Santa's Mistake

It was almost Christmas, and Santa was hurriedly finishing up his toy-making, checking that everything was labeled with the correct name and address. After pulling yet another all-nighter, Santa collapsed into his favourite armchair. Mrs. Claus took one look at her poor, tired out husband and shook her head.

                “You’re tiring yourself out too much dear,” she said. “I think you should take a break. Rest for a few days – go somewhere warm and sunny. The elves and I can take care of the business.”

                Santa gave a big yawn and shook his head.

                “I can’t leave now! Christmas is coming in a few days! I can’t stop now!”

                Mrs. Claus was insistent. “You can’t go on like this,” she told him. “If you don’t rest soon, you’re going to end up giving all the presents to all the wrong children! Think of what a mess THAT would be. Besides. It doesn’t have to be long. Just a few days of rest. You’ll come back refreshed and all the more ready to work hard again!”

                Santa gave a big sigh, rubbed his eyes, and thought about arguing, but he was far too tired. “Alright, fine,” he conceded. “But only for a few days.” And with that, he promptly fell asleep.

                Mrs. Claus and the elves quickly put a suitcase together for Santa and prepared the reindeer. Mrs. Claus whispered to Rudolph to take Santa somewhere warm and sunny, and, with the sleepy old elf snoring away in the back, the reindeer set off for summery Australia.

               When Santa woke up, he was quite refreshed. He hadn’t had such a good sleep in days. He felt energized for once, ready to get some more toys together. What’s more, his alarm clock hadn’t even rung yet! He wondered why he felt so awake, even before 6 in the morning. He opened his eyes, and nearly jumped though the roof.

                He was in an unfamiliar room with white walls and a low-hanging lantern.  Unfamiliar framed paintings hung on the walls. There was a TV across from the bed, and a PlayStation controller sitting on top of it. The room was plain and dark compared to the bright, colorful bedroom in Santa’s Workshop. Next to the bed, the digital clock read 9:34AM.

                Where was he?! After a few seconds of panic that he had been abducted, Santa vaguely remembered the exchange he had had with his wife the previous day. It all seemed fuzzy now, like a dream… something to do with taking a break. So that hadn’t been a dream. Santa whistled to his reindeer. It was time to go back – he felt refreshed from his over-three-hour beauty sleep, and there was no more time to lose. After three distinct calls, though, the reindeer still didn’t show up. Santa sighed, sat back down on the bed, and pulled out his cell phone.

                Before speed-dialing Mrs. Claus, he noticed the “location” icon in the top left hand corner of the screen. Sydney, Australia, it read. Santa was furious. How could his wife have sent him all the way to Australia?! There was so much to do! He had to get back to the North Pole straight away.

                Simon the head elf picked up the phone. “Good evening! This is Santa’s Workshop, how may I help you?” he said in a cheery voice.

                “Put Mrs. Claus on the phone, Simon!” Santa yelled into the phone, his usually friendly voice rather intimidating as a result of his frustration. “I should be back at the North Pole, not in the middle of Australia!”

                “Well, actually, Sir,” replied Simon, “Firstly, Mrs. Claus has given orders not to let you come back until at least a day, and secondly, you’re actually pretty close to the coast of Australia, not in the middle of it. Oh look, here she comes now… oh. Sorry. I have to hang up now. Enjoy your vacation!”

                Simon cut the connection before Santa could respond. He redialed the workshop several times, but no one picked up. Mrs. Claus must have turned on the caller ID. She could be so stubborn sometimes. Santa realized there was no going back to the workshop, at least not today. He decided to pass the time by exploring the city – after all, he was in the capital of Australia. Perhaps a respite would do him good.

                Santa went out for a walk on the street. The elves had been kind enough to pack extra clothes for him, and he was grateful to be able to wander the sunny city in shorts and t-shirt instead of his heavy, faux-fur-covered Christmas suit.

                Sydney actually wasn’t a bad place to be. The weather was great, a warm change from the cold, icy climate of the North Pole. Santa had ended up in a Holiday Inn, and could see the Sydney Opera house a little ways away. He decided to check it out – Santa had always enjoyed the opera. Half an hour later, Santa Claus was standing in front of the Sydney Opera House, admiring the quirky architecture. He trekked up the steps and went in to see if there was an interesting show he could attend. To his delight, there were three shows playing that day. Santa decided to pick one about Pinnochio – the others were about Christmas, and he felt he’d feel guilty if they depicted him as the hardworking, jolly old elf he usually was. The show didn’t start until 3 in the afternoon. Santa decided to pass the time by strolling around, discovering the city of Australia. He had never been here before – he was always too preoccupied with the children of North America. 

                Sydney turned out to be a rather charming city. It was bustling with people, but Santa was used to the crowds – his own workshop always had traffic jams and crowds of elves rushing around, frantically getting down all the Christmas wish lists and toys matched up. The only difference here was that there were people his height bustling around, rather than tiny elves running around, the bells atop their hats sometimes brushing against his protruding belly.

                Santa had an amazing time in the city. He went to see the Royal Botanic Gardens, and then toured the zoo for a while before realizing the time and rushing back to catch his Pinnochio show. Afterwards, he decided to go to one of the fancy restaurants for dinner, and enjoyed a belly-pleasing meal. After dinner, the Australian Museum was already closed, but Santa wanted to visit it so badly he decided to stay one more day. He went back to the hotel room, ordered a little snack from room service, and worked on the condensed version of his Naughty-Nice list that was stored on his phone for a while before turning off the light and going to sleep.

                The next day, Santa enjoyed a complimentary continental breakfast. He visited the Australian Museum, has he had planned, and also discovered the Art Gallery of New South Wales, which took up his entire afternoon. In the early evening, after another hearty dinner, he went back to the Opera House to catch a performance by the Sydney Symphony. During the intermission, he looked at his phone to see the time. 9:30PM, it read. 12/24.

                December 24^th?! Santa couldn’t hold back his gasp. It was Christmas Eve! How long had he been in Australia? He ran out of the Opera House and whistled for his reindeer, crossing his fingers and hoping with all his might that they would come. Fortunately, he saw the comforting glow of Rudolph’s nose right after his whistle. The sleigh was all ready to go as well. Santa gave Rudolph a great big kiss on the nose before jumping into the sleigh, calling to all of them to rise back up into the sky and shoot off towards the first stop, New York City.

