Ice Cold
The car glided across the road onto the frozen lake and came to a halt near the center. The skid marks in the fresh powder the only signs of life. Silence. Everything was still.
My heart pounded mercilessly in my chest as my hands painfully gripped the steering wheel. I tried to turn, but my muscles would not move. I was still in shock from what had just happened. I took a deep breath and looked out the window. My heart sank.
My heart pounded mercilessly in my chest as my hands painfully gripped the steering wheel. I tried to turn, but my muscles would not move. I was still in shock from what had just happened. I took a deep breath and looked out the window. My heart sank.
I began to panic. My breathing was heavy and white puffs appeared with every breath. I have to get out of here. I have to get off this ice. With the utmost caution I slowly pushed open the car door, stopping occasionally to avoid too much movement.
Hesitantly, I placed one foot on the thin ice, testing its durability. It didn’t crack. I proceeded onto the ice, slowly easing my way out of the car. The ice creaked under my weight. Slowly. Carefully. Aware that I needed to evenly distribute my weight, I carefully began to place one foot in front of the other.
As I neared the edge of the lake I began to feel overjoyed. I quickened my pace, eager to be back on solid ground. This was a mistake. The ice groaned and cracked under my heavy feet, making me stop mid-step. I was so close, only twenty more feet. I have to make it. I have to keep going.
Against the cries of the ice, I kept moving. Right. Left. Right. Left. Fifteen feet. Right. Left. Right. Left. Ten feet. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right…The ice began to split and I could see the icy water below. Only five more feet.
I stretched out my arms, ready to leap onto the snowy dirt. Right. Left. Ri—. The thin, glass-like surface gave way, and I was submerged in the bone-chilling water. Everything began to fade to black as the cold embraced my body, its iciness seeping into my very being. This is it. This is the end.
Hesitantly, I placed one foot on the thin ice, testing its durability. It didn’t crack. I proceeded onto the ice, slowly easing my way out of the car. The ice creaked under my weight. Slowly. Carefully. Aware that I needed to evenly distribute my weight, I carefully began to place one foot in front of the other.
As I neared the edge of the lake I began to feel overjoyed. I quickened my pace, eager to be back on solid ground. This was a mistake. The ice groaned and cracked under my heavy feet, making me stop mid-step. I was so close, only twenty more feet. I have to make it. I have to keep going.
Against the cries of the ice, I kept moving. Right. Left. Right. Left. Fifteen feet. Right. Left. Right. Left. Ten feet. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right…The ice began to split and I could see the icy water below. Only five more feet.
I stretched out my arms, ready to leap onto the snowy dirt. Right. Left. Ri—. The thin, glass-like surface gave way, and I was submerged in the bone-chilling water. Everything began to fade to black as the cold embraced my body, its iciness seeping into my very being. This is it. This is the end.
Flame-Filled Memories
I needed someplace to study, and the library at my college was the perfect place. The library was big enough for me to stretch out and relax while at the same time being able to reference any book at a moment’s notice. It was the perfect place, big and quiet, too. The only sounds were of the turning of pages, the scratching of pens on paper, the tapping of a keyboard, and the television.
Taking a break from my studies, I glanced at the television, which was switched to the news. Raging red and orange flames danced across the screen as they hopped from tree to tree. Across the bottom in big, bold letters were the headline Massive Forest Fire Near Residential Area. Immediately after reading this I turned away from the glowing screen.
The sight of bright red flames would always bring back a certain memory from my childhood, a memory that I tried so desperately to forget. Feeling the anxiety from that day, I proceeded with my studies. I tried to study, but to no avail. My mind kept wandering back to that fateful day, and I didn’t like it.
After about two hours of staring blankly at an encyclopedia on plant species, I gave into my wandering mind and drifted into the memories of my childhood, the memory that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
My mother was a single parent and a major environmentalist. We used to have this huge garden in our back yard filled with colorful flowers and every fruit and vegetable you could imagine. She loved that garden, and so did I.
Whether it was taking care of the plants, weeding, discovering bugs, or simply just relaxing under the great peach tree, I would always be there. My mother knew that if I wasn’t at school, I was in the garden. It was my Heaven on Earth, my safe place…and I destroyed it, along with something much more precious to me.
When I was eleven, my mother told me that she was pregnant with my little sister. I was happy at first, excited to have someone to play with and share the secrets of the garden. But as time went on, I started to like the idea of her less and less.
Before, my mother would spend so much time with me in the garden, but as the months passed, she visited the garden less and less. She said it was because she couldn’t stand for long periods of time and that her feet and back were sore, but I knew. I knew she was having these problems because of her. And I didn’t like it.
It was early fall, and the leaves were already beginning to change in color. This was normally around the time that mother and I would begin to harvest all of our fruits and vegetables from the garden. But, this was also around the time when she was beginning to make her appearance. Mother was getting the tools from the shed, so we could begin harvesting when the contractions started.
The ambulance came and took Mother away to the hospital while I was left in the care of our hippie-loving neighbor, Carol. That night, Ms. Carol brought me over a dish of lasagna and a pot of tea to eat alone in my house. Of course, I didn’t eat in the house. I ate in the garden.
Behind the peach tree and along the red picket fence was my secret treasure trove. Made up of some old wool blankets sewn together with thick white thread, my trove held all of the things that I found to be dear to me, the soft glow of my lantern the only source of light while I sat eating a heaping plate of Ms. Carol’s lasagna.
When mother arrived home the next day, I waited for her at the front gates and wrapped my arms around her. I was so happy and relieved to finally have her back home with me, but then she introduced me to her. She was so small and wrinkled, kind of like a pale pink walnut with hair on its top. I stared at her with wide eyes, not sure what to do.
