The Writers' Express Collection - Summer 2006
The following pieces are excerpts from the 422 page collection:
Journal Entries
East Boston - Lara
The four of us sit in a littered park with woodchips and old ketchup dotting the ground. Gray-haired ladies pass by in loose, scrub-like pants and shirts whose designs are cluttered with too many pink flowers. The building across the park, bearing many stamp-like panels per window, six in each case, rumbles with whizzing, airy refrigerator noises. It groans before coming to a halt. Sparrows fly alone, chirping, twittering for their mates, and for food to please their plump, round bellies. A factory shoots up toward the sky across the way like a weed. Chimneys and antennas cluster on the roof. Trees blocking the base, the chimney appears to resemble a graying nose with snot like black charcoal, bubbling out. The two antennas behind have dishes on top which bulge up like bug eyes vacantly gazing across the whispering treetops. A mother scolds her younger son. He marches forward, arms swinging, like a proud officer in the navy.
Glassblowing - Z
2000 degrees?! No wonder I’m… so… hot. My brain was moving at a snail’s pace, creeping across the barren desert of exhaustion. The heat snuck into my bones, turning my limbs to stone. The wild, red glare of the furnace petrified me before its face fell into shadow. Hot air blew by me like a stifling blanket. The oozing glass held my attention, a swirling mass of red and yellow lava.
Camping in Kroka - Ruby
“Squish, squash. Ha, ha, ha, I got you!” the evil brown mud informed me. My once-pink shoe had landed right in the middle of the section of mud placed conveniently in a foot hole that I just happened to have picked.
“Ugh!” I moaned. I could feel the cool and dirty mud oozing onto my white sock. How could something with the appearance of fudge turn out so gross? I asked myself.
“Mua, ha, ha, ha, haaa!” the mud screeched, pleased with its newest capture of an innocent pedestrian. I stared down at the pile of mud and saw it grinning up at me, mocking me, teasing me, from within its revolting depths. I glared. The stream, the breeze, the dirt, even the chickens had made me feel welcome, but this mud clearly told me to go home. Do you think I am going to listen to mud? No way. Stupid, cold, mean, revolting, stinky, brown, fudgey, oozing mud.
Fellsway Scavenger Hunt - Noah
I am surrounded by an army of leaves, protecting me from the spears of light cast down by the sun. Peace resides here, and leaves wave to their own rhythm, a beat of a different pace than the rest of the world. In the distance, the gentle rush of cars going by contrasts yet sympathizes with the sound of the wind, pushing and pulling on the trees. Like waves in an ocean, the vibrations flow in and out of my ears. I let breath sweep into my nose, bringing with it the subtle smell of the plants around me, and the soil they are rooted in. The air is heavy with moisture, hanging in my lungs like time was frozen. My hand rests on a large rock, sliding over the rough texture. I feel all the cracks, all the dirt, and all the little details formed over hundreds of years.
Ultimate Frisbee - David
I swung around in the grip of his treacherous, sweaty hands, and was released. I swung high in the air. I spun in circles. I heard the voices of the youth below. Their red eager faces, and arms waved high. I soared high in the sky. Then, suddenly a combination of spin and wind made me rush another way. I swung around like a speeding car taking a u-turn. I dropped back, full speed. I saw the kids crunched together, arms up, desperately trying to catch the frisbee. I fell down like a beginner on a black diamond trail. I fell until I felt hot sweaty hands clench down me. And then I heard lots of controversy.
Capoeira - Jessie
“Jinga!” Sabao instructed. I lunged forward. “My God! This is so hard.” I thought. I was hoping it would be easier, “Esquiva!” I bent my back over and I could almost hear my spine breaking. Biting the inside of my mouth, I concentrated hard on how Sabao did the Capoeira moves. I lunged forward again and straightened my feet on the hard dusty floor. I lifted my leg to get ready to kick at my reflection in the mirror. Doing so, I spun around and found myself as crossed as a pretzel. An overly salted pretzel that was no good at Capoeira. “Eee !” a small shriek came out of me when I nearly slipped on the floor. Oh, well I restored my balance and tried again. Even so, Capoeira was fun and I’ll probably do it again.
A Moment with a Friend - Ashley
Our whispers bounce around the room and the bright green walls. The strong stench of nail polish travels around the dark dusty room that was only lit by a small white candle. The rays from the candle shined brightly on our faces as we giggled. A smile spread across my face as we told secrets that we promised we wouldn’t tell. “I’M SUPERMAN,” I scream as I run across the room hoping I wouldn’t drop the thin burning candle. Small driplets of wax slide down the candle forming mounds of wax that looks as if the candle had the chicken pox. Megan smiles. Her teeth are so perfect I say to myself as I move toward my sleeping bag.
An Exciting Moment on the River - Sommer
“Here we go!” I cried as the water slowly began to pull our boat into the strong currents. The waves crashed on the shore and water droplets licked across my skin as our canoe slid through the first rapids.
I poised my paddle above the surface, waiting for the perfect moment. Just as the right side of the canoe began to scrape a rock, I plunged the paddle into the water on the left side and pulled the surf towards the boat. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jacob doing the same thing.
Jason was in front of us, standing tall on a rock as tall as he was, one hand motioning for us to turn towards the left, hard, and the other holding a paddle.
As Jacob and I swung around the large rock, and the back of our canoe slammed into another protruding stone. The whole boat tipped precariously to the right. I gasped as my hand, still gripping the paddle, was plunged into the icy current. I tasted the water in my mouth as I wrenched my hand and paddle back into the boat, retrieving our balance as well.
The canoe slipped out of the bubbling surf and into calmer water. I breathed deeply and could almost smell the shining sun.