                Santa felt as if he had never given out presents so quickly. It seemed like it only took him one second a neighborhood – into the house, out of the house, next house, repeat. By the time his phone’s clock read 4AM, he was heading back to the North Pole.

                When he finally got home, quite proud of himself for his quick delivery, Santa was greeted with a frantic Mrs. Claus.

                “The sleigh has been stolen!” She cried out. “I had all the presents loaded for tonight already! What are we going to do!?”

                Santa was confused. “Tonight? Today is Christmas Day. I took the sleigh – I had to do my job!”

                Now it was Mrs. Claus’ turn to be confused. “It’s December 24^th today,” she said.

                “No, it’s the 25^th,” Santa replied. He took out his phone to prove it. “See?” He unlocked the phone just in time to see the “location” icon change from Sydney, Australia to Santa’s Workshop, the North Pole. With that came another change – to the time and date: The clock now read 9:27AM 12/24.

                Santa was quite distraught. “Oh, darn these time differences! You mean I just delivered all those presents a day early?!” Mrs. Claus tried to calm him down.

                “Well, look on the bright side. It’ll be a wonderful surprise.”

                Santa still felt miserable. He had never made such a big mistake! Though, he did admit it was better than getting all the presents to all the wrong children. What a mess THAT would have been.

                Mrs. Claus gave Santa a hug and suggested they all go inside the house. “It’s been a rough year for you,” she said. “I’m sure no one will complain too much about it.”

                Santa sighed yet again and slumped into his armchair. He turned on the news.

                “This just in,” the reporter was saying, “Children are confused yet ecstatic about early appearance of Christmas presents as scientists are baffled by a sudden surge of UFO sightings.”

                Well, the children are happy, at least, Santa thought to himself. Perhaps I can be happy I made it an intriguing Christmas, if not a well-organized one. 

Putting the PUSH in APUSH

An hour before the doors are expected to open, a large crowd has already gathered in front of the building. People are sitting on the stairs, milling around, talking to each other. One apparently very bored person has found a garbage can, and is banging on it loudly. Some people peek through the windows, complaining about why they should be allowed to go in already. All the people are there, waiting for one thing in particular. At 3:15, the door cracks open. The crowd surges towards it, nearly trampling a few people sitting on the stairs who are slow to get up. From the outskirts of the crowd, it’s hard to see exactly what happens, but after a few seconds of frenzied rushing, the door closes again. The people are forced to back up; someone cries out as they are almost pushed off the stairs. The people stay standing, ready to rush any second, unsure of how soon the door would open again. A few minutes later, after the crowd has dispersed a little, the door opens again – and the same thing happens. The big rush is only met with another closing of the door. The pushing and shoving seems a little dangerous – the stairs are quite narrow, and the pushing sometimes seems unnecessarily forceful. Once the doors close again, the crowd grumbles, confused, and begins to notice the cool temperature. The third time the doors open, the crowd doesn’t rush in so quickly. Two people from inside the building stand by the doors, yelling for the people to enter calmly, without pushing and shoving each other. The pushing and shoving tones down to rather forceful nudging and jostling as the crowd squeezes into the building.

It is a scene resembles that of a store right before it opens on Black Friday. Comments float around, comparing it to early morning department store openings. But it is Tuesday night, the week after Thanksgiving. The people gathered are all high school students, eager for one thing in particular. But it isn’t a tangible object. 

Oh, the (a)pushing apushers will do for 10 points of extra credit... :P

Le Chien, Le Chat et La Tortue

Une fable

On sait que le chien peut nager, mon cher

Et le pauvre chat ne peut pas le faire.

Mais pourquoi comme ça ? Tu m’as demandé

Alors maintenant, je vais te montrer

Un jour le bon chien et le chat marchaient

Quand dans le sable, quelque chose a bougé

Intéressés, ils se sont arrêtés

Ils l’ont écouté, ils l’ont regardé

Et tout de suite, qu’est-ce qui a apparu ?

Bien, à leur surpris, c’était une tortue !

Elle était verte, vielle, aussi très sage

Elle paraît qu’elle a fait un grand voyage

Faible, elle n’a pas de force pour trouver

Pour survivre, ce qu’elle a dû manger

Le chien, sympa, l’a aidé tous les jours

Le chat, il n’a pris aucun de ses tours

Chien a trouvé tous les choses qu’elle mangeait

Le Chat a dit, je ne dois pas l’aider !

Un jour il y avait un grand orage

Les animaux n’ont pas vu les nuages

Chien et chat, les deux n’ont pas pu nager

Pas comme Tortue, ils étaient en danger

Tortue, qui était contente dans l’eau

A mis sur la tête une grande, noire chapeau

« Je suis magique, » elle a dit lentement

Pour un, je peux faire un petit changement

Chien, tu as fait beaucoup pour moi, merci.

Bon chat, pourquoi dois-je t’aider ici ?

Quand j’étais faible, le chien m’a aidé

Mais quant à toi, cher Chat, tu n’a rien fait

Donc Tortue a dit des mots lentement

Et Chien a pu nager soudainement

Tortue et Chien, nageant, ont regardé

Comme Chat, par l’eau, était loin emporté.

Alors, tu comprends mon cher ? Tu vois ?

Soit bon aux autres, ils vont faire la même pour toi.

Journal (or Stream of Consciousness)

Sumer camps in winter days and

Skiing all the way from June to May

Write in journal every day

So much detail, every action: this, then, this

Forgot something – add it in

Happy sadness jealously in censored pages

Read the words, relive the days

Summer camps in winter days and

Skiing all the way from June to May

Write in journal every day

Callingwood, Earl Buxton, Mall

Popsicle recipe, camera assembly

Spelling mistake and grammar error

Oh, just learn about sentence structure

Summer camps in winter days and

Skiing all the way from June to May

Write in journal every day

Going places, Jasper, Banff

Cabin stays at horseback trails

Some stay constant – little panda,

Lots of novels, baby blanket

Summer camps in winter days and

Skiing all the way from June to May

Write in journal every day

Image of the house is fading

Enter, piano, stairs, then dining

Blank out – living room, kitchen, look up

Upstairs bedroom mine, then theirs

No wait – that’s now. Before disappears

Summer camps in winter days and

Skiing all the way from June to May

Write in journal every day

End of journal, half filled blank

Close the book and open window

Wonder where they all are now

Haiku Definitions

Happiness is

                Knowing what to do

                Being with all my good friends

                Full of distraction

Pride is

                Accomplishing things

                Reaching a hard-to-reach goal  

                Don’t feel it too much

Disappointment is

                Going not as planned

                Failing to do what I want

                Should have done better

Confusion is

                What should I do now?