After mother had settled back in, I asked her if we could harvest the garden now. The baby is out and now she can work in the garden again I thought to myself. But, once again, I was wrong. Now that she was here, mother had to devote all of her time to taking care of her. She hardly paid any attention to me and I found myself sulking in my trove beneath the peach tree.
It was dark out when I grabbed a match and re-lit the old lantern that I had hung from a low-hanging branch of the peach tree. Wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blanket, I sat there thinking about all of the things that would be different now that she was here, and it made me sad. I thought that now, Mother would never return to the garden.
It was late, and the moon was out when mother called me into the house. Going into the house would mean that I would have to see her, and I really didn’t feel like it, so I stayed put where I was. Ten minutes later, Mother called again. She sounded angry this time, so I considered going in, but still sat there in my secret trove. Finally, half an hour had passed, and I could hear Mother shouting at me from the back door.
She sounded very cross, and all at once she came barging into my special place. Mother yelled at me to come back into the house and then left. I was angry, not only at Mother for getting angry with me, but at her as well for making me not want to go back into the house. After a moment, with my face red and tears forming in my eyes, I stormed out of my trove, knocking things over as I left.
It’s hot. I can’t breathe. I awoke in the middle of the night to my room engulfed in red-hot flames. Thick smoke filled the air and burned my eyes. I screamed for my mother, but she didn’t answer. Crawling on the ground, I escaped from that raging inferno and out through the front door.
There were firefighters outside fighting the flames with long, pressure hoses. I called for my mother, searched for her, but she was not there. The only other person that had made it out of that burning hellhole was not my mother, but the one who I despised the most.
The firefighters worked tirelessly all night long until they had finally managed to put out every last flame, every last inch of fire. By then, there was nothing left of our house, our garden, or my mother. Ms. Carol tried to comfort me. She tried to explain to me that the firefighters could only save one person. They made their decision, and my mother was gone because of it.
But what made my stomach drop was what she told me next. She said that the fire had started in the backyard under the old peach tree. My treasure trove, I thought to myself. The lantern. The fire. It was all my fault.
From that day, my life was changed. I no longer saw my sister as the cause of my mother’s death. Actually, she reminds me of my mother. I see mother in her eyes and when she smiles, and it makes me happy.
Ever since that day, I have devoted my life to becoming the best big sister that I could possibly be. My little sister has grown to love plants the same way mother and I had, and now I’m even studying to be an environmentalist. Things changed that day. I changed that day.
My mother was a single parent and a major environmentalist. We used to have this huge garden in our back yard filled with colorful flowers and every fruit and vegetable you could imagine. She loved that garden, and so did I.
Whether it was taking care of the plants, weeding, discovering bugs, or simply just relaxing under the great peach tree, I would always be there. My mother knew that if I wasn’t at school, I was in the garden. It was my Heaven on Earth, my safe place…and I destroyed it, along with something much more precious to me.
When I was eleven, my mother told me that she was pregnant with my little sister. I was happy at first, excited to have someone to play with and share the secrets of the garden. But as time went on, I started to like the idea of her less and less.
Before, my mother would spend so much time with me in the garden, but as the months passed, she visited the garden less and less. She said it was because she couldn’t stand for long periods of time and that her feet and back were sore, but I knew. I knew she was having these problems because of her. And I didn’t like it.
It was early fall, and the leaves were already beginning to change in color. This was normally around the time that mother and I would begin to harvest all of our fruits and vegetables from the garden. But, this was also around the time when she was beginning to make her appearance. Mother was getting the tools from the shed, so we could begin harvesting when the contractions started.
The ambulance came and took Mother away to the hospital while I was left in the care of our hippie-loving neighbor, Carol. That night, Ms. Carol brought me over a dish of lasagna and a pot of tea to eat alone in my house. Of course, I didn’t eat in the house. I ate in the garden.
Behind the peach tree and along the red picket fence was my secret treasure trove. Made up of some old wool blankets sewn together with thick white thread, my trove held all of the things that I found to be dear to me, the soft glow of my lantern the only source of light while I sat eating a heaping plate of Ms. Carol’s lasagna.
When mother arrived home the next day, I waited for her at the front gates and wrapped my arms around her. I was so happy and relieved to finally have her back home with me, but then she introduced me to her. She was so small and wrinkled, kind of like a pale pink walnut with hair on its top. I stared at her with wide eyes, not sure what to do.
After mother had settled back in, I asked her if we could harvest the garden now. The baby is out and now she can work in the garden again I thought to myself. But, once again, I was wrong. Now that she was here, mother had to devote all of her time to taking care of her. She hardly paid any attention to me and I found myself sulking in my trove beneath the peach tree.
It was dark out when I grabbed a match and re-lit the old lantern that I had hung from a low-hanging branch of the peach tree. Wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blanket, I sat there thinking about all of the things that would be different now that she was here, and it made me sad. I thought that now, Mother would never return to the garden.
It was late, and the moon was out when mother called me into the house. Going into the house would mean that I would have to see her, and I really didn’t feel like it, so I stayed put where I was. Ten minutes later, Mother called again. She sounded angry this time, so I considered going in, but still sat there in my secret trove. Finally, half an hour had passed, and I could hear Mother shouting at me from the back door.
She sounded very cross, and all at once she came barging into my special place. Mother yelled at me to come back into the house and then left. I was angry, not only at Mother for getting angry with me, but at her as well for making me not want to go back into the house. After a moment, with my face red and tears forming in my eyes, I stormed out of my trove, knocking things over as I left.
It’s hot. I can’t breathe. I awoke in the middle of the night to my room engulfed in red-hot flames. Thick smoke filled the air and burned my eyes. I screamed for my mother, but she didn’t answer. Crawling on the ground, I escaped from that raging inferno and out through the front door.