Personal Narrative
Broken Threads - Alexa
She gets ready to leave, ready to say good-bye to everything she wants to hold onto. Face matted with a layer of tears, hair in a high pony-tail looking frazzled and strangely not perfect, something I have never seen before, Maura clutched onto me. We can’t seem to let go. A force between us only holds us together by a few final threads. The threads begin to break as we hear: “Maura get in the car honey, we’re going to miss our plane.” A burst of joy inside my stomach is suddenly demolished when I realize no one is missing their plane. The threads break, it’s all over. I blink my eyes and the next thing I know, she is gone. Our friendship, bursting at the seams with giggles and happiness, flew by- a shining star as it disappears into new galaxies. As I stare down the street on that hot summer day to the lawn that no longer belongs to her, I wonder why? Why would anyone want to tear the threads that have so carefully bound themselves close to the people they love, and who love them?
Along the course of two years, Maura (Mo) and I became inseparable. I remember one time in particular. We were walking down Beacon Street to meet our friend Kate. It was quiet for a few minutes and I was singing in my head, which is unusual since most of the singing I do is out loud. All of a sudden we started singing the same part of (Over My Head) Cable Car, by The Fray. The lyrics-“Well that’s disregard, you find another friend and you discard as you loose the augment in a cable car…” rang from our mouths. Halting our singing abruptly, we turned to each other our faces were scrunched up, our jaws wide open, and our brows furrowed. “Wow,” I said. “That was really scary.” We continued walking silently for the rest of the way.
To have the ability to start singing the same part of the same song shows a strong friendship. Every moment of my life that I am not engaged in an extra-curricular activity, I am with her explaining the coincidence. These coincidences seemed to happen frequently during our friendship.
I was putting on my new white and navy blue Abercrombie top and jean skirt as I prepared for the last day of school, I thought about how Mo had the same outfit and wondered as I pulled the straightener through my hair if she would wear it. No way, I thought to myself. I finished getting ready and whizzed to school.
As I opened the big wooden door to the assembly hall, I thought about it again. No way, was my answer again. But, just as I walked into the room I saw her sitting on the floor in front of me wearing the exact same thing. It wasn’t a problem because it happens a lot. I walked over to Kacey, and said “Are we really that much alike?”
She smiled and laughed a little like my question was a joke. “Are you kidding me?! You guys are like one person! It’s insane!”
Haha, I never thought about it like that... It’s so true.
Later that day we walked to her house and there were people inspecting every inch of it walking up and down the stairs talking about who’s-its and what-nots.
They all saw us wearing the same thing and one of them asked, “Are you two twins?”
Of course, at the same exact time we both had the same response, “No, we didn’t plan this.” She told us we weren’t doing a good job of not being twins and walked away.
We had known for a while that she was moving. Her parents had a dream that included moving to New Mexico. Over the last months before she moved, our families surprisingly started hanging out more and more. Something I never knew could be accomplished since we already did everything together. But, every occasion that we got together, whether it was formal or not, the conversation would always come down to questions like: ‘So what color will the tiles in the bathroom be?’ or ‘Did you find those cool light fixtures for the dining room that you had wanted?’ Mo and I would groan and run to her bedroom, not wanting to hear if her pool would be a bean shape or a rectangle. I mean, who really cares?!
The street looks long and windy. I feel a stabbing pain in my throat and a fresh eruption of tears come like a waterfall onto my make-up covered face. I see her sad blue eyes staring back at me, calling for help as her hand slowly goes back and forth like a pendulum getting farther and farther away in the cab. The grass on the front lawn is soggy and feels like a puddle of water as I lay down on it, acting like a sponge as it absorbs my tears.
Thanks - Jenny
Everyone felt awkward. The dark embraced me as we held our hands together in a group and sang Thanks to Mother Gaia. They slowly put their hands out to hold each other’s hands. Giggles and phrases like, “Umm, okay?” filled the kitchen, or more like Krokaish-kitchen. We ate mac and cheese after with some salad and decided to walk to our camp site. When our group was done with the dishes, Emily, our Kroka instructor explained to us what we were about to do.
“We are going to go on a night walk,” Emily informed us. “Has anyone gone on a night walk?” she asked.
Some people raised their hands. My family would usually go on a morning walk around our town to exercise, but then again we never walked at about nine o’clock. The night before, we tried to go on a night walk, but apparently it was too late. By thinking about my family, it reminded me of the night before. The meal I had the night before was much different than what I just had right now. We had steaks with nice, rich sauce that added flavor to the delicious steak. The creamy and soft mashed potatoes with gravy was quite exquisite, too. Some corn on the cob with butter was served, and for dessert, we had ice cream sundaes with apple pies. It was mouth-watering. I could still taste it right now.
After the delicious dinner, I played some computer games while listening to some music. I played Sims, a computer game where you create people, build their house, and control their life, and some on-line games. It was pleasurable. Right after that when it was about nine o’clock, I took a hot shower to wash my sweat. I still missed the hot water that surrounded me. I wished I had my bathroom right here because it was really cold in Vermont. I never missed the bathroom this much. I always took them for granted. I mean what could be so special about a bathroom? And for water, too. I never thought that I could ever miss water because I was surrounded by it, every day, every hour, every second.
The chilliness started to flow throughout my body. I looked at my fingers to find them trembling. I quickly put on my pink, warm sweatshirt and warmed my body. The sweatshirt felt as if it was a gift from an angel. I could see my own breath, and it was July. I guess Vermont was always cold like this.
“What we do on a night walk is we quietly listen to what the forest sounds like at night. And since we have the full moon shining above us, we don’t use any types of light source. We are going to feel what the earth’s surface is like because we are going to walk barefoot.” Emily explained to us.
My face erupted into a smile and I started to jump around for I loved the darkness and how I can feel like I am alone but have nature staring at me. But I was definitely worried about one thing—shoes. I have never taken off shoes before unless I absolutely had to. I only took off shoes inside. I started to feel uncomfortable. Thoughts were exploding out of my head. What happens if I step on a bug? What if I step on some glass and cut myself? What about some tree roots? I wouldn’t really like it if any of these events happened to me. Oh no, I left my shoes in the van. What am I going to do?