                WTH is going on?

                Feel it all the time

To Do List

Ever lengthening things to do

This thing, that thing, and that one too

Satisfaction in crossing things out

Add some more to complain about

Tasks laid out all organized

First this then that, can’t be surprised

Finish one thing then suddenly think

Also have to give Pepper a drink

Like a shape-shifter always changing

Helps me with my life-arranging

What was I doing? Look back at list

Oh right, I should be practicing Liszt

Forgetfulness is a weak spot

This list is the thing I got 

Le Cadeau

C'est pour mes devoirs de français, mais ça m'est égal :)

C’était Samedi matin, et les deux petites filles étaient très heureuses. Grand-père était en traine de venir ! Elles aimaient beaucoup quand leur grand-père est venu chez eux, parce que Grand-père aimait raconter beaucoup de bonnes histoires. Et qu’est-ce qui c’est même plus meilleur, c’était que Grand-père apportait toujours des cadeaux pour les deux petites enfants.  Caroline et Mathilde ne pouvait pas attendre pour son visite.

Vingt-minutes plus tard, la cloche a sonné. Caroline et Mathilde a couru très vite vers la porte pour l’ouvrir.

« Grand-père !! » elles ont crié en voyant leur grand-père. Il avait une grande sourire sur le visage, et il a donné une grande baisser à chaque fille. La mère des filles a apparaît et a demandé à tout le monde à rentrer à la maison. Caroline a tendu la main de Grand-père et l’a amène au fauteuil.

« Racontez une histoire !! » a dit Mathilde.

« Oui, une histoire ! » a ajouté Caroline.

« Laissent votre pauvre grand-père décontracter un peu avant lui demander pour une histoire ! » a dit leur mère, en rigolant.

« Ce n’est pas grave, » a dit Grand-père. « J’ai une bonne histoire que je veux raconter. Les histoires sont le plus importantes, n’est-ce pas ? Je peux décontracter après.»

«D’accord, » Grand-père a commencé.

« Il était une fois, il y avait un petit garçon qui habitait avec sa tante, son oncle et son cousin. Il n’habitait pas avec ses parents, parce qu’ils étaient morts quand il avait un an. Le petit garçon ne le savait pas, mais il n’était un garçon normal. En fait, il était extraordinaire. Pourquoi ? C’est parce qu’il était un sorcier ! Mais Il ne le savait pas parce que son oncle et sa tante n’aimaient pas la magique. Ils avaient essayé de cacher la vérité du petit garçon, et ils avaient dit au garçon que ses parents étaient morts à cause d’un accident de voiture… »

« Hé ! » a crié Caroline. « Ca ce n’est pas une vraiment histoire ! C’est Harry Potter ! »

Grand-père a ri.

« Oh, désolé, Caroline. Je n’ai pas su que tu avais déjà lu cette histoire ! »

« Mais grand-père ! » a dit Mathilde. «C’était vous qui nous avons donné les romans ! Vous devez bien savoir que nous l’avons déjà lu… Vous nous l’avez lu ! »

« Oui, oui, je rigole, » Grand-père a admis. « Mais j’ai une raison de raconter cette histoire. Attendez ici. » Il s’est levé et est allé à son sac. Les deux filles essaient deviner qu’est-ce qu’il fera pendant il cherchait pour quelque chose dans le sac. Grand-père a trouvé qu’est-ce qu’il a cherché : deux boîtes longues et marrons. Les filles ne pouvaient pas croire leurs yeux. Elles ont pris les boîtes et les ouverts très rapidement. C’était qu’est-ce qu’elles ont voulu pour longtemps : des baguettes magiques ! Les filles ont embrassé leur grand-père et lui ont remercié sans cesse. Quand leur maman a retourné à la salle à séjour, elle était surprise à voir ses enfants avec des bâtons en riant avec son père.

« Maman ! Regardez ! » A crié Mathilde. « Je suis une sorcière ! »

« Grand-père, » a dit Caroline. « Ca c’est le plus meilleur cadeau que vous nous avez donné ! »

Performance

It’s my turn to play. My heart beats fast as I get up from the chair, remember at the last second to take off my sweater and walk the short distance up the steps of the stage to the piano. I take a bow and sit at the grand piano.

My hands are shaking a little, thought I know that I can play this piece very well. All of a sudden, I think of all the things that could go wrong. I messed up on that section today when I was practicing. Sometimes I don’t hit those chords right. I imagine pushing the thoughts out of the way and shutting a heavy door in front of them. I take a deep breath and start to play.

The song starts slowly, and I feel like I’m playing especially slow as the metronome of my heart speeds up even more. I force myself to stay at tempo, imagining my mechanical metronome at home ticking out the beat.

As the song progresses, my apprehensive thoughts stop pounding on the door I slammed in front of them, and begin to disappear. I imagine them walking away, shoulders hunched with disappointment. I stop thinking about each individual key, and start to enjoy the music, letting my fingers play freely. I start to think about the CD recording of this song I listened to in the car, and imagine myself playing just like it. My thoughts begin to wander to other things, like the cake that we’ll get to eat after the recital, and the lit essay I have to work on when I get back home. When I start drifting too far away, I quickly give myself a mini mental slap and remind myself to focus.

The fast part of the song comes up, and I play a little faster than usual. Part of my brain is surprised that I’m playing this fast, and this makes the unhappy thoughts stop in their tracks and look back hopefully at the shut door. My fingers continue to play the song while part of me tries to say, “Slow down!” part of me says, “Go ahead!” and part of me is reinforcing the lock on the heavy door, for those thoughts are heading back to try to break in. Fortunately, I manage to keep everything going smoothly.

As the song nears its end, I become a little excited. Almost done, and no mistakes! I quickly admonish myself again, for I have to actually finish before I can celebrate. The thought that I am not entirely sure of the last note of the song slips through the crack under the heavy, closed door, but I shove it outside again and keep playing.

