt about you.
If only you knew how happy you make me.
No, happy isn’t the word. Overjoyed, ecstatic, peaceful, tranquil, at ease.
Those are more like it.
For when my world is breaking down, you are the only one who can help me rebuild it.
I watch you fall in love, one broken heart after another.
While I wait silently.
And wait.
Hoping you’ll see.
Hoping you’ll feel.
I love you, my dear.
Forever, unconditionally.
Photo by Michelle OngTwelfth Grade
I, OutlanderThere is no belonging for one such as I.
I cannot say from there am I, that land I bid, those ages ago, goodbyeMy country’s patrimony was forgotten long ago.
“Where are you from?” in shrieking voices they cryAnd rip my heart like a paper bow, looking for a loyalty lost long ago,
There is no belonging for one such as I,
And they from my birthplace imply,The nationality I, in foreign lands, outgrow:
My country’s patrimony was forgotten long agoAnd from my bloodlines one race assumes an identity that liesForeign Latinas are gringas, and so, one more identity I forego
There is no belonging for one such as I.
The country I loved I had to bid goodbyeIt could not be mine—my birth had been on a foreign land—even though,
My country’s patrimony was forgotten long ago.
There is no place for one such as IBloodlines, spurious identities do bestow.
On the land I love I was not born, and therefore, “foreigner” they cry,Even though,
My country’s patrimony was forgotten long ago! Margot Hasty Twelfth Grade
Art by Doreen CaiNinth Grade
Art by Jocelyne OritzTwelfth Grade
A vast dark room Tap Tap Tap
Footsteps Flaring streaks of crimson
Excitement Have I tagged him?
Yes! I have my first points
Traveling through a maze Mirrors are like diamonds Red beams in the distance
Loss of points Endless cosmos in the ceiling
Obtaining the most points is my aim Vast dark room
Spencer Gershan Third Grade
LASER TAG
thoughts like leavesfalling, falling
from a tree of ideasscattering on the groundcarried away by the wind
ignored and trampled until they fade
Alejandra GerlachNinth Grade
Little Thoughts
Art by Misha SalahshoorNinth Grade
Art by Matthew Mekha Sixth Grade
Created using math functions on HTML
Art by Sophie Hashmi Eighth Grade
My CatI have a pet cat
It has a cool hat
I like my cat’s baseball bat
My cat is a little fat
Amber Kibsgaard Second Grade
Art by Vanessa Vezga Second Grade
My Country
Omar AbbouchiTenth Grade
I come from the coutry of snow and of the cold;from the coutry of beauty wiht stories age old.
I come from the coutry with snowcapped white mountainsAnd the most beautiful ice fountains.
I love my coutry, home of the great fjards,Which I feel nothing but great love towards.
I love my coutry, home of the most beautifulCities; it’s the coutry known for its girls being pretty.
Land of peace and serenityWhere happiness is plenty.
Land of the whitest snow and of the greenest grassWith mountain water as clear as glass.
A country of warriors and of Vikings,With green and white streaked mountains for hiking.
A coutry perfect for sightseeingAnd a coutry who loves football and loves skiing.
I’m from the coutry whereWe are two metres tall with blue eyes and blond hair.
I’m from the coutry of the rural mountain villagesOnce affected by Viking pillages.
I come from the Scanidnavian GemWhere fat Viking ladies sing “Ja vi elsker dette landet som det
stiger frem.”
I am from the place where it’s sunny almost all day.I am from the beautiful country of Norway.
Art by Kristine de LunaTwelfth Grade
In the light there is no dark. In the sea there is no shark. All around there is no light.
Everything is lost from sight.
Adela Nicolae Second Grade
Lonely
Photo by Selin Oney Tenth Grade
Photo by Amanda GerlachTwelfth Grade
There’s one person every dayWho always makes me shout “Hooray.”That one person is my sweet mother,
Whom I love more than any other.She cooks the food, she cleans the house,
She’d never want me to wear a blouse.She’s always worried—she thinks I’m five,
But all she needs to know is at least I’m still alive.My mom is chill. My mom is cool
She wants me to do well in school.When I was little I’d always scream
When she would come home with some ice cream.I don’t really like it when you try to be funny
Mom, please stop calling me Honey!I think you’re the best mother even though I don’t say it a lot.
So thanks for looking out for me. I’ll never smoke pot.This poem about my mother is not the best
And thinking about these rhymes makes me want to rest. Alberto Fenoglio Tenth Grade
My Mother is the Best
When your heart is beating swift The foggy rhythm behind your eyes begins to lift
To become a slow sensual beat Like the sweat that trickles, sweet
Down your crisped cheek, Your temples are trying to speak,
Screaming for a stronger faith. A thousand graces litter your face: Necromancy is the strongest flavor. How can love ever be in our favor?