“Everyone, follow Evan,” instructed Emily. “I’ll be the last in line.”
Then, a brilliant idea just flashed through my mind. Since Evan has his shoes on, I’ll follow his exact steps and then most likely, unfortunate events won’t happen to me. I am so smart. So I got behind Evan and started to follow his exact footstep.
The silence surrounded me as I stepped on the soft, damp leaves. The moon shone brightly on the trail as if trying to guide me through the trail. The darkness made all the trees seem like monsters trying to grab me and eat me. The fresh smell of the forest filled my nose. For me, it seemed like nothing could be better than walking on this trail during the night. The forest was so… well, wild-like. I felt like I belonged to the forest and once again, being a part of nature, breathing and living with it. Suddenly, my throat began do dry out. I knew I should have taken a drink before I started the night walk. I began to groan like a person begging for water.
“Are you okay?” Chandra asked, who was right behind me.
“Yeah,” I replied, trying to sound okay. “I’m fine.” Although I tried, I still thought my voice sounded dried out.
“Okay.” Chandra responded.
I started to walk again. I really needed water more than anything. It’s okay. You are going to survive. Just try to stay alive until you reach the tipi for that is where your water bottle is. I tried to forget the fact that I was thirsty, but it didn’t really work. To make the matter worse, I really wanted to take a shower. I was as sticky as if I had glue all over myself, and I was frowning. I had a puzzled look for I was wondering why Kroka people didn’t have indoor plumbing and hot water. My eyes were almost closed. My tongue was hanging outside my mouth like a tired and out of breath dog. I should have taken a shower this morning. I thought taking a shower yesterday night was enough. Wow, I am really smart. My legs were especially sweating to death. It seemed as if my legs were a fountain, and someone was pushing the ‘on’ button for a long time.
I decided it was time when I stopped thinking because I was really annoyed of these thoughts bursting in my head. I realized we were almost there to our campsite. Yay! I thought. Finally, we are almost there. Then we reached the stream—the same stream that indicated that we were pretty close to our campsite and our tipis.
Out of the blue, my body was once again filled with enthusiasm and energy. With my eagerness, I jumped to the nearest rock to me. Splash! What is that sound from? I wondered.
Then, I knew it. I just stepped on a fake rock. My pants were wet up until my ankle. I’ll just be more careful later. Now I need to step on that rock over there. Let’s all hope that this is a real rock.
I leaped once again, filled with a wish that I had to depend on whether or not to change to sleep. I couldn’t really see anything, for the trees, the evil trees blocked the moonlight so no one can see which rock they should leap on. Please, be a real rock, please!
Splash! The sound filled my ears once again. Not again! Why me? I wondered as I felt my pants. Just like I expected, it was wet. I stroked through my hair and rolled my eyes. I decided not to leap to the next one. I put out my leg to feel if my next destination was a real rock. It was. I carefully stepped on the soft, damp ground. Well, at least I washed my legs, sort of, I guess, I thought to myself. I walked up to our campsite with a pair of soaked pants on. Our group quietly walked on the cement, trying to find a good place to walk on. I found a part with blades of grass, which was much better than the path with small rocks that hurt if you stepped on them.
Finally, we reached our campsite. We looked up at the sky to find a ton of stars sparkling brightly as if to say, “Look at me, I can shine very brightly.” We were all lost, looking at the sky and finding shooting stars. They weren’t as bright as the shooting stars you can see in comic books and pictures but we could see the little tiny faded stars moving slowly.
“Can you imagine that these stars are millions and millions of light years away from us? Yet they are so bright that we can see them very well. Even one of the not bright stars is really bright if you look at it from close by because they are so far away,” Charlotte exclaimed out of joy of looking at a bunch of shooting stars for the first time in her life, just like me.
Shooting stars might not be as bright as I might have imagined but they were awfully pretty. They were as pretty as a beautiful, stunning rose growing out of drab, boring cement. The faded out stars slowly moved from one place to another. They were just like laser pointers moving across the sky.
“Wow.” That was the only thing I could say. “Wow,” I said it again. The shooting stars were just plain amazing. They were spectacular. I couldn’t imagine of something that was better than this. I also have never seen so many stars before. In Boston and Belmont, you could just see about 100 observable stars every night. That wasn’t that much if you saw how many stars there were in here. There were about millions, no hundreds of millions of stars that sparkled themselves into the night.
Then suddenly, a thought struck my mind. I didn’t get hurt while I was walking barefoot. It wasn’t that uncomfortable either. It was soft and damp—just like the feeling I liked. I have to admit it—I really liked it. The nature made the soft leaves fall to the ground so that it would be really comfortable to walk on. I wanted to do it again. Walking barefoot was the best thing that ever happened to my feet. I was glad that I didn’t decide to wear my shoes. It felt better than my shoes actually. Then I realized all my worries were forgotten a long time ago because the Nature was so relaxing. Another comprehension I went through was that walking at night in a forest helped me gain confidence. I would now never be afraid of anything like walking in the dark—well, mostly. I felt as if nature gave me a gift of not being afraid of most things.
I quickly went into our tipi to get my water bottle. I opened the top so quickly that I actually spilled some on my pants. Yet again, my pants were wet. But this time, It didn’t matter to me that much. I just had to take that refreshing drink.
“Ah!” I whispered to myself, filled with joy as I slurped the fresh and cool spring water from my water bottle.
The water was very enjoyable. It had the combination of joy, delight, coolness, and freshness. I just had to take another sip of the Kroka spring water. I have to say, it was highly addicting. After a while, the coldness flowed through my body to cool off my body heat, which was also pleasant as well. I put my mouth to the mouth of the water bottle. The cold water flowed back to my throat. The sensation returned. I was once again filled with pure joy with the cold, fresh, Kroka spring water. It flowed throughout my body.
Now I think I can live, I thought to myself.