I hit the last chord and let it ring out. The thoughts have stopped trying to break down the door, and the part of me that was on the other side is pointing and laughing at the bad thoughts as they shrivel up and disappear for good. My heart’s still beating fast, but it’s no longer out of nervousness. I get up from the piano, take a final bow, and walk back to my seat. 

Moving

The music pounds in my ears louder than I usually like it, but today I don’t care. I try to keep my mind on the music as I throw clothes in to the cardboard box, trying not to think of what the boxes mean. Sophomore year had just ended, and I should be ecstatic, hanging out with my friends at Jollyman Park or at someone’s house, enjoying the first few moments of summertime freedom. Instead, however, I was stuck inside, helping my parents pack for our big move.

Move. The word hadn’t meant much to me before. “Move out of the way” meant taking half a step to the side to let someone pass. “Move it here” meant clicking and dragging a portion of a photo project from one corner of an 11-inch screen to the other. I never realized the word could have this other meaning: “We’re moving.” Meaning leaving this house. And not just to a different neighborhood, or even to a different city in California. My family and I were going to leave the country altogether.

Granted, Canada is probably the least foreign a foreign country can get. But still, leaving Cupertino, my home for all 15 years of my life, to some random city in Alberta, Canada was pretty unnerving. My mother had informed me of the decision a month ago, mumbling something about “Dad” and “job” as an afterthought. At the time, I had been so preoccupied with studying for finals that it hadn’t completely hit me that we were actually going to move. So it wasn’t until after I came home from my last final this afternoon, and finally took notice of the multitude of brown cardboard boxes that lay around the house, that I suddenly realized the reality. We couldn’t be leaving. There must be a different reason for the boxes. The return plane tickets must be hiding somewhere underneath those passports. The goodbye party we were going to go to this evening was just a joke.

But it wasn’t a bad dream. We really are going to leave the next morning. And that is why I was in my room, blasting music while grudgingly picking and packing up my belongings.

After all the boxes are packed up and duck taped, I sit on the floor in the middle of my room and look around at the emptiness. With my bed gone, you can see the little dent in the wall that had been covered up by a multitude of plushies. The dent was the result of my head hitting the drywall when I was seven, an excited child eager to show my mom the great amusement found in running up and jumping up onto the tall bed. I smiled at the memory. After I had hit the wall, I had laughed as my mother freaked out, thinking I had suffered a concussion. Fortunately, the only real damage had been to the wall. My eye wandered to the tiny holes in the wall right above my desk. In my mind’s eye, I put the nails and the whiteboard that used to hang from them back on the wall. I could almost see all my reminders, in pen or on sticky notes, covering the once-white, but eventually green-tinted board.

I try to imagine a new room. Empty and white, no colorful posters on the walls to cover the blank canvas of wall paint. My mother, seeing the sorry state of the old whiteboard, had decided it was time to throw it away, promising me a new whiteboard when we got to the new house. A new white board, too, would be as white as the snow that would fall heavily during the winter.

Thoughts of snow cheered me up a little. Here, the only snow that ever came fell on the very tips of the mountains a little ways away. Our family went skiing every winter at Lake Tahoe, but it was a snowy respite that only lasted less than a week every year. My mother told me that there were two small ski resorts less than half an hour away from the new house; that would mean I could go skiing for perhaps four months rather than four days.

Thinking of winter makes me think of figure skating. I have been skating ever since second grade, so looking for a new club to join had been one of the priorities on the moving to-do list. The club my mom had found seemed pretty cool. They usually practiced in an ice rink in West Edmonton Mall, one of the biggest malls in North America. Apparently there are also at least three other ice rinks in that area. I wonder if there will be outdoor rinks too. The one time my friends and I went to skate at the outdoor rink in San Jose, the ice had been melting and was more of a pool than the ice rink by the time we were ready to leave. I figure colder weather would mean actually frozen ice rinks. Perhaps some day one of my friends from over here could come over and we could go skating outside.

Friends. Leaving everyone is the hardest part of moving. The school I am going to go to has a total population of about 400 students, less than the number of people in just my grade in my school here. Smaller classes seems like it could be a nice thing. Maybe then I’d be able to get to know everyone in my class by more than just their names. Of course, I will still keep in touch with all my friends in California with the help of email and facebook.

When my mother calls me to say we have to go, I turn off the music and run downstairs. It’s sad to leave all my friends, but I’m not so sad anymore. Perhaps Canada won’t be so bad after all. 

Caligramme

Les Humains

Les humains, ils sont très grands

Quelquefois je les comprends

Mais d’habitude, désolé mais je pense

Qu’ils n’ont pas beaucoup de sens

Tous les jours, nous allons marcher

Mais ils n’aiment pas quand je sniffer

Ils disent que la promenade est pour moi

Mais quand je vois quelque chose ici, ils me tirent là bas

Ils passent les jours à qui-sait-où

En général, je dors et c’est tout

Quelquefois j’aboie aux écureuils

Ils ne les entendent pas, ils n’ont pas de bonnes oreilles

Ils mangent beaucoup de bons aliments

Mes repas, il n’y a jamais de changement

C’est la même chose pour deux repas par journée

La nourriture ne va jamais changer

Ils jouent avec moi, c’est très amusant

Sauf quand ils me laissent, c’est plaisant

Ils jettent le ballon, et je l’attrape

Je le retourne, mais c’est une trappe !

Ça ce n’est pas grave, c’est un bon jeu

Je ne suis pas vieux, je peux courir, mon dieu

Dis, je ne me plaigne, mais je demande :

S’ils ne le veulent pas, pourquoi je le rends ?

The Visit

[Woo, finally another story :)]

They told me a group of high school students would be coming in that day, and that they would be bringing their pets for something called “pet therapy.” I had been so excited for that day; I had been in the hospital for so long I had nearly forgotten why I was there in the first place. I had owned many pets as a young girl, but I had not held one of those small fury critters for what seemed like forever. So, early that morning, when I heard the excited yaps of puppies, the twitters of parakeets, and the soft, nearly indistinguishable mews of kittens, I was ready to finally have an exciting day in the hospital. I painfully moved my legs to one side of the bed, patting down the sheet, making room for a dog or a cat. I glanced at the door every few minutes, willing it to open. Yet, after what seemed like an hour, no one showed up. I began to worry; what if they had forgotten me? What if I was destined to stay here, alone, only able to hear what would have been warming sounds of the animals?