Your heart is a deserted cave. The cold fire rages on, save
For the sizzling droplets that down your neck fall. You can never be more beautiful at all
Than dripping wet Swimming in oceans of filth, eager waves I met
Steam from the dunes arose, As our bodies began to decompose
Sweating flesh abreast, Lovers rotting into rest.
Maria Zaharatos 2NDE
Photo by Amanda GerlachTwelfth Grade
Rot
The most memorable part of my October break was my family going camping.
It was dark at night when we drove to the campsite. There, our friends Michael and Joseph greeted us with ecstatic, pleased faces. After we picked a cabin, my entire exhausted, buoyant family took a rest.
The next day, after breakfast was served, our family and many others headed down to the pond. My brother, C.J, Michael, Joseph, and I went canoeing down in the murky lake. We almost flipped over a few times! With our bodies damp, we all strode to the pool. My favorite part of the pool was the waterslide. With all the twists and turns, it was definitely the highlight of the day. At dusk, it was time to leave.
It was one of the best days in my life.
Oma Nwafor Fourth Grade
Photo by Beatrix Brandfield-HarveyTwelfth Grade
My October Break
I have a big sister who likes music.She is smart, awesome, and nice.She is also funny but not a bunny.She’s awesome but not a blossom.
She walks all day with a dark blue backpack taking a vacation in the fresh air.
She also is nice but not like mice.She is kind but not blind.
She is very intelligent like an elephantBut not a normal elephant.
Cassie MaiThird Grade
Art by Armelle RohrbachCP
My Sister
NaturePeople take Nature for granted,
Same with the songs that are chanted. People don’t care about Nature,
That’s because they are immature.
People have realized too late, That they have done nothing great. But because of how they behaved,
They will waive their right to be saved.
People have polluted the air And the water, like they didn’t care.
People have cut a lot of trees, Which destroyed many homes for bees.
But some people are reacting, And we should help in their fighting,
To save Nature from disaster, And care about our life master:
Nature
Romain Roussel 5ÈME
Photo by Amanda GerlachTwelfth Grade
Together.
Selene felt the wind blow back her hair as she held Gray’s hand, interlacing her fingers between his, and feeling him trace patterns against her skin with his thumb.
Standing at the edge of a jagged cliff, she felt no fear, only exhilaration. The cruel, unforgiving waves smashed into the cliff below, pieces of rock flying through the air. Sea spray blew into Selene’s face, stinging her.
Selene tilted her face slightly to the left to avoid the salty ocean water. It was a completely different scen-ery. The tall oak trees had turned golden-brown, preparing themselves for a harsh winter. Sunlight cast dappled patterns on the forest floor, illuminating the flashing leaves as they danced to the ground with the wind.
It was early morning. Gray and Selene had watched the milky sun rise itself from the horizon and drift over the sea. They had seen the stars fade into the night, taking the moon with them.
Selene heard nervous shouts from the distance. It was time
“Gray,” she whispered, trying to calm herself, “the results have come in. From—from the midterm.”
He squeezed her hand and then let go, his blue eyes looking panicked.
“You know, I really enjoyed this morning,” Selene said hesitantly. “It was like a dream.” Gray spun back to face Selene and a smile broke across his face.
“Nobody else I know would have done it: to stand at the edge of a cliff, looking down at murderous waves!”
Selene let herself drift back into the lazy happiness of the morning, until shouts from far away jerked her back to reality.
Selene held her paper in front of her. She felt numb with shock. How could she, who had studied for hours before the test, have done so horribly? She remembered the huge textbook sitting in front of her, the tiny words dancing in front of her and mocking her. She felt a lump rising in her throat.
At the end of the day, as the moon started to appear in the sky and pink and yellow clouds sailed like boats in the blue, Selene ran back to the cliff, grief pushing inside of her. Creamy lines of soft blue danced across the sky, forming the shape of a spiral. White birds fluttered like tissue paper in the wind, as if the paper doves she made in second grade had come to life.
Selene slowly lowered herself over the sharp edge of the cliff. She gripped a sea-water covered rock, trying not to fall.
It was a slow descent. Selene’s heart was hammering inside her as if a woodsman was trying to break her down. She felt the splinters dig into her guts.
Selene finally let go of the rock and felt herself land at an awkward angle on the sand. A sharp pain shot up and down her leg.
Moaning, she shifted closer to the sea, so cool water could wash over her legs and waist.
For nearly an hour Selene lay like that, half of her body in the ocean. She listened to the sound of breaking waves, the songs of the birds, and the whisper of the cool wind.
Ocean Tears After she became tired of so much stillness, Selene heaved herself up and hobbled along the shore line. At some places, there was no sand to walk on, and she waded in the water letting the water stream in between her toes.