I went outside again to set eyes on the beautiful stars. I began to realize that I took plumbing and hot water for granted for too long. I began to be thankful for always having hot water and plumbing. It was all because of the work others did.
Then, I began to understand that nature provided all the water so we could take a shower and most importantly, to drink. It was very wonderful. I couldn’t say anything for seconds. I just stood there blank-faced staring at nature for seconds. The nature that surrounded me just remained motionless as if waiting for me to say something. It made me realize a lot of things throughout this outdoor camp.
All I could mumble was, “Thanks, nature. Thanks…”
Candle Night - Farah
It was a breezy, but comfortable night during mid June in Meadville, Pennsylvania. We, one hundred teenagers, had been here for three days. There were signs of budding acquaintances that may or may not have turned into friendships, but we barely knew each other. A friendly rivalry had developed between the boys and girls, despite the insistence of the head counselors that there be “no rivalries.” Whenever the girls and boys passed one another, which was usually on the way to and from dorms, each group would yell over the other, chanting the name of their section, until the camp managers were in hysterics. Despite this friendly competition, there seemed to be a translucent barrier preventing the merger of both groups; we didn’t seem quite united as a camp. Some tried a less divisive chant of “AU” for Al-Ummah, the name of the camp, or a playful “Gia Son” to show camp patriotism, but it seemed a forced cheerfulness that only lingered a few moments.
The camp’s name meant brotherhood or community. It was a nineteen day experience where American teenagers, connected by their membership in the Shia Ismaili branch of Islam, lived together and participated in cultural, creative, and educational activities. Because it was a camp deeply influenced by the Ismaili culture, the names that people were called were different than any other summer camp. The younger, junior counselors would be called Bhas, meaning brother (if male) or Bais, meaning sister (if female), while the senior staff would be called Uncle or Aunty. The title would always appear after the name, a tradition deriving from early Indian culture as a means of respect. It was a camp that seemed intense due to the lengthy non-stop schedule that began at around 5:30 in the morning and ended close to midnight, but despite this push, it was an experience many later described as “magical” and “unforgettable.”
But so far the camp didn’t seem to have the magic it was supposed to have. We were making friends, but it didn’t seem as though they would “last a lifetime.” When I first arrived at camp everyone seemed to know one another. But I knew no one. To make matters worse I was from Boston, or “the Northeast” and almost everyone else was from Dallas, Tampa, Atlanta, and Houston. When we walked to dinner on the first night, or even sat together, just the girls, in the dorm common room, I noticed that everyone seemed to separate into their own groups chatting and giggling about people back home. The barriers between Dallas and Tampa or Houston and Atlanta seemed to slowly evaporate as the second and third days went by, but I still felt uncomfortable, not quite knowing how to relate to people or to start a conversation. But I was not the only who didn’t feel the magic working.
There were two or three girls from Chicago who had been fighting over a certain boy back home. It was a deep-rooted problem but they had spread its disease throughout the “sisterhood.” Rumors began, and they never ceased. Girls would talk about other girls gossiping loudly even in front of the boys making sure to change his mind about the girl that was now an enemy. Each night during our late night meeting in the common room, instead of laughing and plotting new chants to outwit the boys with like we had done the first few nights, we had a lecture. The severity of the issue would consume all the happiness of the room, so that no one, not even the jolliest person could smile. It would always begin with disappointment, as if they expected all of us to fix the problem two people had created. Zahra Aunty almost always began with her intimidating voice and demeanor.
“It has come to our attention that rumors have been spreading. It is only a few of you who are doing this and we know who you are. We are a sisterhood, and as such we should behave accordingly. The boys have been able to create a strong brotherhood, and it is embarrassing that we have been unable to do so. And believe me, they are noticing. As sisters you should not be degrading each other in order to impress the boys. They are not impressed. I often hear them asking why the girls are acting like this, even the Bhas have been asking. We are not here to lecture you and we enjoy it as less as you do.”
She was interrupted by a camper who said under her breath, “It’s not like we enjoy it either.” A couple counselors said something in response, this time all displaying bitterness at all of us. They were not enjoying this.
Zahra Aunty paused to take a deep breath, unable to control her anger and annoyance that had grown from the rude comment. Mobh Aunty the head program director took this as an opportunity to reinforce the severity of this issue saying, “I don’t know why some of you are laughing,” she looked around and made eye contact with some people who had found the camper’s comment funny. “I have sent participants home. I sent five home last year and I will not hesitate to do so again. You know who you are and this is your last warning. If I hear anything, even the smallest insult, there will be consequences.” She looked around at us, then walked out the room, as though she couldn’t stand to be contaminated by our childishness. After her speech, everyone felt terrible. A cold wind seemed to blow through me as I took a deep breath and looked around at the others. They were taking turns exchanging dirty looks with the two main suspects. So this was the mood of our camp as we exited the building preparing for our third night’s activity.
Each night we would have the privilege of an evening event. The event was always a surprise; the counselors would slyly deceive us with false but almost believable lies, prompting us to continue to ask them at every moment during the day what the night’s activity would be. Some gave in and told us, but today there seemed to be a solemnness to their tone. There was no way any counselor, no matter how many times they were pestered were going to give in, so most of us stopped trying.
Earlier in the night, around 5:00, when we had tried to figure out the night’s events, all we had been told was, “Dress casually,” and “Make sure you’re comfortable.” So as we stepped out of the building, roughly fifty girls and fifty boys, we were casual, or as casual as some girls had allowed themselves to be. As we made our way down the three little stone steps and into the sidewalk area the head counselor, whom we called Salim Uncle began to speak. He raised his hand in the air to signal for us to be quiet, and after a few minutes we had followed his order, all curious to find out what the special activity would be; we all knew it was the next event on our schedule.
“I want all of you to make a single file line starting with Ali,” he touched the shoulder of the boy adjacent to him. We all swarmed to Ali at once unable to separate ourselves from our friends and our conversations.