                Finally, I heard a quiet knock at the door, the soft click of claws on the linoleum floor outside. The door cracked open, and a young girl peered inside.

                “Hi, are you Miss Dehatin?” the girl asked.

                “Why yes I am,” I replied. “Please, come in,” I said, gesturing to the cushioned chair by the foot of the bed.

                The girl opened the door wider, revealing a small blonde lhasa apso staring intently at a cookie crumb on the floor.

                “Come on Mosey,” the girl said to the dog, gently pulling on the leash to coax him into the room. “Come on, we’re going to say hi to this nice lady.”

                Grudgingly, the dog left his cookie crumb, and followed the girl into the room. She walked over to the bed but didn’t sit down, playing with the leash nervously as if she were unsure of what to do. The girl wore a too-big t-shirt, glasses, and two pigtails. She looked so young – is that really how high school students are? Those days seemed so far in the past. The little dog sniffed around, nosing the bed, the dresser, the chair.

                “So, uh, I’m Lisa, and this is Mosey. He’s a lhasa apso,” the girl said.

                “And I’m Gwendolyn,” I said, smiling. “Why don’t you sit down? That visitor’s chair is barely used.”

                Lisa sat down, but still looked as if she were unsure of what to do. Her eyes flickered between the bed and Mosey, who was taking the opportunity to explore every dustless corner of the room. While he was sniffing around, Lisa told me about herself and her dog.

                Mosey was a two year old lhasa apso who still thought he was a puppy. He had come into Lisa’s life two Christmases ago, as a tiny six-week old ball of fur. He loved to sniff everything he saw, smelt, or heard, which had earned him the nickname Nosey Mosey. Lisa herself was a ninth grader at Tempo School, a small private school not far from the hospital. She had recently moved to California from Montana the summer before. I must have looked surprised, for she looked at my expression quizzically. I, too, had lived in Montana, I explained. In fact, I had lived in the same little town until I turned 18, and went off to college.

                Once I started speaking, it was as if I couldn’t stop. I had not had a visitor in months; I lived alone, and my family was scattered around the country, around the world. I spouted out my life story, reminiscing about my first day of high school, my time in college, the time we went camping, the year the temperature dropped so low that one could not go outside without wearing at least three sweaters and a parka… And through it all, Lisa listened, saying little, but not zoning out, either. I felt as if I should stop speaking, allow her to talk more, perhaps about Mosey, perhaps about herself, perhaps about something entirely different, but I had not told these stories in such a long time, and they just kept pouring out, one after another. With every story, I lived that little part of my life over again. I almost felt as if I were sitting in room 2104 again, giving that presentation I had not known about at all. I felt myself shiver in the warm room while describing the snowy winter my husband and I went camping. I could hear the welcoming yaps of Charlie, the cocker spaniel I had had when I was a teenager. Every story reminded me of another, and I surprised even myself as I began telling about random points in my life, like the first time I went in for a job interview, and the time I got mad at my boss, yelled, “I quit!” and stormed out, only come back in an hour later and ask if I really had quit or if I could go back to work. By the time I finished speaking, nearly two and a half hours had passed. By now, Mosey had exhausted the room of things to sniff, so he had jumped on the bed to take a nap. I stroked his head without really paying attention, but I still managed to notice and enjoy the soft silkiness of his fur.

After my final story had drawn to a close, I said, “I’ve been talking far too much, and you’ve barely said anything. So tell me, how did Mosey get his name?”

Mosey was actually short for Mozart, the famous Austrian composer. The first time the puppy had walked into Lisa’s house, Mozart’s Symphony 25 had been playing. The little puppy walked directly to the music player, and sat on it for the duration of the song. The next track was Antonio Salieri’s Symphony in D – but at the first notes of this piece, the puppy had jumped vertically in the air and run away! Lisa, in seeing this spectacle, joked that the puppy must be a reincarnation of Mozart, and disapproved of the Italian composer. The name stuck, until Lisa’s younger brother Mark decided that Mozart was too hard to say, and began referring to the dog as Mosey. This name caught on, and eventually Mozart was introduced to all as Mosey.

It seemed as if the continuous story-telling was contagious, for Lisa began recounting Mosey’s numerous adventures, which included eating two chocolate bars, discovering a bird’s nest in the backyard, and many other instances in which his nose led to trouble.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and the half hour that had been left of the visiting time did just that. Lisa got up from her chair, and after I had given him one last pat on the head, helped Mosey jump off the bed.

Once she had left, I closed my eyes and lay my head back on the pillow. I wished I had done more than just said “Thanks for coming.” Lisa had done much more for me than she probably imagined. She had listened patiently to me, a silly old lady, tell life stories that probably had nothing to do with her own life. She had given me two important things I had not had while in the hospital: someone to talk to, and a little dog to pet and play with. We had met as strangers, and technically still were. Yet after those short three hours, I felt as if I had made a new friend. 

Escape

The day hadn’t been one of her best. Come to think of it, the whole week had bounced between tiring and uneventful. Her head was beginning to hurt, a product of rather dismal thoughts filling her head and the effects of looking at the computer screen for too long. All of a sudden she closes the computer. It’s time for a change. She walks briskly out of her room and down the stairs her piano.

                She sits on the bench and pulls down a binder full of sheet music from the top of the piano. She flips through it quickly, searching for one song in particular, then starts to play.

                The first few notes come out harsh and unfeeling, mirroring the stinging thoughts that preoccupy her mind. She tries to push those thoughts away, telling herself to focus on the music. Gradually, the sounds become much more musical. She clears her mind of all things except the music she plays, carefully shaping every phrase, following every dynamic marking. At the end of the piece, she lets the last cord ring out longer than usual, enjoying the way it extinguished the stifling stillness of the otherwise silent house.  

                She begins to play another piece, this time from memory. It is a song that she has known for a very long time; she closes her eyes and lets her fingers dance across the keyboard by themselves. In her mind, she pictures a green field with tall grass, a tall oak tree giving shade from the shining sun. A single flower in the center of the field waves in the light breeze in time with the music. Eventually, this song, too, comes to an end, and the green field begins to fade. She immediately starts on another song, also from memory, for she doesn’t want to have to stop playing to find sheet music. The image of the field appears in her mind’s eye again, this time with more trees and small squirrels scampering around them. As she plays the runs, the squirrels zoom up and down the tree trunks.