She was tired, her eyes were drooping from lack of sleep, and yawns were forcing their way through her lips. Selene decided to rest.
She sat cross-legged on the sand and picked up a beautiful conch shell that had caught her attention. It was creamy white with stripes of coral pink and baby blue running through it. The edges blazed in a hard notice me red color. She ran the palm of her hand over the smooth ripples of the rock.
Some bizarre impulse came over her, and she put her lips against the edge of the shell and blew a soft breath into it. A melodious sound came out of it and rippled across the ocean, such a tune that it brought tears to Selene’s eyes.
All of a sudden, Selene felt something changing within her, as though someone was trying to take every-thing inside of her and fit it in a teacup.
Suddenly, she knew she was no longer Selene.
Gray ran back up the road. Tiny rocks sprayed against his face like bullets. They were reminding him that Selene was missing, that his one true love had not met him in the park like she had promised. And Selene always kept her promises.
He sprinted back to the cliff and felt the breath knocked out of him as he realized Selene was not there. He searched everything within his sight, even peering cautiously over the edge of the cliff.
What he saw, shocked him. Gray witnessed Selene sitting there; one-second her mouth pressed against cold rock, and the next second, she was gone. Selene had simply vanished.
I’m a dolphin.
Selene just knew she was. Her skin was smooth, she felt like a grey pebble weathered by countless years of water. She jerked her tail and barreled clumsily into a rock. A little less of a jerk and she sped easily across the water, skimming through it.
Selene swam to the surface and took a sharp breath. It spiraled through her, making her realize how cold she was. She was certain that dolphins did not live in such cold water.
Starting to panic, Selene shot in the direction away from shore, trying to find a spot where she could be warm. She could barely make out dark sand at the bottom of the ocean, littered with coral, rocks, and weed-like plants swaying in the current. The water broke the moonlight into little fragments, throwing the light across the waves.
Finally, Selene could not move her frozen fin anymore. She drifted in the waves, feeling as if half of her brain had flown away to a place of no pains, a place where she was warm, and where Gray was by her side . . .
Selene still remembered those heart wrenching movies she used to watch late at night with her sister about whales and dolphins. The ones where marine mammals got tangled in nets and slowly suffocated in the water. For the last few years the movies had seemed stupid to her, but as she swam through the water, the threat of fishers loomed closer and closer to her. Therefore, when she actually got caught in a net, Selene was confused. She thought it was a fragment of her imagination. She thrashed, and with one powerful kick, shot
herself out of the mess of rope burning her body. Selene shrieked. The tip of her tail had still been caught on the net. All she could see was blood, and all she felt was the pain coursing through her like the waters of a river. Selene started to lose consciousness and was barely breathing when she was heaved onboard a ship
She awoke to find herself lying on the deck of a small sailboat. Rough, callused hands ran their fingers over her. A big white sail was flying over her head like Heaven drawing closer to her.
“It’s a female dolphin for sure, m’boy. Look how fine she is, truly magnifico!”
“We should let her go, there’s no use in keeping her.”
Selene felt herself flipped over and stared into two eyes that had haunted her dreams. Every time she saw them, she couldn’t breathe. Those eyes meant fire when everything was cold, and love when the world shut her out. Bright yellow goldfish swam in the depths of those eyes, like hope when all was dark. Gray.
Gray stroked Selene’s head and murmured, “Don’t worry, dolphin. I’ll get you out of this.”
Grief pulsed through Selene. He had no idea who she was.
“You’ll be all right. We’ll both be all right,” he had said softly.
Selene had been on the boat for at least a week-and-a-half. Gray and Ronald had fed her sour shimmering fish, their blank eyes staring at Selene. She had never thought before about how much fish suffered when they were killed. She had seen them murdered that morning, glinting like emeralds in the sun and heaving for breath. That day, Ronald and Gray had gotten into an argument.
“I can’t believe you let that octopus go, boy. They’re so rare!”
“It’s endangered! You don’t expect me to kill it, Uncle Ron!”
They both sat in stubborn silence when Ronald stood up, a menacing glint in his eyes. He crouched down by Selene and whispered, “Why don’t we let you go, dolphin?” There was something more dangerous in his voice that day.
Gray looked relieved and helped Ronald heave up the newly healed dolphin and throw her back home. Selene landed in the ocean and looked back at Gray. She let out a melodic dolphin cry, full of love and pain.
Gray leaned forward to say goodbye to the dolphin, which, he hated to admit, he had fallen in love with. Her eyes were so kind, and she seemed to understand whatever Gray was thinking.
“See what we would have gotten, m’boy!”
Ronald’s cry split the air. Gray turned around to see his uncle holding a bow-and-arrow and aiming at the poor dolphin. Shock raced through his mind. What was his uncle doing?