There were firefighters outside fighting the flames with long, pressure hoses. I called for my mother, searched for her, but she was not there. The only other person that had made it out of that burning hellhole was not my mother, but the one who I despised the most.
The firefighters worked tirelessly all night long until they had finally managed to put out every last flame, every last inch of fire. By then, there was nothing left of our house, our garden, or my mother. Ms. Carol tried to comfort me. She tried to explain to me that the firefighters could only save one person. They made their decision, and my mother was gone because of it.
But what made my stomach drop was what she told me next. She said that the fire had started in the backyard under the old peach tree. My treasure trove, I thought to myself. The lantern. The fire. It was all my fault.
From that day, my life was changed. I no longer saw my sister as the cause of my mother’s death. Actually, she reminds me of my mother. I see mother in her eyes and when she smiles, and it makes me happy.
Ever since that day, I have devoted my life to becoming the best big sister that I could possibly be. My little sister has grown to love plants the same way mother and I had, and now I’m even studying to be an environmentalist. Things changed that day. I changed that day.
Alice from the Shadows
I didn’t know much about her. All I knew is that her name was Alice, and she was in hiding. Come to think of it, I had seen her face only once, only for a moment. There were little to none who had heard of her and even less who believed she was real; but I know she was real. I just know it, and I had proof. When I close my eyes, I can still remember that summer when I met such a peculiar, wonderful woman.
I was leaning against a stonewall in the midst of a busy marketplace while my mother wandered from vendor to vendor snapping photos of customers. My mother, you see, is a photographer and her latest inspiration was old Jerusalem. It’s only my mother and me, so we use traveling for her job as mother-daughter bonding time.
I’d never been to Jerusalem before so I was excited to experience all that it had to offer. However, at the moment, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. There were run-down shacks with people selling hand-made crafts and filthy beggars in nothing more than rags. Why my mother chose this outdated place, I could only imagine.
I watched my mother venture from person to person, speaking to them in what I believed was her own version of their native tongue. ‘It’s hot,’ I whispered to myself as I sought shelter under a nearby archway.
“Is that your mother?” a voice asked. I spun around on my heels to find a beautiful woman dressed in a black robe lingering in the shadows. I say she was beautiful although I never actually saw her face. “Is that your mother?” she repeated.
“Oh, umm…yes, she is,” I managed to reply.
“You should tell her to be careful. Don’t go sticking your noses where they don’t belong. They’re watching,” she warned before disappearing into the shadows. I stood there in awe for a moment. Who was that woman? Why did she warn us? Who was watching us? These questions raced through my head as I frantically searched for my mother in the crowds of people.
I spotted her squatting next to a child holding a wooden doll. “Mom,” I started, but when she turned in my direction, the expression she wore made me pause. How long had it been since I had last seen her smile like that? I couldn’t possibly tell her about that woman.
I made my way towards them, slowly offering my hand to the child. She took my hand so gently it made my heart flutter. “This place has so much potential,” my mother sighed, her eyes looking towards some far away place. “I want to expose this place in its truest beauty. I want to know all of its secrets,” she murmured, seemingly to herself.
After a moment, we bid farewell to the child and started on our journey back to the motel. There was only a sliver of light out when we arrived back and my mother marched straight into the bathroom to begin developing her snapshots of the day.
I plopped down onto the musty bed and reached for the television remote. I was exhausted. As the light outside dimmed, so did my consciousness, and before I knew it, I was in a deep sleep.
I awoke the next morning chilled to the bone. The open window sent a brisk draft across the room, and I stood up to close it. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of someone in the alleyway.
It was the same woman from before. Her dark eyes peered at me through the shadows, and a shudder ran down my spine. Our eyes met for a moment before she turned and disappeared into the darkness. Without thinking, I pulled on a coat and was heading through the doorway when my mother appeared from the bathroom.
“Where are you going at this hour?” she asked worriedly.
“I thought I saw something outside,” I half-lied.
“Well if you’re going out, be sure to be back before ten,” she replied; now sounding so nonchalant. “Oh, and bring the camera. Just in case you see something marvelous!”
Just like that, I was wandering through the alleyways of Jerusalem in the weak morning light with no more than a coat, boots, and a camera slung around my neck. I wanted to find that woman. I wanted to ask her what she knew. I needed to find out.
I didn’t know much about her. All I knew is that her name was Alice, and she was in hiding. Come to think of it, I had seen her face only once, only for a moment. There were little to none who had heard of her and even less who believed she was real; but I know she was real. I just know it, and I had proof. When I close my eyes, I can still remember that summer when I met such a peculiar, wonderful woman.
I was leaning against a stonewall in the midst of a busy marketplace while my mother wandered from vendor to vendor snapping photos of customers. My mother, you see, is a photographer and her latest inspiration was old Jerusalem. It’s only my mother and me, so we use traveling for her job as mother-daughter bonding time.
I’d never been to Jerusalem before so I was excited to experience all that it had to offer. However, at the moment, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. There were run-down shacks with people selling hand-made crafts and filthy beggars in nothing more than rags. Why my mother chose this outdated place, I could only imagine.
I watched my mother venture from person to person, speaking to them in what I believed was her own version of their native tongue. ‘It’s hot,’ I whispered to myself as I sought shelter under a nearby archway.
“Is that your mother?” a voice asked. I spun around on my heels to find a beautiful woman dressed in a black robe lingering in the shadows. I say she was beautiful although I never actually saw her face. “Is that your mother?” she repeated.
“Oh, umm…yes, she is,” I managed to reply.