“There is no need for any talking, you should be able to do this quietly and in an organized manner. We should not have to tell you this.” This was Zahra Aunty, the assistant director who though extremely nice, was always intimidating. “Also, while you walk, you will be silent. There will be no talking. Counselors will be walking on the sides of the line to make sure that there is no sound. Only silence. If we hear any sound, it doesn’t matter what reason you have to justify it, we will be happy to move you next to a counselor, so that you walk silently as instructed.”
No one dared to speak. We walked in silence down the sidewalk hill, past the dormitories, over a bridge, staring straight ahead like robots. We walked for what seemed like hours until we reached a building we had not entered before. We slowed down. As we walked through the pathway leading to the door, I noticed it was lined with pebbles and shells. The counselors signaled for us to take one. We each picked one, all exchanging glances, wondering what the night’s activities would instill.
We entered a dark wide room, still following the person in front of us, and formed a circle that took up the whole expanse of the room. In the middle of the circle was a tray lined with a few candles already lit and a transparent jar. We stood there for a while in our circle, no one daring to speak. Another signal was given. We sat. I don’t know how long we sat there for, but the silence continued, an aspect that surprised me considering the constant buzz of conversation that usually consumed the camp. We waited there, the silence only interrupted every now and then by a drop of a pebble on the floor, echoing across the room. There seemed to be a quiescent breeze that slowly spread across the room, blowing around the circle, so that everybody sat there staring apprehensively at the dark ground before them.
Finally, Salim Uncle walked into the middle of the circle. There was no need for a signal, or an anchor to quiet us; he had our complete and utter attention. He began to read a poem, a poem about life difficulties that had melancholy but beautiful words capturing a present though sometimes hidden reality. After he finished the poem he looked around at us then spoke. “You may hear things tonight that you have never heard before. They may scare you, sadden you, or affect you in some other way, but think of it as a learning experience. Whatever is said tonight must remain in the circle and in this circle only.” He walked out of the circle without another word.
I was left wondering what this night was about. The candles, the poem, and the words spoken reminded me of some far away aspect of sisterhood or brotherhood, like somehow here we were, one hundred teenagers, through some mystical means transporting ourselves into the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, or the Ya Ya Sisterhood.
We all sat there, still unsure of what we were supposed to be doing, still waiting for the usual clear-cut, ever-present directions to come. The same deadly silence loomed over us once again. I exchanged looks with the people near me and looked at the counselors in my view. Everyone stared either down or ahead, waiting. Even the counselors who usually rushed to make sure we were following our hectic 5:00-11:00 schedule were looking straight ahead, silent, watching us, completely relaxed, as if sitting there was part of the plan.
It was a few minutes until Kumeil Bha, a counselor from London, entered the circle. He told a story about obstacles he had faced, some resulting from his immigration from Pakistan to England. It was a sad story, but he made it sound hopeful. As he spoke he walked around the circle, now and then making eye contact with someone as though wanting to see their thoughts, their reactions to the story of his life. After he finished speaking he took his pebble and dropped it in the jar beside the candles burning in the center of the circle. With that one clink echoing across the room as his stone met the jar’s base, he walked out and sat back down.
Once again, the room was consumed with silence. I wondered whether there was a specific schedule, whether Kumeil Bha was supposed to be the person to speak. It relaxed me a little to think that tonight’s program was slightly structured. So I waited just like everyone else, looking around the circle to see who would get up next.
At least five silent minutes passed until a camper finally came into the circle. Her name was Salimah and she was probably one of the liveliest people in our camp; she was always laughing and making sure that everyone was comfortable. She began her story, a very personal story, but soon was in tears and had to pause now and then to take a breath and loosen the lump that was growing in her throat. She finished, dropped her pebble and left, heading for the nearby bathroom. There was a bit of hesitance at first, but soon more and more people got up to share their stories, sometimes having to wait because more than one person got up at a time. Soon the room was no longer silent. There were hints of crying; heavy swallowing, throat clearing, and the clearing and blowing of noses.
The stories went on and on. More and more people broke into tears. They turned to the people next to them for comfort, people they had known for only three days. This went on for a while, a constant pattern of pain and reality woven into our camp experience. Some people had to get up and walk around outside. Others couldn’t stop crying, suffering with guilt, with memory with regret. Even the boys that normally seemed as tough as ever let out tears of pain, of empathy, of emotion. After about an hour or so the counselors decided that this was enough.
As the counselors signaled for us to get up and sing everyone held hands or put their arms around each other, without any signal whatsoever, it was just instinct I guess. And so we formed a circle, a circle completely closed, a circle that couldn’t be broken even if anyone had tried. We sang, “Lean on Me” and as we sang we leaned from side to side, so that the whole circle swayed in unison. You could feel the emotion spreading through the circle with each sway. It seemed that only the counselors were singing; everyone else could barely sing for fear that they would break into tears once again. We sang a few more songs, the volume growing as we were slowly able to regroup.
Soon it was time for us to go back to our dorms. The girls formed a line on one side, the boys on the other. The circle was broken, yet still intact. As we walked out the door across the courtyard to our dorm, I noticed that many girls were no longer sad. Many were hugging each other, saying comforting words, trying to cheer each other up. Everyone was laughing and crying simultaneously, so that the hot stickiness of their faces blended in with the new tears that fell in to their already smiling mouths, illuminating their visages.
Short Stories
Call You Later - Kayla
“No, no. Yeah, no. I know! It’s crazy!” she said loudly into her cell phone. “Yeah, I’m going to do my errands with my headset on. How else would I talk on the phone? No! I have to pick up the kids. I swear, I never know where they are anymore. Is school out yet? Really? Wow. I didn’t realize. So I guess the kids are at some camp. What? Of course I talk to them! Well, not that often. I mean, I’m usually on the phone. Yeah, I make a lot of important calls. Like this one.”