Just as Ronald released that treacherous arrow, rain broke from the clouds. It poured over everyone, making the waves angry so they clashed and stormed. The blue melted right into the sky, forming a thick hazy line of sunlight where they met. It was hope and very far away.
The arrow sailed under Gray’s outstretched arm, and before Selene could race away, it plunged deep into her flank. Letting out a strangled dolphin’s cry, Selene felt her own blood start pouring around her. Red waves bat-tered her, and everything she knew started to slip away.
She was barely conscious of Gray letting out a hoarse yell and jumping into the ocean. He grabbed the dolphin, trying to drag her back to the boat. Angry, confused thoughts ruled Gray’s mind as the rain and blood washed over him.
He felt waves start to push him under, the weight of the dying dolphin dragging him down. He succumbed to the welcoming darkness.Both of them started to sink, their bodies tangled together, two different species. Gray had never found out who Selene was; he just had fallen in love with a dolphin. And as a dolphin, Selene had fallen in love with Gray, again. The conch shell had been a random spot of magic. Magic thrown in the most unlikely and unwelcoming place, found by a desperate girl. Dolphin and man, Selene and Gray were far from the surface. The water had turned black, the blood not staining it anymore. And with a soft thud, they hit the ocean floor.Together.
Marina CarlosSixth Grade
Art by Abby HendryFifth Grade
Just let me live in peace. Just let me be released
Into my world of confidence to get compliments.
If my world clashes, you will be patches.
But that bright light will stay with you And peace will bump into you.
Anonymous
Art by Katerina ArellanoNinth Grade
Peace
Honestly, there is no such thing as the word “normal”
You are intense.
You are obsessed.
You are not normal.
You say yes, when others say no.
You rise while others sleep.
You are better today than yesterday.
You do what others will not.
You control your destiny.
Therefore “normal” does not exist.
Sumair Nibber Sixth Grade
Art by Chloe ZakhemCP
Normal
Les araignées tissent leurs toiles à travers la villeEmmêlant et entortillant leurs fils
Qui parcourent ponts et gratte-ciels,Traversent feuillages et ruelles,
Pour former un paysage d’urbanisme brouillé.Une tête se lève et observe une ville de verre,
Lumières aveuglantes, reflets durs, lignes sévères La ville : rigide, géante et animée.
Une tête se baisse et observe une ville en vertLumière douce, reflets bruns, couleurs primaires
La ville : paisible, simple et calmée.Parmi le béton la végétation submergeAutour du bayou et le long des berges,
Au milieu des arbres, se faufilent les voituresOu se mêlent à l’art le long des routes et murs
La ville constitue une harmonie plaisanteSi on quitte des yeux sa structure intimidante.
From atop its highest peakOr below bellowing bridges,The city projects its voice.
Silence presents itself as a rarity,Concealed by the howl of motors,
The creasing of metal cranesOr simply the incessant rush of thoughts.
Between enormous constructionAnd among the flow of a river,Both in a city, but not the same
Endlessly different sounds and songsFind their way to the ear.
Through the city, light is ever-presentAnd darkness ceases to exist.
Leaves gently illuminated by aesthetic lightOr vibrant glow of city lanterns,
Interweave or interceptSeamlessly striking an artificial geometry
That strives to overpower the omnipresent natureTo no avail.
Eloïse Cowan2NDE
Poèmes du Bayou Photos by Eloïse Cowan2NDE
Black, yellow, or white,
These names are not right.
No hate no discriminate
People all contaminate.
The minds that call us names
Always play hateful games.
Slanders often try to prey
Upon the people, they slay.
Waiting for the weakest,
To join the clique.
Ethnicity, culture, religion
Throwing words a mission.
Watching, Waiting, Fighting,
All bullets are flying.
Unfair treatment
Bullies, frequent.
We want fairness
In this business.
Poison around the World
All the same,
Then who is to blame?
Leila El Masri Tenth Grade
Art by Valeria ManceraTwelfth Grade
Regret There was only one man who stood out in the crowd. He was the only one who walked with a stride that made it clear he was walking somewhere, that he wasn’t aimlessly wandering the streets, as everyone else was. Finally turning a corner far from where he had begun, his shoes were the only ones clicking on the stained cement sidewalks.
He slowed his pace, somewhat relieved to be alone in this place. His white dress shirt was soaked through, and he took his coat off, hoping for a breeze that would cool him. There was none. The heaviness of the air crushed him, and he wanted to dunk his head in a bucket of ice water or take a cool shower. It was hot, so unbearably hot. At least, he needed a glass of water, cool water to diminish the sandpaper feeling in his throat.