“You should tell her to be careful. Don’t go sticking your noses where they don’t belong. They’re watching,” she warned before disappearing into the shadows. I stood there in awe for a moment. Who was that woman? Why did she warn us? Who was watching us? These questions raced through my head as I frantically searched for my mother in the crowds of people.
I spotted her squatting next to a child holding a wooden doll. “Mom,” I started, but when she turned in my direction, the expression she wore made me pause. How long had it been since I had last seen her smile like that? I couldn’t possibly tell her about that woman.
I made my way towards them, slowly offering my hand to the child. She took my hand so gently it made my heart flutter. “This place has so much potential,” my mother sighed, her eyes looking towards some far away place. “I want to expose this place in its truest beauty. I want to know all of its secrets,” she murmured, seemingly to herself.
After a moment, we bid farewell to the child and started on our journey back to the motel. There was only a sliver of light out when we arrived back and my mother marched straight into the bathroom to begin developing her snapshots of the day.
I plopped down onto the musty bed and reached for the television remote. I was exhausted. As the light outside dimmed, so did my consciousness, and before I knew it, I was in a deep sleep.
I awoke the next morning chilled to the bone. The open window sent a brisk draft across the room, and I stood up to close it. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of someone in the alleyway.
It was the same woman from before. Her dark eyes peered at me through the shadows, and a shudder ran down my spine. Our eyes met for a moment before she turned and disappeared into the darkness. Without thinking, I pulled on a coat and was heading through the doorway when my mother appeared from the bathroom.
“Where are you going at this hour?” she asked worriedly.
“I thought I saw something outside,” I half-lied.
“Well if you’re going out, be sure to be back before ten,” she replied; now sounding so nonchalant. “Oh, and bring the camera. Just in case you see something marvelous!”
Just like that, I was wandering through the alleyways of Jerusalem in the weak morning light with no more than a coat, boots, and a camera slung around my neck. I wanted to find that woman. I wanted to ask her what she knew. I needed to find out.
I approached the alleyway the woman had been in and slowed my pace. The old stone buildings blocked whatever light was coming through morning sky. It was black. I hesitated a moment more before submerging myself into the slim darkness.
The alleyway seemed endless as I slid my right hand across the wall of the building. It was so dark. I neared the light on the other side and a hand reached out and yanked me into the light. Startled, I stared at the hand that had pulled me and realized that it was the woman I had been looking for.
“You and your mother must leave,” she ordered. “They know you’re here, and they’re looking for you.” Her words rushed, and she seemed on edge. She nervously glanced around at her surroundings.
“Who is looking for us?” I demanded.
“Not here,” she cautioned. “Come with me.”
She led me to an isolated spot behind the marketplace. We could hear the vendors already beginning to set up shop. We stood in silence, her eyes staring at me. Up close, I could see that her eyes were an icy blue, and unruly strands of blonde-brown hair stood out against the black robes she wore around her face.
“Are you an American?” I asked curiously. “You have blue eyes, and your hair is blonde. You’re definitely not from around here.”
The alleyway seemed endless as I slid my right hand across the wall of the building. It was so dark. I neared the light on the other side and a hand reached out and yanked me into the light. Startled, I stared at the hand that had pulled me and realized that it was the woman I had been looking for.
“You and your mother must leave,” she ordered. “They know you’re here, and they’re looking for you.” Her words rushed, and she seemed on edge. She nervously glanced around at her surroundings.
“Who is looking for us?” I demanded.
“Not here,” she cautioned. “Come with me.”
She led me to an isolated spot behind the marketplace. We could hear the vendors already beginning to set up shop. We stood in silence, her eyes staring at me. Up close, I could see that her eyes were an icy blue, and unruly strands of blonde-brown hair stood out against the black robes she wore around her face.
“Are you an American?” I asked curiously. “You have blue eyes, and your hair is blonde. You’re definitely not from around here.”
“You’re right, I’m an American,” she admitted. “But you can’t tell anyone, okay? Promise me you won’t tell anyone.” Her words came out harsh, almost like a threat.
“Why not?” I asked testing the boundaries.
“Because I’m in hiding,” she replied, her tone dead serious. She lowered her voice, “I saw something I shouldn’t have, something terrifyingly horrific. And now, they want me dead.”
I would have asked her about what it was that she saw, but we were interrupted. She dragged me into an open door as two men came through the alleyway. They were merrily slurring some sort of song while continuously tripping over their own two feet.
“They’re just two drunks,” I started, but stopped. I stared down at a mess of a woman. She had gone limp from fear and now sat slumped on the floor, one hand desperately clinging to the wall and the other clasped tightly over her mouth. Hot tears rolled from her eyes.
“They’re gone now,” I gently reassured her. I firmly grabbed her hands and slowly lifted her to her feet. “They’re gone now. There’s nothing for you to fear.” Her hands were warmly comforting despite the crisp morning air. After a moment, she regained her composure and shook the dirt from her cloak.
She stared at me. Her once solemn blue eyes now glistened with tears. There was a slight tremor in her voice, “You and your mother must leave immediately. It’s not safe here.” With that, she turned and once again disappeared into the shadows. Unwilling to leave without knowing who they were, I followed her.
She was like a vampire hiding in the shadows, desperately trying to avoid the sunlight. Every time someone would pass by, she would quickly hide behind something. She’s really alert. I wonder how long she’s been hiding like this. Compared to her, I was nowhere near as cautious. While she hid in the shadows, I trailed her in broad daylight. This would prove to be a grave mistake on my part.
Trying not to lose sight of her, I stumbled through the empty streets. I had only one thing on my mind and didn’t bother to pay attention to what was in front of me. As I continued through the barren streets, life became apparent, and after about four blocks, I found myself fighting huge crowds of people to keep up with her.