                And so she continues, playing one song after another, wishing she would never have to stop. For the music creates a haven of happiness, a place where the downsides of life all disappear. Before long, it has already been more than forty-five minutes. A glance at the clock reminds her responsibilities, but before trudging back upstairs to her room full of homework, she starts on the first song she played again. This time, the field turns into a stage; she sees dancers twirling and leaping in synchrony as the music fills the air. Not wanting the song to end, she melds the ending with the middle and repeats her favorite section of the piece. When she does reach the end of the song, she lets the last cord sing out, just like the first time. This time, though, the song had sounded relaxed and musical from the very beginning.

                She closes the binder and puts it back on top of the piano. She turns off the light, and closes the lid of the piano. As she sits down to get back to schoolwork, the music still plays faintly in her head.  

Thoughts

They’re everywhere, all around

In the fire, water, air and ground

Born in an instant, growing fast

Concerning present, future, and past

Some grow slowly, sapling to tree

Their roots forever stay within me

Some simply come on command

Others need more than one’s demand

At times they stay in their rightful places

Orderly, like yearbook faces

At others they come surging, blurry and rushing

From different directions, converging and crashing

It’s hard to find the broken-winged key

In the mass of others that only confuse me

At the touch of the broom

The others suddenly begin to zoom

Reeling everywhere, getting in the way

To catch the one I want takes all day

All of a sudden, all grows still

The room is a bare window sill

Searching from basement to loft

Nothing’s there; they have all left

Eventually they do return

Like the phoenix, they rise after a burn

They always return, for they’re never truly gone

They’ll exist until all life is done

The First Day

 “Mommy, why do you have to go?” Jenny looked up at her mother, her little four-year-old eyes as wide as she could make them, pleading her to stay. “I don’t want to be alone!”

Jenny’s mother knelt down next to her daughter and put a hand on the little girl’s back. “You’re a big girl now, Jenny,” she said. “You have to go to kindergarten by yourself. Besides, you won’t be alone. There are fourteen other kids your age that you can play with!” She gave a comforting smile and gave Jenny a hug. “Mommy will be back at 2:30.” With that, she turned around and headed towards the front door of the school, waving once more before turning out of sight.  

  Jenny felt a tear build up in the corner of her eye. She had never been away from her mother for more than a few hours. As Jenny trudged up the carpeted ramp to Room 17, she tried to think how long it would be before she saw her mother again. 9, 10, 11, 12… 2:30 seemed so far away.

The door to Room 17 was held open by a young woman with short brown hair and a friendly smile. She introduced herself to Jenny as Ms. Hill, the kindergarten teacher. After Jenny told Ms. Hill her name, she was given an apple-shaped name tag with a piece of tape on the back and told to find a desk to claim as her own.

There weren’t very many other children in the classroom when Jenny went in. There was a little boy sitting in a desk in the back, eyes glued to the screen of a game boy. Another two girls in the middle of the classroom sat together, giggling. Jenny picked a desk on the far side of the classroom, next to a bookshelf and the window. She plopped her yellow Magic School Bus backpack down onto the floor and stuck the name tag to the front of her desk. Jenny scanned the bookshelf beside her, and then picked out a storybook that said, “Max and His Cat.” It was a story about a boy named Max and all the adventures he had with his cat, George.  Even though she had read the story before, Jenny wanted to do something to make the time pass quicker. The other books on the shelf looked too hard to read, anyway.

Other kids trickled into the classroom, but Jenny didn’t pay them much attention. She kept on reading the book, sometimes pausing to think for a while when she had forgotten what a word meant. After a few pages, Jenny noticed someone sit down at the desk beside her. She kept reading, but the feeling of being watched continually grew stronger. Finally, she put down the book and turned.

A dark-haired boy with glasses that almost took up his entire face was leaning over the side of his desk, staring at her with his arms crossed and resting on the edge of her desk.

“Hi,” he said loudly.

“Hi,” Jenny replied a little uncertainly.

“What’s your name?”

“Jenny”

“Have I seen you before?”

“No.”

The boy frowned and pulled back onto his own desk. “I though I’ve seen you somewhere before,” he said. “Oh well. I’m Jack. What’s your name again?”

Jenny told him.  

“That’s cool. My name starts with a J too. How old are you?”

And so the two continued on until everyone else had arrived, Jack talking almost incessantly, only pausing long enough for Jenny to give a one-word answer to his questions. Jenny found it fascinating how someone could talk for so long without stopping. Eventually, the teacher called for everyone to turn their attention to the front of the room for a while.

“D’you want to play with me later, Jenny?” asked Jack.  Jenny nodded. Jack smiled and turned around in his seat.

Jenny shifted her attention to the teacher as well. I made a new friend, she thought to herself. Maybe school wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

A trip down memory lane

While looking around on Windows Explorer, I came across some pieces of writing that I did a long time ago. These two pieces made me laugh... I honestly can't remember writing either of these. But anyhow, here is a story and a poem I wrote, unedited, in the far-back year of 2006 :)

Pepper

When we first got him, he looked like a rat.

But now that he’s older, I think he’s a cat!

He ate all his food in a blink of an eye,

And once I had watched him, my response was, “Oh, My!”

He can catch flies and things,

And eats them up too,

He goes on the carpet,

He thinks it’s the loo.

The reason why I

Think he is a cat

Is because one day he

Jumped on the table mat

But of course that would never, ever please me!

But Pepper’s a pup,

A sweet little one too,

He just has some drawbacks

You’d love Pepper too. 

Pepper as a tiny little puppy... now he's older and much, much bigger

An Everlasting Friendship 

“Hurry up!” laughed Alexandra as Kayla ran faster as she tried to catch up to her friend. They were in Kayla’s neighbourhood, in Sherwood Park, Alberta, Canada. Kayla lived on an acreage. When Kayla caught up, Alex slowed down to a walk. Talking and laughing together, they walked and ran back to Kayla’s house.