But he could not bring himself to move back into the herd of people once more. They had not seemed as if they would help him anyhow. Sitting down, leaning against a flank of an empty house, he felt his pockets for a packet of cigarettes. They were there and, gratefully, he pulled them up, took one out, and set it between his lips. Retrieving his lighter, he hesitated because he didn’t want to add to the heat, but he quickly made up his mind.
He shakily lit up and took some deep sucks. Closing his eyes, he could not seem to stop the voices in his head.
“Please don’t! No! Please! I beg of you, please listen to me. Help! Help me! You’re a thief, a dirty thief. You’ll ruin us if you take that.”
They went on and on; they would not stop.
The man tried to think of anything, everything else there is to think about, but the words that had been addressed to him once did not rest. Opening his eyes only halfway, his hands sifted through his dark, dripping hair. He heard footsteps approaching him, and he saw a man who was about thirty turn the corner and spot him.
The stranger walked slowly up to the other, who offered him a cigarette and his lighter without ex-changing any words. They both sat there, suffering in the heat.
“Do you hear the voices as well?” the newcomer asked him.
The first man lifted his head, tilted it, and leaned it against the wall at his back. Exhaling, he watched the smoke dissipate above him before responding, “Yes.”
Both were glistening with perspiration as they sat there. The silence was not uncomfortable, and they cherished the peace of the hidden alley. The smoke burdened the air with even more weight, but it was the only comfort left to them.
“Had any kids?”
“No. You?”
Photo by Amanda GerlachTwelfth Grade
“The voices would have gone away by now.”
“Suppose so.”
“You know, I never expected Hell to be like this.” A ragged sound that could have been either a sob or a laugh escaped his lips. “I always imagined leaping flames and all that.”
“Nobody expects it,” Jon exhaled, smoke pouring out of his mouth. There was a silence for a long mo-ment, and then he added, “This is worse.”
Peter glanced at him, face red and glistening, and whether it was from tears or perspiration, it was im-possible to tell. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
Lily FrautschiTwelfth Grade
“Yeah, I had two,” he responded, laughing nervously. “I wonder if they’ll miss me.”
There was silence for a moment, and then the first said, “They will.”
The sickly smile was still presiding on the other’s face, lost in remembrance, and, of course, regret. “What’s your name?”
“Jon.”
“With or without the h?”
“Without,” the first interrupted before the other had even finished his sentence. “You?”
“Peter.”
They both wanted the other to say something to drown out the voices in their heads, because talking hurt their parched throats and took energy, which only made them hotter. The voices only became louder when they themselves were not talking.
Jon’s cigarette was already burned down to a stub, and he took another out and lit it. He tried not to think about his desperate wish for wind, because by this time he knew it would not come.
Peter was still in his own world of his family, still sort of half-smiling, so that he would not shed tears, as he wanted to. The voices in Jon’s head had not given him silence yet, and he closed his eyes once more, attempting to remind himself of the good things he had done, or pleasant times he had lived through. The voices, however, did not allow him to. When his eyelids were closed, all he could bring to mind were the peo-ple attached to the voices.
Jon dragged his eyelids back up and held the smoke in his mouth for a second or two before exhaling.
Peter took his head in his hands, studying the cement. “Regret is a powerful thing, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“Yes.” Neither asked what the other had done.
“Do you think the voices will ever—”
“No.”
“Time’s gonna go by slowly.”
“There is no time here. It’s endless,” Jon stated.
“I wanted to go to Purgatory,” Peter lamented quietly, crushing the cigarette on the sidewalk.
“You a Catholic?”
“No. But Purgatory is better than this.” “How do you know this isn’t Purgatory?”
L’Arbre
Le soLeiL dans Le jardin
Les Feuilles
Pendant la nuit,Une seule goutte de pluie
Annonce la tempête.La pluie tape à la porte
Comme si elle voulait entrer.
Derrière la fenêtre,Il y a le jardin.Dans le jardin,Il y a un arbre.Dans cet arbre,
Mille fleurs brillent comme de l’or.
Devant la maison,Il y a un arbre.
Chaque feuille de cet arbreDévoile un mystère.
Par une journée d’été,Le jardin est ensoleillé.
Les feuilles brillent.Les arbres scintillent.
Dans le jardin,Les feuilles tombées de l’arbre
AttendentD’être ramassées.
Derrière la FenêtreLa Pluie Les Oiseaux
Poems by Tobias Vanderheyden Fourth Grade
Les oiseaux ont des ailes.Sans leurs ailes,
Ils ne peuvent s’élever.
La vieSe trouve derrière tout.
La vieEst bien gardée.
La Vie
Why is school so cool? It is the place where kids are educated.
Math is a magnificent way to learn your facts. The directions in math are always clear to boys and girls and that helps them think logically.
Art is a creative place to make colorful sculptures, paintings, pictures and portraits. This is a very splen-did activity that most children are good at.