My mother had always said that my lack of attention would be the death of me, and she was right. I wasn’t looking at what was in front of me and ended up bumping into two men. “I’m so sorry,” I began, taking a step backwards.
They were dressed all in black and I could only see their eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said again staring at the ground. They both stood there for a moment in silence, and I could feel their eyes on my flushed face.
“Where are you going?” asked the smaller of the two in barely understandable English.
“I – I’m looking for…my mother,” I said, looking up at them. “She’s a photographer.”
“Ah! The photographer,” he smiled. “You’d better be on your way back to her, then.”
I nodded as I slowly turned and ran in the opposite direction. My heart was racing, and my breathing was ragged by the time I finally stopped to catch my breath.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I turned towards the sharp voice. It was the woman.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You saw them didn’t you? The men dressed in black?” She sounded disgusted as she said these words.
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “I just bumped into them by accident.” She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, her eyes burning with rage.
“I told you to be careful! I warned you about them!” her voice was hard and strained.
“Just calm down, okay. It’s not that big a deal,” I replied.
“Go home. Go back to your mother. Now,” she commanded.
“Okay, I will. But…” I started. “But before I go, I want to know your name.”
“My name?” she asked, seemingly a little surprised. “My name…is Alice.”
By the time I made it back to the market, it was already noon, and the streets were as busy as ever. I was almost at the motel, just another corner, and I would be there. When I got back, everything was fine. My mother was in high spirits, as always, and going through her most recent photos. Nothing happened after that, and the days seemed to go by so quickly. Before I knew it, we were packing our bags to head back to America.
As we made our way to the airport, many people, whom my mother had come to know over these past few months, stopped to talk to her. One by one, they offered her a small gift and said their goodbyes. I, on the other hand, was standing in the shade against a small stone wall holding my mother’s camera equipment, when I saw her.
“Alice!” I called, but she did not turn around. “Alice! Alice!” but she kept on walking. I followed her through the crowds until she turned and walked into an alleyway. “Alice,” I called once more, and this time she turned to face me. We stood there for a moment, me not knowing what to say and her just looking at me with sad eyes. She turned to leave, but I stopped her. “G-Good-bye, Alice.” She smiled, or at least her eyes did.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even know my name, but I knew hers. Remembering the camera in my hands, I managed to snap a quick picture of this beautiful, blue-eyed woman dressed in black before she vanished before my eyes.
“Why not?” I asked testing the boundaries.
“Because I’m in hiding,” she replied, her tone dead serious. She lowered her voice, “I saw something I shouldn’t have, something terrifyingly horrific. And now, they want me dead.”
I would have asked her about what it was that she saw, but we were interrupted. She dragged me into an open door as two men came through the alleyway. They were merrily slurring some sort of song while continuously tripping over their own two feet.
“They’re just two drunks,” I started, but stopped. I stared down at a mess of a woman. She had gone limp from fear and now sat slumped on the floor, one hand desperately clinging to the wall and the other clasped tightly over her mouth. Hot tears rolled from her eyes.
“They’re gone now,” I gently reassured her. I firmly grabbed her hands and slowly lifted her to her feet. “They’re gone now. There’s nothing for you to fear.” Her hands were warmly comforting despite the crisp morning air. After a moment, she regained her composure and shook the dirt from her cloak.
She stared at me. Her once solemn blue eyes now glistened with tears. There was a slight tremor in her voice, “You and your mother must leave immediately. It’s not safe here.” With that, she turned and once again disappeared into the shadows. Unwilling to leave without knowing who they were, I followed her.
She was like a vampire hiding in the shadows, desperately trying to avoid the sunlight. Every time someone would pass by, she would quickly hide behind something. She’s really alert. I wonder how long she’s been hiding like this. Compared to her, I was nowhere near as cautious. While she hid in the shadows, I trailed her in broad daylight. This would prove to be a grave mistake on my part.
Trying not to lose sight of her, I stumbled through the empty streets. I had only one thing on my mind and didn’t bother to pay attention to what was in front of me. As I continued through the barren streets, life became apparent, and after about four blocks, I found myself fighting huge crowds of people to keep up with her.
My mother had always said that my lack of attention would be the death of me, and she was right. I wasn’t looking at what was in front of me and ended up bumping into two men. “I’m so sorry,” I began, taking a step backwards.
They were dressed all in black and I could only see their eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said again staring at the ground. They both stood there for a moment in silence, and I could feel their eyes on my flushed face.
“Where are you going?” asked the smaller of the two in barely understandable English.
“I – I’m looking for…my mother,” I said, looking up at them. “She’s a photographer.”
“Ah! The photographer,” he smiled. “You’d better be on your way back to her, then.”
I nodded as I slowly turned and ran in the opposite direction. My heart was racing, and my breathing was ragged by the time I finally stopped to catch my breath.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I turned towards the sharp voice. It was the woman.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You saw them didn’t you? The men dressed in black?” She sounded disgusted as she said these words.
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “I just bumped into them by accident.” She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, her eyes burning with rage.
“I told you to be careful! I warned you about them!” her voice was hard and strained.
“Just calm down, okay. It’s not that big a deal,” I replied.
“Go home. Go back to your mother. Now,” she commanded.
“Okay, I will. But…” I started. “But before I go, I want to know your name.”
“My name?” she asked, seemingly a little surprised. “My name…is Alice.”
By the time I made it back to the market, it was already noon, and the streets were as busy as ever. I was almost at the motel, just another corner, and I would be there. When I got back, everything was fine. My mother was in high spirits, as always, and going through her most recent photos. Nothing happened after that, and the days seemed to go by so quickly. Before I knew it, we were packing our bags to head back to America.