It was interesting how the two had only known each other for about two years. Their friendship seemed like it had lasted for a lifetime. The two had met in grade five, at a school called Tempo. It was a private school in Edmonton, Alberta. They had both been the “new kids”. Two other girls, Jessica Redmond and Juliet Verbeke had showed them around the school. That was how they got to know each other. Their friendship developed quickly, and they were best friends in no time. In grade six, while discussing how they became friends, Kayla brought up the fact that she had thought Alex looked funny when she first saw her. Alex laughed and told Kayla that she still looked funny.J They had similar interests, for both loved to read and write. They also owned pets, Kayla a rabbit and Alex a dog. They loved all animals and wanted to become vets when they grew up. They made plans of going to school together all the way up until high school, then going to the same university and finally work in the same office. Both Kayla and Alex also loved being silly and doing cartwheels until they fell down. They were both smart and got pretty good grades, except Kayla didn’t like to study sometimes.J They ate lunch together and spent every possible moment together. Since Kayla lived a half an hour’s drive away from Alex, they didn’t go to each other’s houses that much. However, then Alex’s mom had to go out on a one day business trip to British Columbia, and her dad was in California, Alex called up Kayla and arranged a sleepover.J When Alex got a new dog, a mini schnauzer puppy whom she called Pepper, Kayla was the first person she called to come over and see the new puppy.

Around the beginning of the second half of grade six, Alex found out that she was moving to California. Alex’s dad was in California working for Google, and so Alex and her mom were going to join him. It would only be for two years, and then the whole family would move back to Edmonton. Kayla was still devastated. What if Alex’s family didn’t move back? What if they stayed there? Their plans would be ruined.

A few weeks before the movers started coming, Alex made Kayla a card that said, ”No matter where you are, or where I am, you’ll always be my best friend”. 

The two of us when I went back to visit Edmonton the Christmas of the year I left

If I had a Time Turner

If a working time turner I now had

I would be so so very glad

I’d turn back time and then go hide

(For the rules of time travel I still must abide)

And find one of those bright and lighted nooks

To sit and read a whole bunch of books

That book that’s called “On Writing Well”

On the shelf over there – the name rings a bell

I’d read some fiction, both in English and in French

And the SAT vocab novel on that bench

The calc book sitting on the bed

And of course dear Bailey would fill my head

I would write a number of things there, too

With unlimited time, there’re so many things I can do

When at last the hours are all used and done

What time has passed? The answer is “none”

If I had a time turner, if I had my way

I’d be able to do all the things I want to in a day

But unfortunately I don’t go to Hogwarts

I’m at Monta Vista, with a whole lotta works

So I have to rely on these “time management” skills

Writing this wasn’t the greatest idea, for time it kills

Imma go back to APUSH reading now :)

Sleepy

So sleepy all the time… It’s tempting to just close your eyes and take a nap. During lectures, during study hall, during meals… Even while standing with your friends, waiting for something to get started. During those first few days, you were so energetic, so excited and eager to run around doing anything and everything. You got up early and went to bed late. Now, the one thing that is most often on your mind is sleep. The professor lectures for hours at a time. What he says may be interesting, but all the same, the monotony of one person speaking in the same voice for all that time… Your eyes start to close against your will. Stay awake, you tell yourself. Don’t fall asleep. The drowsiness still settles over you like a soft, warm, cotton blanket. Go to sleep, says the blanket. Sleep is good. Your mind wanders. You hear the professor speaking, but do not hear what he says. Suddenly, you wake yourself up with a jolt. The professor continues to drone on, not noticing, or at least paying no heed to your state of (un)consciousness. Dangit. What is he talking about? How long were you out? Words and symbols are scrawled across the board. Were they there before? You look down at your notes and see pencil marks that make no sense at all, words that start out as potential words but end in a jumble of illegible squiggles. You make an effort to stay awake this time. Pay attention, you tell yourself. Don’t slip like that again.

After class, you walk out with a mild headache, wondering how much you missed. Now seems like a good time to take a nice long nap. How nice it would be to be able to go back to the dorms and crash for a few hours. Or perhaps a few days.

But no matter how tempting the sleep is, there is always something to do. An activity to go to. Something to practice. Research to be done. Books to be read.

You wish that there was a way to put your life on pause, a way to get a time turner and sleep for a few more hours, or to go to Narnia and spend a few days sleeping there before heading back out the armoire to find that no time has lapsed. You are always being rushed from one thing to the next, and it’s hard to find time to truly relax and recuperate. At home, it is sometimes possible to take a nap, and catch up on lost sleep. But even then, afterwards, the nap feels like time wasted. There were so many things that could have been done during those hours. Sleep is so unfortunately necessary; it sometimes seems annoying, like a disability that prevents you from doing the things you want to do.

You tell yourself that you can just hold up until everything is over. Yet after this, there are still more things to get started on. Another set of classes to take, more studying to complete. The list of things to do is never-ending. 

Quotidian Quest of the Diel Vertical Migrating Zooplankton :)

The moon is gone, the sun is out

I think it’s time to rise

The surface plankton float about

My journey points towards the skies

I rise above, I get pushed right

Rise some more, I tilt a bit

I try to swim with all my might

It doesn’t work – it’s not a fit

I reach the surface, feel the sun

I love the light of day

For when I’m warm, I then can run

And it’s more facile to catch my prey

My prey zooms by, catches the eye

I swim quite fast, it can’t get past

For prey is helpless to get by

I gobble it up – for long it does not last

Blue underwater waves I ride

Deep down under the sea once more

From predators I now shall hide

Far away from the shore

With others of my kind I congregate

Together we form a school

Together we shall stay up late

Less chance of removal from the gene pool

And that is the story of my quotidian quest

Daily rounds; bottom, top and back

Deep down under I get my rest

Go up for food, then back down to the pack

The Net

I am swimming in the ocean, not far from my mother. She and my aunts are chattering to each other, only half paying attention to me, the youngest of the pod. I espy something shiny in the corner of my eye. Last time I caught something shiny, it turned out to be a very tasty fish. I swim closer, eager for a snack. The shiny fish does not sense my presence. It barely moves, simply swaying in the water with the waves.

As I approach it, I see that it is a very oddly shaped fish, if it is indeed one. I cannot see the fins or the eyes of this odd creature. It has a very long, wide tail that fans out a little behind it. For reasons I am unable to determine, the humongous tail of this unidentifiable creature appears to have empty spaces of nothingness. I swim ever closer, and clamp down on the object with my teeth, for now it is questionable whether the entity before me actually contains life. The object does not struggle at my bite, and has a curious taste I have never experienced before. I pull on the object to take it back to the pod with me. The object comes grudgingly, getting increasingly harder to pull. Eventually, it comes to a halt, and I am unable to up it farther.