Alyson Y. Sprint was thirty-nine years old. She had five kids, a husband named Peter, and three dogs. They were important enough to her, and she thought that family time was fun. But when her cell phone started ringing, Alyson didn’t care about anything but talking into the phone. She had 135 contacts on her cell, fifty-three of them she met on the internet. Being trilingual, she talked to people in Spanish, English, and Dutch. Alyson had tried many different cell phone providers. She wanted a good deal whenever possible. With her current plan, she only had to pay three thousand dollars a month, a much better deal than her previous plans, which spanned anywhere from $3,500 to $8,765 a month.
“Hello? Emily? You there?” She waited for a few seconds for the reply. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought you hung up on me! Oh no. One of my kids just threw up. Wait a second. I’ll put on my headset.”
Alyson’s seven-year-old son, Joshua stood frozen, waiting for his mother to put on her headset and help him. He watched her fiddle with the headset for a second, before turning to him. Speaking to Joshua for the first time that week, Alyson said, “My goodness, David. Look at the mess you made.” Joshua, used to his mother forgetting his name, said quietly, “Sorry, Mom.”
“Hmm. You should be.” Turning away from Joshua, she spoke into her headset. “Sorry about that Emily. What were you saying?”
The next day, Alyson’s husband, Peter N. Sprint woke up and yawned. “Time for another day of taking care of the five kids without the help of my wife,” he mumbled sleepily. He could already hear her yakking away in the bathroom on her phone.
Alyson and Peter had met when they were twenty and didn’t have cell phones. Alyson loved talking, and Peter liked listening. They got married, had kids, and then when they needed them, got cell phones.
“Dad! Dad! Come look at this!” Peter groaned. The kids were already awake. He stumbled down the hall to see what they wanted. “Dad! We made a tower! Look!” In the middle of the living room, there was a four-foot tower made out of Lego’s.
“Wow, kids, that’s…great!” Peter mustered.
Going back to his room, Peter thought about his wife and her obsession with talking on the phone. He needed to get her to stop, so he would have help with everything. Then, it hit him.
In the bathroom, Alyson was on the phone with Hannah, a friend from some party Alyson went to four years ago. “My goodness, you do not know how happy I am to have soundproofed the bathroom. It’s heavenly. I can’t hear a single shout. I could stay in here all day talking. I put in a mini-fridge and a tread mill,” Alyson blabbed. “I love my life. Oh, someone just left me a voice mail. I have to check it. I’ll call you later.” Alyson hung up and went to check her voice mail. She put to her phone to her ear and listened.
“Hi Alyson, it’s Peter. I was wondering if you could come talk to the kids and me for a second. We want to have a chat. So, if you can, come out and talk to us! Thanks!”
“Have a chat?” Alyson wondered. “But the kids don’t have cell phones!”
Alyson walked slowly out of the bathroom. She saw her family sitting at the table, laughing and talking. Wow. I think my kids grew since the last time I saw them. She was amazed at the height of her oldest child, Sarah.
“Hey, Mom!” said Sam cheerfully. “Long time no see!”
“Yes, I know,” Alyson replied sighing. “I’ve just been so busy, keeping up with all my contacts.”
“Wow. That’s tough work. I wish I could be so good at talking,” Emma said, with a hint of sarcasm that her mother didn’t catch.
“Well, you know, it takes practice,” Alyson said, proud of her talent.
“Alyson, do you think I could talk to you in private for a second?” Peter asked.
“Sure,” Alyson agreed. The two of them went into the kitchen, which was now empty.
“I need to talk to you about your phone,” Peter said seriously. “You’re just using it way too much. You never spend time with us, and I don’t know if you even know what we do all day.”
“Listen, Peter, I’m sorry about not spending much time with you. But I need to talk to these people. They need me,” Alyson said, not sounding sorry at all.
“No, they don’t,” argued Peter. “They have their own lives and their own families that they spend time with. They don’t ‘need’ to talk to anyone on the phone.”
“Look, that’s not true at all. But I don’t want to fight about it.”
“Okay. Can you please hand me your cell phone?”
“Peter, that’s mean,” Alyson said, getting upset. “My whole life is on that phone.” Peter held out his hand, and Alyson unwillingly put her cell phone in it.
“If you want it back, then listen to me,” Peter said. “All we want is for you to spend more time with us. That’s it.”
“Okay. I’ll do the best that I can to spend more time with you,” said Alyson.
“Thanks, Alyson,” Peter said gratefully.
The next day, after Alyson had gotten her phone back, she went to Harvard Square, telling her family that she was going to do errands.
“Emily? Hi! Long time no talk!”
A New Page - Kristen
Sunlight strained through the treetops, casting dappled shadows on the cement ground and shifting pairs of feet. Birds chirruped brightly among the branches, flitting down on the occasion of a dropped crumb.
Down below the canopy of rustling leaves, a man stared, unblinking, through watery blue eyes, sunk deep within the pale folds of his wizened face. Teeth? Who knows? Wrinkled lips puckered inwards, as if a lemon-eating contest had gone too far.
Edward. His name was Edward. He shuffled two steps to the left, one to the right, his faded brown sandals emitting soft scuffing noises as they grazed the brick. He was attempting to walk, but refrained from drawing away from his stately position by the trash can of Au Bon Pain.
The lively chatter of college students and other people of mixed ages nonchalantly sipping coffee floated through the air. Bobbing, laughing heads of warm colors leaning in to conversations were everywhere, or some just sat serenely by themselves, lapping lattes. Fingers clicked along laptops, while others spun around iPods blasting music.
Viewed by the crowd as an old geezer, to Ed the crowd was merely a bunch of rowdy young ‘uns. Heck, back in my day, this crowd would’ve been reduced to a group of hard-working, respectful boys and obedient, home-making girls. Ach! Gone would be these ridiculous...what are they? Tank-tops. Blouses should be the formal wear. And none of these T-shirts either. It didn’t do to slump around looking as if you were wearing a large pillowcase with sleeves.