As we made our way to the airport, many people, whom my mother had come to know over these past few months, stopped to talk to her. One by one, they offered her a small gift and said their goodbyes. I, on the other hand, was standing in the shade against a small stone wall holding my mother’s camera equipment, when I saw her.
“Alice!” I called, but she did not turn around. “Alice! Alice!” but she kept on walking. I followed her through the crowds until she turned and walked into an alleyway. “Alice,” I called once more, and this time she turned to face me. We stood there for a moment, me not knowing what to say and her just looking at me with sad eyes. She turned to leave, but I stopped her. “G-Good-bye, Alice.” She smiled, or at least her eyes did.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even know my name, but I knew hers. Remembering the camera in my hands, I managed to snap a quick picture of this beautiful, blue-eyed woman dressed in black before she vanished before my eyes.
Selfies
“I’m thinking about taking up photography. What do you think?” I stare at this person in amazement and think about it.
Sure she can point a camera and shoot, but that’s not the point. This is a person who has to pull a random pose that totally throws off the whole picture every single time. Just like that time we were taking a team photo. Everyone was in the right position and smiling their best smiles. It was the perfect picture. But a split second before the flash went off, she was kneeling on one knee, head bent with her palms together above her head in one swift movement. I bet she would have her subjects pose in all kinds of strange, geometric positions as well.
But then again, she’s very optimistic and always has a different take on everything. That’s a good quality to have as a photographer. I can still remember the ridiculous story she rambled off to me about the dead cockroach in the corner of the wrestling room. It was out scavenging for food in the early morning light to bring back to its starving family when it was accidently stepped on by a passing groundskeeper. Weak, frail, and on the verge of death it slowly made its way back to its family who were patiently awaiting his return in the storage closet. But, alas, it never made it back and died a slow, despair-filled death in the corner, a mere 5 feet away from its home.
I can just imagine her snapping shots of the strangest things. Her noteworthy imagination would compliment her spontaneous frozen moments quite nicely I would think. I mean, sure, she’s weird, and everyone knows it. But then again, we’re all a little weird. People tend to think of her as an annoyance, a nuisance, but those who are closest to her know that that’s not true. Sure she can be quite an earful most times, but she’s also very funny and kind, and she knows how to have a good time.
“So what do you think?” her words bounced happily, interrupting my train of thought.
“In all honesty, I think it would suit you,” I admitted. “So what are you thinking of doing?”
“Well, for my portfolio, I wanted to do the all natural selfie,” she responded.
“The ‘all natural’ selfie?”
“Yeah. It’s gonna be a series of close-ups with the subject unaware that I’m taking the picture. So a series of sneak-attack pictures basically.” I laughed to myself.
“That sounds so like you. You should do it.”
We had this routine down to the fly, and I always knew where everyone was at all times. I knew that every day after second period, my mother would be switching gears and heading over to her next shift at the dry cleaners. Then, around five, she would head over to the convenience store on the corner to start the night shift.
Immediately after eighth period, I would pack up all of my belongings and wait outside for my brothers to finish their school day. Then, on the way home, I would stop to pick up the three little ones from the sitter, give them a bath and prepare dinner. I had made it a goal to have everyone bathed, fed, homework done and in bed by nine thirty so that I would have time to do my own work.
On most days, I would have my homework finished by eleven, around the time that my mother would finish work. By then, I would have reheated the dinner so that it would be hot by the time she got home and washed all the dishes. This was our daily routine for about ten years, life for my children is so much different.
I still live in New York, but in a much nicer place. I’m married with three beautiful daughters and a husband who has a high-paying job. Life is a pretty sweet ride for them. My oldest daughter, Hannah, gets very good grades and does well in school, but lately, she has become a matter for concern.
Hannah’s friends aren’t the worst, but they’re not the best either. Sure, they’re decent kids who get average grades, but they’re always staying out late and going to parties. Hannah, of course, is always with them and wants to do whatever they are doing. She’s a good kid, but I feel like she isn’t making the right decisions when it comes to her future.
Recently, Hannah told me that she doesn’t see the need to go to college. When asked why she felt that way, she replied that none of her friends were going to college and that she didn’t want to waste any more of her youth going to school. Now, I know that this is just her going through that rebellious age, but I wanted to show her how her decisions and actions now could affect her in the future.
At first I wanted to set a curfew so that she wouldn’t stay out all night, but then I figured that it would only make things worse. Then I considered telling her the story about how I grew up and about how different her life was from mine at that age. Finally I decided on what to do. Instead of telling her about the struggles of the world, I would simply show it to her.
That day, I took Hannah to visit my youngest sister, Emily, who had just turned twenty-four. Emily, just like our mother, was a single parent with three kids. They lived in a worn down apartment in the “sketchy” part of town and had few possessions. Hannah had met her aunt and cousins before, but had never really known what their life was like.
“I’m thinking about taking up photography. What do you think?” I stare at this person in amazement and think about it.
Sure she can point a camera and shoot, but that’s not the point. This is a person who has to pull a random pose that totally throws off the whole picture every single time. Just like that time we were taking a team photo. Everyone was in the right position and smiling their best smiles. It was the perfect picture. But a split second before the flash went off, she was kneeling on one knee, head bent with her palms together above her head in one swift movement. I bet she would have her subjects pose in all kinds of strange, geometric positions as well.
But then again, she’s very optimistic and always has a different take on everything. That’s a good quality to have as a photographer. I can still remember the ridiculous story she rambled off to me about the dead cockroach in the corner of the wrestling room. It was out scavenging for food in the early morning light to bring back to its starving family when it was accidently stepped on by a passing groundskeeper. Weak, frail, and on the verge of death it slowly made its way back to its family who were patiently awaiting his return in the storage closet. But, alas, it never made it back and died a slow, despair-filled death in the corner, a mere 5 feet away from its home.