Science is very enjoyable and also exciting when you do experiments. You make observations and look at the changes that may have happened. It is also very fun to learn how to do the scientific method.
I love school because you learn something new every day!
Courtney Smith Fourth Grade
School is Cool!
Art by Sarah BakloutiCP
I’m frozen.
I can’t move.
She’s there.
She’s in front of me.
Perspiration rains down my cheeks.
Move, I whisper to my feet.
No, they respond.
Please. I’m begging.
If she catches me, I’m dead. If my eyes meet hers, I’ll break.
I’m a mess.
I’m running my fingers through my hair.
The mascara is streaming in thick torrents along my cheeks.
I raise a shaking hand.
She’s right there.
She’s barely an inch from me.
She’s not saying anything but I know what she wants.
No, no, no, no. I’m screaming.
My head is lifting itself.
I’m trying to fight it. I can’t.
Just give up.
Face it.
You have to.
No! I can’t look at her.
You have to.
I . . . can’t . . .
I stop.
I stand up.
I look straight at her.
She stares back at me.
This is my enemy?
Yes, it is.
She
This is the person I have been running from.
And she’s . . .
I sniffle.
And I walk away from the mirror.
Anonymous Ninth Grade
Art by Thomas CapderouNinth Grade
She layUpon a bed of stonesIn the crashing storm
Singing,
Come to meCome to me
Come to my song.
Singing,
Hear meHear me
Believe my sweet lie.
In the surf, in the stormUnder a sky all bruised and black
She lay singing,
While you see your sweetest dream,In euphoric misery,
Shall you approach your demise.
Her voice all at once,Keening truth
Over-painted with desire,Crowding out his miseryAnd all at once begettingHis euphoric drowning.
In the surf, in the storm,She sang,
A lieA lie
And once again a lie.
EscapeInto the lie,
It holds desireOf the kind you sought,
So desperately,Throughout the nights.
His mind declared,No!
But his heart cried outAmidst its deepest desire,
Siren
Song
Better death!Than life’s night-cold embrace
Full of emptiness, full of despairOf dreaming hopeless, ever unfulfilled.
So she lay,In the surf, in the storm,Upon a bed of stones,
Singing,
Come to meCome to me
Come to my song.
And he approachedAnd fell,
Approaching eternityHe snatched at the lastRemnants of his desire
But falling into the darkness,The song’s beauty slipped revealing the ugly Beneath,
Had he known the price?A specious taste of his cherished desire
In exchange for his life.
He saw the truth of his mistake,And slipping into nothingness,
Believing the lie,Paid
For everything comes atA price
Margot Hasty Twelfth Grade
Art by Isabella SciontiTwelfth Grade
There is always a door of unknown,Right before our eyes.
Right now the world is a wonderland,And life is about wondering.
So our future is wandering,Let’s go find it.
And when your world is on the verge of breaking,You will always be with your friends.
We’ll dash forward together at full speed,To find our future,
Of living and being true to ourselves.
‘Cause me and my friends are like stars,And with our hands linked,
WE’LL BECOME A CONSTELLATION.
To surpass our own limits,While chasing the present, along with our dreams,
Let’s race through it together.
The light that blazes from our passions,Follow it, continue that way to wherever.
While days that seem like forever,Will come to an end.
Because there is no way,You can be alone in this world.
When I’m with my friends,I always smile.
All of us sparkling with our own colors,That will never hold regret.
Now we push ahead with a spirit,That will never give up.
By just believing in myself,I can make those unending crazy dreams,
Come to an end.
Something Called Friends
Finally, I really truly know,I can make it over that towering wall.
Because I am not alone,I have something called . . .
FRIENDS, PALS, BUDS, AMIGOS,That will always be at my side.
Lauren WadeSeventh Grade
Art by Caroline ColleFirst Grade
春天春天又来了
鸟和蛙在唱
花朵变颜色
蜜蜂往来忙
春天天气好
小孩出外玩
打球和赛跑
直到见夕阳
春天心欢畅
喜欢大自然
绿树和蓝天
心情真开朗
Caleb Wee Sixth Grade
Spring
Art by Valeria ManceraTwelfth grade
My hands touched the keys for the first time in months They were better than I remembered, soft and perfect for me
I didn’t want to disturb the silence but I have never been one to control impulses well So I pushed on the key and a resonant E ripped through my heart
Vibrations caught all the sounds in my throat I did not move for fear not that it would disappear but that it would stay with me
My ears tremble in memory of the tone My stomach sunk and my chest opened, I could only be faced with a simple surrender:
Music is a cruel master. It will play with your emotions
Pull and pluck on your hair like strings until you leave Then you will miss it, the way it feels beside you, in you palm, on your shoulder
It will sing to you softly to lure you back to it It will give you a taste of what you love so much
And build you to break you note by note
Maria Zaharatos 2NDE
The Abusive Ways of E#
Art by Isabella SciontiTwelfth Grade
The sunny and hot summer is here. It is time for fun, but we will need swimming gear
Trips to the sandy beach are always fun. You can play volleyball and games where you run.