Now, I become fully aware that the object’s tail is even larger than I first believed. It was now entirely spread out, in a huge, sting-ray-like blanket around me. Perhaps it is this tail that is keeping the object from giving into my will. Perhaps if I let the tail free, the object will be in my control once again. I am proud of this curious catch, and unwilling to give it up. I maneuver myself so that I can get a hold of the tail. I begin swimming slowly towards my pod, unaware once more of the huge tail swirling menacingly around me. My mother and aunts suddenly become aware of my absence. They see me with the creature and swim hurriedly towards me, calling out warnings. I grow excited, happy to show my discovery. I try to swim faster, but am surprised and dismayed when I discover I cannot move at all.

                Panic begins to creep into me. I am entangled in the enormous tail of the small, shiny object. The more I struggle, the harder it is to move. The panic settles in veritably. I call out helplessly to my mother and my aunts. They bite at the monstrous tail, but to no avail. One aunt nearly gets caught herself. Another aunt, crazed in a biting frenzy, gets a little too close, and her teeth graze my skin. I cry out in pain

                Suddenly I am aware that I am being pulled away from my family. The large-tailed creature is swimming away backwards! Confusion grows with the panic in me. I hear an unfamiliar, loud growling sound. The creature swims faster. I begin to doubt the shiny portion of the object really was the front of it. My aunts, first swimming furiously after me, give up and stop, only staring helplessly at my rapidly disappearing figure. My mother follows a little longer, but eventually gives up and heads back to the pod. And so, I am hurtling tail-first to an unknown place. The growling noise gets closer, and the large-tailed creature begins to slow. For a while, I am at a near stand-still, and use that opportunity to furiously struggle to free my flippers. It doesn’t work, and soon I am pulled backwards again. This time, the movement is jerky and slow.

                I feel myself being pulled up as well as backwards. I grab a hold of the shiny object, and bit down hard. Even if it is not the head of the creature, perhaps pain will slow it down. Nothing happens. At this time, I begin to have the urge to resurface for air. My blowhole threatens to open. I have now stopped moving backwards and am being pulled upwards at an increasingly faster pace. I can see the sunlight above me, coming closer and closer.

                Finally! Air. I try to leap with joy of being able to take a breath, but the tail of the evil creature hinders my movement, and I land back down with a clunky splash. The landing is mangled by both the restraining tail and the fact that I am yanked roughly while in the air. After the shaky landing, I am dragged through the water into a miniature cave with sharp corners. The cave is made of four startlingly straight platforms, and is very long. I am pushed into the cave, head first. The cave walls surround me tightly, and I cannot turn around, though I can see through the walls. I hear a sound, and realize that I am now in an enclosed area. The closed cave moves upward out of the water. I see a large wall to the left. I move towards the wall, and go over it. The cave is lowered, and I am put into a tiny pool of water only a little larger than the cave. Curious creatures approach me. They have neither flippers nor tails. They all have different colored skin that flaps around with the wind. They have long hair on their heads, and the speak to each other in low, indistinguishable sounds. I realize that these are humans, godlike creatures that my mother often told stories about. I didn’t know that these creatures existed. A small one moves towards me and puts her flippers – no, hands – on the edge of the pool. She makes odd sounds that I don’t understand. She walks around to the side of the pool and reaches out to caress my back. A taller one comes up behind her. The two speak in their foreign tongue, the taller one gesturing towards me, to the boat, to the ocean. I wonder what they are discussing, and hope that I am able to get back to my pod. I feel as though I should be panicking, but for some reason I feel completely calm. I feel large, rough human hands on my back. Suddenly my flippers and fins are free from the grasp of the large-tailed creature. With the absence of the large-tailed creature pressing on me, I become aware that I have myriad tiny incisions all over my skin from large-tailed creature. I see the human who had taken away the large-tailed creature walking in front of me, holding it in his arms. It does not try to attack him. I am sure now that the large-tailed creature is not a creature at all, but rather an object that I had been unfortunate enough to get caught in. I remember my mother telling stories about these dangerous objects. They had been the death of many a dolphin. Perhaps I was lucky, then, to be rescued by these fin-less humans.

                The small one approaches me once more, this time holding a basket in her hand. She puts something on her hands, and pets my back again, only this time she touches only the cuts. Her touch makes them sting, but I am given the feeling that she is trying to help. I stay as still as I can, and only wince a couple of times. The small human makes her way around me, rubbing each cut in turn. I close my eyes and allow myself to enjoy her touch, ignoring the slight sting that accompanies it.

                I stay in the care of the humans until dusk. From the tiny pool, I watch as the sun sets. The beautiful colors painted in the sky make me homesick for my pod. We would often frolic in the water at this time, jumping and spinning and putting on a show to match the magnificent sky. Here, I am barely able to move. I long for my mother, my cousins, and even my chattering aunts.

                The little girl comes to me again, this time empty-handed. She leans over the railing of the pool, her large green-blue eyes looking into my black ones. She speaks to me, and though I cannot understand her exact words, I know what she is trying to say. Then, as if by magic, her language seems to melt into mine.

                You were caught in a fishing-net, she says. We had to put you in that box to help you. I’m sorry we had to keep you enclosed all that time, but it was a necessity. Otherwise you would have been stuck in that net for a very, very long time. Now it’s almost time for you to return to your family. I hope you remember us, little dolphin.

                I try to tell her that I hear her, that I understand her words. For a moment, I think I see a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. When I am put into the wooden box, I do not struggle. I allow myself to be transported into the air, over the side of the wall, and back into the welcoming ocean water. Not too far ahead, I spot my pod. My mother calls excitedly to me, surprised and grateful to see that I am still alive and well. The wooden bars lift, and I am able to glide gracefully out of the box. The water is tinted red, orange from the still-present sun set. I jump up out of the water and twirl in the air, pausing for a second at the highest point to make eye contact with the small human.    

                I’ll never forget you, I tell her. With a splash, I land in the water again, only to leap into the air again. I wave a last good bye to the humans who helped me before powering through the water, towards the sunset and my waiting family.