Ed’s periwinkle gaze raked the throng of people, searching for his appointment. The person he was meant to meet still wasn’t here yet. Ridiculous. Most likely a young ‘un. Think they can arrive whatever time they want. Was it a male? A female? Or actually just another senior? His aged mind was tired from wondering.
All he’d been doing was walking innocently into the sitting room of the nursing home to get his breakfast when that George on his oh-so-special scooter just had to call him over.
“Hey there, Eddy,” he had said. “Off to bury that nose of yours in another book? Hehehe.”
You have a problem with it, arthritis boy?
“Since you’re always lonely, why don’t you let me find you someone to talk to?”
I’m not lonely. I have books.
Then why had he agreed? The silvery wisps of hair glinted on his head as he swiveled to the side and plodded across the area to the cool pleasantness of the Cambridge Trust Company, where he settled tiredly on a bench inside. It wasn’t humane for an old man like him to say in the heat like that. Ed twiddled his thumbs in a melancholy way, wondering why he agreed to this meeting. His eyeballs widened contemplatively behind his coke-bottle glasses, which expanded them to the size of coasters. Maybe I am lonely.
Ed’s only friends were books. He’d never felt the need for anyone or anything else. Supposedly now he did. The words spoke to him and held lively conversations every night, and only their voices could reach his olden ears without any trouble whatsoever.
As the air conditioning ruffled his spunky speckled bowtie, Edward blankly reached over and picked up a magazine, light shifting along his satin blue shirt. He needed something to keep him company while he was waiting.
The old man was deep within the world of outdoor fishing in Maine, but right when he mumbled, “Clever, that!” and made to turn the page, the tiny bell dangling off the door sang a tinkle. A woman entered the room, peering around through half-moon spectacles. Her eyes were gray and dull, but they drew Ed’s own. When they made contact, he smacked his puckered lips uncertainly and asked, “May I help you?” He broke the shared stare and looked down at the open article basking in the sun on his lap. How he had wanted to continue reading on about how to make an ideal fly to catch a rainbow trout.
“Hello there,” said the woman pleasantly, her voice soft from usage of many years. Her skin was as wrinkled as Ed’s – they could’ve been siblings.
He smacked his lips again, drawing up some saliva into his dry mouth as he hesitantly laid down his new thin-paged friend on the side-table. “Hello,” Edward replied. How redundant this talk was. Hello, hello, hello. One greeting was enough. He hauled himself up out of the armchair, making the high, old man grunt that he did.
The woman smiled, and scanned the room again. “Are you Edward?” she queried after a while.
His bushy ivory eyebrows arched up in surprise. “Yes, I’m Edward.” Ach. I’d almost forgotten about the appointment.
“I’m Erin. I heard much about you from George.” A creased hand was extended in his direction. He examined it apprehensively before grasping it.
“Pleased to meet you,” he wheezed. Half a lie. Darn that man back at the nursing home for getting me into this. An old man like me doesn’t have time for this. I have a novel to get home to.
She smiled. Again. How often could a person smile? The last of your days should be spent doing the things you liked. What did this woman like, then?
“Let’s go back outside, shall we?” Erin chirruped.
“Fine.” The two seniors shuffled out of the dim office in their sandals, squinting into the sunlight. Edward began to devise a plan to get rid of her. So what if he was lonely? He had books. Books were enough…. Right?
They seated themselves at a silvery table, protected conveniently for them beneath the shade, void of scorching rays.
“364,” Erin mumbled.
“Come again?” Ed demanded exhaustedly. It was enough for a person of his age to stay out here in the crazy heat. How could she stand it and still be so happy?
“Oh!” Her pale cheeks flushed and she let out a childish giggle. “I was just making myself remember what page I’m on in my book. I absolutely adore reading!”
All previous plans were gone. Edward’s eyes lit up with a lively sparkle unusual to his possession. “Come again?”
Erin laughed. “I love to read! Why? Don’t you?”
Edward didn’t know where to begin. But he knew he would have to. So he began to talk. He talked, she talked back. She smiled, he did the same. They laughed. And that was when Edward realized that he had been wrong all along. What was the point of liking books if he had no one to talk to about them? Therefore, he turned over a new page in the book of life and made a new friend…that wasn’t a book.
Travel Writing
The Crab - Isabelle
Crunch. A blue mussel shell snaps and crumbles under my white Adidas with grey stripes. I walk over the beach, a mixture of blue, grey, white and green specks. The water a turquoise blue, reflects the overcast sky. As I gaze off into the distance the sun peeks out from behind a cloud, glaring into my eyes. Squinting I look down and sure enough there is a decapitated crab’s body at my feet. Its lifeless corpse has been picked clean by the surrounding, squaking gulls. Two of its spindly legs are missing and lay strewn in the rocks nearby. Slowly creeping up, the tide swallows the corpse and all the memories with it.
All the memory of the crab disappears very quickly as I come to the rock wall. It is made of large slabs of granite rock to prevent the tide from coming up too far. However, when the tide is low, there is a small beach at which lots of broken shells are washed up. On the top of this wall, there is a twisted and rusted iron bar which protrudes dangerously from the rock. Looking at it reminds me of the last time I was on George’s Island.
My school had decided to take the whole freshman class to George’s Island as an “introduction to the high school.” I, fooling around as usual, had tripped on the bar and had fallen approximately three feet to the small beach below. I received a terrible bruise from my carelessness, but I don’t regret it because I still had fun.
The first few parts of George’s Island were not that fun because they made us split up in small groups and then we had to go sit in the shade and talk about the college application process (which all of us knew pretty well by now because every year since sixth grade there was a meeting that everyone went to where they explained it). We didn’t really need an introduction to high school because the high school and the middle school had been in the same building and we all knew each other A lot of times I don’t understand the school decisions, but what the hell; it was still fun.