It is always cool to snorkel in the bay, Especially when you see a spotted sting ray.
Splashing and surfing on those waves, Make the best out of my summer days.
It is relaxing to rest in the sand, And I know for sure everyone will be tanned.
Jaïra Ligtenberg Sixth Grade
Art by Sophia PeraltaFifth Grade
SummerBeach
Tell me I’m nice,Tell me I’m fantastic,Tell me I’m athletic,
Tell me I’m awesome,Tell me I’m clever,Big and unselfishTell me I’m great
But tell me the truth.
My Rhyming MeMy name is Bernardo.
Some people call me Leonardo.I have lots of books,
Which makes me get good looks.
Bernardo Amare Second Grade
Tell Me
Art by Fanny RibaFirst Grade
Once upon a time, there was a prince named Siyuan who didn’t want to marry.
There was a princess named Amber who loved Siyuan and wanted to marry him.
Then, Amber saw a potion. She dared Siyuan to drink. He drank it. It made him turn in love with the closest girl, and that was Amber.
They married a few days later and they lived happily ever after.
Emiliano del Valle Second Grade
The Enchanted Place
Art by Eva AlamkanCP
Desperately chanting Go Rockets Go! Go Rockets Go!
Orange ball like the blazing sun Squeaks are to shoes as booming is to backboard
Will the Rockets score? Defense! Defense!
Shooting shirts shot everywhere Squeak! Squeak!
BOOM!
The light-traveling echo Crowds scream like lions roaring
Spotlights are to cinders as TV is to cube The hoop is a hungry hippo
The Rockets Score!!! Exiting stampedes!
Game over!
Alexander D. Zsigo Fourth Grade
The Rockets Game
Photo by Selin OneyTenth Grade
Once upon a time in a big yard there was a rooster and a fox. The fox did not like the rooster and the rooster did not like the fox. The fox was always bossy to the rooster. He always said, “Give me pie! Give me lemonade! Give me everything!” He would never stop bossing him around.
The next day they saw each other at the park. There was a big feast. The rooster bought a piece of chicken. Then the fox took the piece of chicken and they were fighting over it. But the fox gave back the chick-en because he wanted a friend. Then the fox said sorry because he felt bad.
Then they became BFFs!
Anya Sarna Second Grade
The Rooster and the Fox
Art by Celia de Patoul Fifth Grade
My flippers splashingThe water spraying
With fish darting awaySplash splash splash
Coral is ocean as flower is to landCoral coral catches coruscations
Coral is like waving scarvesHow extensive is the coral reef?
What a gratifying day!
Enrique A. Vezga Fourth Grade
Swimming with the Coral
Photo by Selin OneyTenth Grade
He fired the gun.
I start to run.
Fast, Fast, Fast I race,
Find someone my own pace.
Friends we became.
We overcame
Obstacles on the road
That friendship showed.
One quarter past
I see her pass
Up to join someone quick,
While the stop watch says “tick.”
I am not at her pace,
Were we in the same place,
She could help me to race,
But alone I must face
The hardships my life wends
With or without friends.
But our friendship can’t last
It is forever in the past.
Blanca Burgaleta Tenth Grade
The Run
Art by Isabelle SciontiTwelfth Grade
The Unsinkable ShipFarther and farther away
As the ship sails away, You watch your family wave goodbye.
You feel as if you will never see them again. As this ship, this “unsinkable ship,”
Floats away. You wave goodbye and you think to yourself
Is it too late to turn back now? As the first day comes to an end,
You go to your third class room, and You think of the wonders that are coming soon.
On April 14, 1912, All you hear is the sound of the engines.
And the sounds of the café.
But all of a sudden at 11:40 P.M. CRASH!
Now, through the ship not a single soul let out a sound.
But, no announcement was made, Nor will be,
But, some of the worried went to the deck, Including you.
All the officers said that there was nothing wrong But you suspect otherwise.
And, lucky for you, You were the first on a lifeboat.
You can hear the screaming of the people who got there late. You can still hear the screams of the people
As the RMS Titanic, That “Unsinkable Ship”
Breaks apart, and sinks to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
When the Carpathia finally arrives to save you and all the others, You learn all the numbers.
2,240 people on board. 711 survive.
But, 467 people could have been saved If all the lifeboats were filled.
All in all,
1,529 people lost their lives that night.