I can just imagine her snapping shots of the strangest things. Her noteworthy imagination would compliment her spontaneous frozen moments quite nicely I would think. I mean, sure, she’s weird, and everyone knows it. But then again, we’re all a little weird. People tend to think of her as an annoyance, a nuisance, but those who are closest to her know that that’s not true. Sure she can be quite an earful most times, but she’s also very funny and kind, and she knows how to have a good time.
“So what do you think?” her words bounced happily, interrupting my train of thought.
“In all honesty, I think it would suit you,” I admitted. “So what are you thinking of doing?”
“Well, for my portfolio, I wanted to do the all natural selfie,” she responded.
“The ‘all natural’ selfie?”
“Yeah. It’s gonna be a series of close-ups with the subject unaware that I’m taking the picture. So a series of sneak-attack pictures basically.” I laughed to myself.
“That sounds so like you. You should do it.”
Freedom or Stability?
I didn’t have the best life growing up. I lived in the slums with my single mother and five brothers and sisters. My mother would work three jobs, and even then it was barely enough to make ends meet. In the morning, while my mother was working at the coffee house on 23rd Street, I would drop off my two sisters and brother at the sitters, walk my remaining two brothers to their elementary and middle schools, and then make my way to my high school.
We had this routine down to the fly, and I always knew where everyone was at all times. I knew that every day after second period, my mother would be switching gears and heading over to her next shift at the dry cleaners. Then, around five, she would head over to the convenience store on the corner to start the night shift. I didn’t have the best life growing up. I lived in the slums with my single mother and five brothers and sisters. My mother would work three jobs, and even then it was barely enough to make ends meet. In the morning, while my mother was working at the coffee house on 23rd Street, I would drop off my two sisters and brother at the sitters, walk my remaining two brothers to their elementary and middle schools, and then make my way to my high school.
Immediately after eighth period, I would pack up all of my belongings and wait outside for my brothers to finish their school day. Then, on the way home, I would stop to pick up the three little ones from the sitter, give them a bath and prepare dinner. I had made it a goal to have everyone bathed, fed, homework done and in bed by nine thirty so that I would have time to do my own work.
On most days, I would have my homework finished by eleven, around the time that my mother would finish work. By then, I would have reheated the dinner so that it would be hot by the time she got home and washed all the dishes. This was our daily routine for about ten years, life for my children is so much different.
I still live in New York, but in a much nicer place. I’m married with three beautiful daughters and a husband who has a high-paying job. Life is a pretty sweet ride for them. My oldest daughter, Hannah, gets very good grades and does well in school, but lately, she has become a matter for concern.
Hannah’s friends aren’t the worst, but they’re not the best either. Sure, they’re decent kids who get average grades, but they’re always staying out late and going to parties. Hannah, of course, is always with them and wants to do whatever they are doing. She’s a good kid, but I feel like she isn’t making the right decisions when it comes to her future.
Recently, Hannah told me that she doesn’t see the need to go to college. When asked why she felt that way, she replied that none of her friends were going to college and that she didn’t want to waste any more of her youth going to school. Now, I know that this is just her going through that rebellious age, but I wanted to show her how her decisions and actions now could affect her in the future.
At first I wanted to set a curfew so that she wouldn’t stay out all night, but then I figured that it would only make things worse. Then I considered telling her the story about how I grew up and about how different her life was from mine at that age. Finally I decided on what to do. Instead of telling her about the struggles of the world, I would simply show it to her.
That day, I took Hannah to visit my youngest sister, Emily, who had just turned twenty-four. Emily, just like our mother, was a single parent with three kids. They lived in a worn down apartment in the “sketchy” part of town and had few possessions. Hannah had met her aunt and cousins before, but had never really known what their life was like.
While there, my sister and I shared some memories of our childhood together, both the good and bad, and we laughed at them both the same. When we got home that night, Hannah told me that she had decided what she wanted to do when she grew up. I smiled and asked her what it was that she wanted to do, and her answer surprised me. The next words out of her mouth were, “I want to make a difference.”
My Next-Door Neighbor
“Catch!” I yelled to my cousin as I threw the bright green ball. It whizzed through the air and as he jumped up to try to catch it, it flew right through his hands. The ball bounced on the concrete and rolled across the road. We stared in horror as it came to a stop on our neighbor’s lawn.
Our neighbor wasn’t the nicest person in the world. She was old and mean. Whenever we would sell things for school, she would always lock her door and yell that she didn’t want anything we were selling.
When we would play outside, she would stand in front of her enormous window and watch us through the slim of her shades. If and when our ball would land in her yard, she wouldn’t hesitate to yank up the shades and angrily shake her fist at us.
We didn’t like her, neither my cousins nor the other kids in the neighborhood. We would avoid her house at all costs. We even stopped going to her house on Halloween. But, on days like today, we had nowhere else to play but the street in front our house, and that is how this mess all started.
“Catch!” I yelled to my cousin as I threw the bright green ball. It whizzed through the air and as he jumped up to try to catch it, it flew right through his hands. The ball bounced on the concrete and rolled across the road. We stared in horror as it came to a stop on our neighbor’s lawn.
Our neighbor wasn’t the nicest person in the world. She was old and mean. Whenever we would sell things for school, she would always lock her door and yell that she didn’t want anything we were selling.
When we would play outside, she would stand in front of her enormous window and watch us through the slim of her shades. If and when our ball would land in her yard, she wouldn’t hesitate to yank up the shades and angrily shake her fist at us.