I walked over to the food stand and was amazed about how high the price was for a cheeseburger. The blackened, greasy, burned, thin cheeseburger was four dollars and fifty cents. I only was given ten dollars by my parents and it was spent all on food. Stephanie, Elizabeth, Alex, Rebecca, Max and I sat on a splintery, graying, wooden log that looked as if it was drift wood. I took a big bite of my burger and I tasted the dry, cheesy, burnt taste of the meat and wanted to spit it out. Thankfully Stephanie had purchased a lot of French fries so I picked on them. Then I split a soft serve swirl ice cream with Elizabeth, which covered up the taste of the gross food. As we finished up our slop we began walking back to the field.
After lunch we had the choice of either going on the tour or staying at the field and playing football. My friends and I agreed to do the tour because we thought it might be fun to go into the eerily dark tunnels of the fort. Dashing through this open hall a teacher told us to stop, but we continued and ran into a really dark, long tunnel. The air I breathed felt damp and musty. Walking through the tunnel silent as the grave, we felt a little wind blowing. My friend Stephanie whispered, “How is there wind in a tunnel down here?’
“I don’t know,” I replied in a slightly scratchy voice. “Ehem.” I coughed clearing my throat. I put my hands out to my sides to touch the wall and it felt like it was getting narrower and narrower. Suddenly I bumped into a wall and screamed. Everyone began screaming and ran out of the cave in chaos. We were all bumping into each other, and finally calmed down, we walked (at a quicker pace than we came in) and reached the light that we were drowned of. All breathing heavily someone chimed, “Let’s go back in!”
We crept back into the pitch black hall and made it to the point where I bumped into the wall. It turns out that there was a turn and no one noticed. We continued down the undiscovered part of the hall. All you could hear was the occasional crunch of “who knows what” being crushed beneath our feet. The light in the tunnel went from pitch black, to dark grey, to light gray, to light and we knew that we were out of the tunnel.
I open my eyes and I am still looking at the spot where the crab washed away. I find it amazing that you can dig deep into your memory and lose track of time.
My attention is taken by a group of seagulls clustering in chaos over by the dock. I walk over to see what the fuss is and as soon as I approach all the seagulls flap their wings aimlessly and take off into the grey sky. I glance down on the ground and I see a crab, slightly twitching it legs and claws.
“Isabelle?” asks Emily. “What are you doing?” Apparently I was staring off into space for a while.
“Oh nothing, just looking,” I reply.
“Come on. Let’s go,” says Raphaelle. I place my foot in the spaces between the larger granite rocks and hoist myself above the beach.
We walk over back to where the rest of the group is. I keep my eyes to ground, taking in all the color of the sand and shells that are littered on the asphalt. The sand lightly sits on the grooves of the asphalt creating little dunes of its own. I glance up and see large metal electrical box at which the group is sitting around basking in it shade on such a hot day. In the shade we all hang out for a minute, relaxing before we have to walk around in the beaming sun again. Everyone is sitting in basic silence which is broken by Abbye saying loudly, “You guys have a choice: you can either hang out on the beach or do the tour.”
I contemplate in my head whether I want to stay on the beach and relax or do the tour which I had already done at least twice before. I decide on the tour because I really want to feel the cold, haunting feeling that the tunnels leave most everyone who goes in, whether or not you believe in ghost stories. All the tunnels have the eerie feeling that something died there and is still watching you. Sometimes you feel wind blowing on the back of your neck in the darkest tunnels of all. I’m not sure if it is just your mind playing tricks on you or some paranormal activity.
We wander around trying to find an entrance that leads to the inside of the fort. Once again we return to the draw bridge that never has a moat with water to go under it. At a pretty fast pace we all scurry inside of it to see if there are any dark tunnels or anything else interesting. On the wall there is a dark, flat, almost no dimensional space in the wall. Kate walks up in to the darkness. It only takes a second for her to disappear in the inky darkness. I follow up behind her. The spiraling staircase has damp wall and a few of the steps are broken. At last Kate says through the darkness, “It is a dead end. Let’s go back down.”
I sense her walking past me as I am pressed up against the wall. Knowing that it’s a dead end, I continue creeping up the stairs, and with an outreached hand I touch the damp, chipped and mossy wall. Taking a sharp intake of breath and slowly turning around, I feel like I am going to fall because my foot doesn’t remember where the last stair is. Awkwardly I stretch my hands out and press against the wall just in case I fall. Braced and ready for the worst I take a step down and thankfully my foot firmly stomps on the stair. Walking a little faster, but still using my hands with the walls I tromp down the stairs and make it out.
Then when I am out of the staircase, we continue on through the draw bridge tunnel. Again it leads us outside, but across from that there is an old worn door that doesn’t look as if it leads to another place in the fort, but to some magical under world. The door’s wood is a faded color, almost the color of the sand and the lock had been broken on it. The lock is a rusty brown, but still feels sharp to the touch as if it has been cut recently. I peer in and see a stair case descending down into darkness. “Come on, guys! It’s a dark tunnel,” I rapidly speak.
Tip-toeing down the stairs with everyone following me, I can feel myself being swallowed by the darkness. I can see the eerie glow of Emily’s owl shirt. All of us are taking small steps in the dark so we don’t fall. My breathing gets heavier and my heart beats faster. Finally I see the shadows of objects in the room that the tunnel leads to. I walk faster hoping the light will get brighter and brighter. However it does not; it remains grey and shadowy. As we all reach the tunnel, we pause and take a moment to admire the room. I shout “Hello,” and hear it echo back to me.
Suddenly we hear this noise that sounds like bats or birds that are living down here. Abbye gets freaked out and wants to leave. We are searching for the exit, now realizing that we have to go back through the dark tunnel to get out. There is the same silence before entering the tunnel, but then we all move quickly to get out. Once we reach the light, we all head back to the beach to meet the others and have lunch.
Walking through the dewy green grass I finally see the gentle wave of the beach, lapping against the small rocks and sand, slightly tossing them. Behind the pile of sand the rest of the group gets closer and closer to us. In the distance I see a sea gull carrying a squirming crab from its beak.