1,529 All with
Mothers, Fathers,
Brothers, Sisters,
Some with kids.
So, that night you must also think
About the other 1,529 people who lost their loved ones.
All that happened on April 15, 1912
Was loss.
Lili Alamshenas Seventh Grade
Photo by Amanda GerlachTweflfh Grade
the unsinkabLe ship
Winter is so fun The snow is falling down hard
Spring is coming next
Spring is coming here
It is bright and warm outside Summer is coming
Axelle Sinambela Second Grade
Photo by Amanda GerlachTwelfth Grade
The Way of
Nature
Art by Isabella Scionti Twelfth Grade
Video games can clearly have a negative effect on behavior. He would lie to me to get my money? That is practically stealing. At least I know. Next time he asks for money I’ll just say no. I can’t even under-stand him anymore.
My Little Shut InMarch 13, 2012
What are you to do with a gamer son?
Simply put, I need advice. My son has been on his computer non-stop playing World of Warcraft. He hardly talks to me or his father. He never helps out with making family dinner; he only comes for the food with his glassy eyes, then stalks back upstairs. He has even ignored his hygiene. I have no idea when the last time he showered was. Every time I ask him why he spends his time playing video games, he states that it’s not just a game—it’s an MMORPG.
If any of my fellow mothers out there are familiar with this picture, I feel for you. I understand that I am not the only one dealing with this issue but I am still hoping to eliminate it from my life.
Just the other day I finally decided to confront my son after months of making subtle hints and suggestions—it got me nowhere. I encouraged him to go and hang out with his real friends but he aggressively replied, “Mom, I’m in the middle of a raid and my raid group is depending on me, and I can’t depend on my aggressive’s auto-attack.”
Raiding?January 12, 2012
Let’s be honest here, we have all been guilty of eavesdropping. Over the past month I’ve noticed that my son has begun to shut himself in his room more often. I can hear the faint hum of his computer I got him for Christmas.
I have asked him if there is a problem and he insists that there is nothing wrong at all. I can’t tell if it is a phase or not; maybe he’s going through some aggression. A few times I have heard him mentioning a raid as if he were a part of it. To raid what, though, a liquor store within a mile? He’s also mentioned the word “cataclysm.” I don’t think he understands that word properly. My little boy would never take part in such violent activi-ties.
Anonymous
VIDEO GAMES
As time passed,
You left voices behind. They kept crying to come back.
Not for long, they were going to be by your side.
As you travelled deeper into the world, You met new voices.
Forgetting the old sounds. New ones become familiar.
These new voices are your connection to the future. They are going to be with you,
Until you go deeper into the world.
As you keep on travelling, Voices keep on fading,
But the only voice that stays with you is your own.
At last, You slowly find a voice,
That you recognize as your own.
Natalia Rylance Seventh Grade
Voices
Art by Isabella Scionti
Twelfth Grade
I feel cheerful Cheering for my team
But the other team is very mean
I love zany monkeys I wish I could be one But my mother said
You can’t grow up to be one
I am good at football Catching the ball
I can catch the ball Because I am really tall
I wish I could be a doctor I would find every cure for cancer
I wish I could get into Harvard
I Rock At Spelling!
Amar Singh Fourth Grade
Who AmI?
Art by Kamilia BamikCP
You liked to laugh. I remember you sitting on the stage by the Black Box, when I told you my first Nor-wegian joke: “Hey Nina, what’s the difference between Swedes and Norwegians? . . . Norwegians have nice neighbors!” Your eyes lit up, and that laugh resonated from your eyes to your toes. You later gave me a book of Norwegian jokes, and every time I saw you exhale gravely over some math problem, I tested a new one out on you. Often you humored me with a slight grin, but sometimes your smile shattered the stony visage in a golden sunburst.
Like so many before and since, you graduated and moved on, flying on the orange gossamer wings of Monarchs migrating to better climes. You left me with a film reel of images and conversations as souvenirs. And a book of Norwegian jokes.
I don’t know what happened after, but what I heard is that someone broke your heart. You burst out of your dorm room. In equal parts rage and despair you ran up the stairs. Your tears were blown in erratic tracks down your face as you emerged onto that roof. In a fit of passion or with slow deliberation, you approached the edge and took that step.
I don’t tell many jokes these days. It has taken me several years to really look at the bench and tree commemorating you, much less commit these feelings to paper. But those delicate purple and white blooms on the tree represent a transcendent beauty. The past may be inscribed in the solidity of that plaque, but the present is as pliable as those flowers swaying on the breeze. So when I hear that same sigh of consternation as some senior juggles multiple deadlines, I innocuously ask: “Hey Sarah, what do you call an elephant that no one pays attention to? Irrelephant.”
Lucas Anderson
Photo by Selin Oney Tenth Grade
To Nina,