We didn’t like her, neither my cousins nor the other kids in the neighborhood. We would avoid her house at all costs. We even stopped going to her house on Halloween. But, on days like today, we had nowhere else to play but the street in front our house, and that is how this mess all started.
“Well, go and get it,” my brother whispered to my cousin.
“Me? Why me?” he protested. “She’s the one who threw it!” he yelled pointing his finger in my direction. Everyone stared at each other, and all was silent.
“Fine,” I stated, puffing out my chest. “I’ll go and get the ball.”
Ever so slowly I started in the direction of her lawn, my eyes constantly switching between my target and the ominous window before me. I reached the edge of the lawn and paused. The grass was so tidy and neat, not a weed in sight. I hesitated before stepping onto the grass and glanced back at the handful of kids waiting impatiently for the game to resume.
I had almost reached the spot where the ball had stopped when I heard something. The old metal door creaked on its hinges as the witch stepped out from her lair. I stood there frozen, petrified to even breathe. This is it, I thought. She’s going to drag me into her house and kill me.
I watched in horror as her shadow came around the driveway, expecting to see a menacingly sick grin on her wrinkled face. Her footsteps grew louder as she closed in on me, and before I knew it, there she stood. I was ready to turn and run when I noticed a small figure standing nervously behind her.
My gaze wandered from the child to my neighbor’s face. Her eternal scowl now a soft, gentle smile. “Hello there,” she started, her voice gentle and joyous. “This is my grandson, Blake. Can he play with you guys, too?” she asked.
“Umm…sure,” I said quickly grabbing the ball from the ground. “We’re playing catch.”
I watched as she knelt down beside this small child and held his hand. “You be a good boy now, okay?” she said gently but sternly.
“Okay, grandma!” the little boy exclaimed, throwing his little arms around his grandmother. When our game resumed, she was there in her usual spot, watching us from her window, but there was something different this time. She was smiling as she watched her grandson throw and catch the ball.
The View from the Top
Even after all these years, I still remember this place. I can remember all of the adventures I once shared here during my childhood. I was so adventurous back then. Sitting at the bottom of Giggle Hill, I began to reminisce about the past.
Back then I was so tiny. I remember staring into the forest, its tall, unwavering trees like a formidable army stretched out in front of me. As I enter the forest, I smell the thick scent of earth and pine needles. Wandering about, I feel the eerie presence of the shadows stalking me amongst the trees.
Finding my way out of the brush, I see the play structures, standing high above the ground like a grand castle. I remember the feel of wood chips crunching beneath my feet as I scoped out my surroundings. I discovered an entrance into the castle above a rock wall.
The great wall stood there menacingly, ascending to the heavens like a giant beanstalk. Teetering up the tall, treacherous tower, I managed to reach the highest point. I remember standing there in awe at what lay before me. I remember feeling the cool sensation of the brisk upcountry air gathering in my lungs, the salty sweet taste of sweat in my mouth. Bold, beautiful and breathtaking. Those are the only words I could muster up to describe what I saw that day, the only words to describe the view from the top.
“Me? Why me?” he protested. “She’s the one who threw it!” he yelled pointing his finger in my direction. Everyone stared at each other, and all was silent.
“Fine,” I stated, puffing out my chest. “I’ll go and get the ball.”
Ever so slowly I started in the direction of her lawn, my eyes constantly switching between my target and the ominous window before me. I reached the edge of the lawn and paused. The grass was so tidy and neat, not a weed in sight. I hesitated before stepping onto the grass and glanced back at the handful of kids waiting impatiently for the game to resume.
I had almost reached the spot where the ball had stopped when I heard something. The old metal door creaked on its hinges as the witch stepped out from her lair. I stood there frozen, petrified to even breathe. This is it, I thought. She’s going to drag me into her house and kill me.
I watched in horror as her shadow came around the driveway, expecting to see a menacingly sick grin on her wrinkled face. Her footsteps grew louder as she closed in on me, and before I knew it, there she stood. I was ready to turn and run when I noticed a small figure standing nervously behind her.
My gaze wandered from the child to my neighbor’s face. Her eternal scowl now a soft, gentle smile. “Hello there,” she started, her voice gentle and joyous. “This is my grandson, Blake. Can he play with you guys, too?” she asked.
“Umm…sure,” I said quickly grabbing the ball from the ground. “We’re playing catch.”
I watched as she knelt down beside this small child and held his hand. “You be a good boy now, okay?” she said gently but sternly.
“Okay, grandma!” the little boy exclaimed, throwing his little arms around his grandmother. When our game resumed, she was there in her usual spot, watching us from her window, but there was something different this time. She was smiling as she watched her grandson throw and catch the ball.
Even after all these years, I still remember this place. I can remember all of the adventures I once shared here during my childhood. I was so adventurous back then. Sitting at the bottom of Giggle Hill, I began to reminisce about the past.
Back then I was so tiny. I remember staring into the forest, its tall, unwavering trees like a formidable army stretched out in front of me. As I enter the forest, I smell the thick scent of earth and pine needles. Wandering about, I feel the eerie presence of the shadows stalking me amongst the trees.
Finding my way out of the brush, I see the play structures, standing high above the ground like a grand castle. I remember the feel of wood chips crunching beneath my feet as I scoped out my surroundings. I discovered an entrance into the castle above a rock wall.
The great wall stood there menacingly, ascending to the heavens like a giant beanstalk. Teetering up the tall, treacherous tower, I managed to reach the highest point. I remember standing there in awe at what lay before me. I remember feeling the cool sensation of the brisk upcountry air gathering in my lungs, the salty sweet taste of sweat in my mouth. Bold, beautiful and breathtaking. Those are the only words I could muster up to describe what I saw that day, the only words to describe the view from the top.
No comments:
Post a Comment