|
May/June 2004 This special issue of Teen
Talk features the winners from the Vineland Public Library's annual Teen
Writing Contest. Teens
I just wanted to let you know I think it’s
time So Much More Than Love How must I begin? Her Silent Audience As her white, laced up skate hits the
pond’s ice, Eternity by Ria Rodney, age 18, Vineland “Moocadrilli. Marisol Moocadrilli.” The usher raised his eyebrow and skewed his lip. “Yes, Marisol. We have been waiting for you. Follow me.” With that command, Marisol lifted her light duffle bag and followed the usher. “If you need anything, I will be in the hallway.” The room was bland-eggshell walls, off-white sheets and beige carpet. It was cramped and far from comfortable. The sliding doors led to the balcony that overlooked the rest of the resort. There was a swimming pool, but it was empty. Perhaps it was being cleaned. So, this is death. Supposedly everything she needed would be supplied. Whatever. Marisol was having a hard time accepting that she was dead. After all, she was only 17. Marisol had run off the road one morning after mass. How ironic that she passed after going to church. In high school, she had run cross country and played basketball. She ran spring track just for fun. Marisol didn’t just play sports, she was a dedicated athlete. As far as academics, she dominated every classroom she entered. Marisol had every quality of a star college applicant. But those who knew the true Marisol knew the one factor colleges did not: Marisol was a complete jerk. All of her talents had turned her into a snob. In her deepest heart of hearts, she truly thought she was better than everyone else. Everyone. Marisol was the girl who never hesitated to make an idiot out of the kid who used the wrong terminology in class. She messed around with her friend's boyfriends. She was pulled from the basketball court for unsportsmanlike conduct. She never hesitated to pull someone’s card. If you were going to tell her off, you had better be prepared for her to tell everyone your business. No one knew how, but it seemed like she really did know everyone’s business. Teammates knew her, classmates feared her. The girl was vicious, condescending and downright evil. “I miss Marcia,” sighed Marisol. Marcia was Marisol’s twin sister. Although they looked exactly alike, the two were about as similar as night and day. Marcia did not like sports. She did not like school. This made her seem like a complete weirdo to nearly everyone. All she did was paint all day. Nevertheless, the girls were blood and shared a very close relationship. “I wish she could see me,” Marisol thought. “I want her to know I made it to heaven. Who would have thought I would make it? I was so shallow. I only did things if I was getting something in return.” It was true. She had mastered the art of quid pro quo by age six. “I wonder if they made a mistake. No, they never make mistakes with these types of things. I wonder if I got over on God? Ha! I can’t believe it. Ha!” She laughed to herself. “I’d better stop thinking about it before someone reads my thoughts.” Although she was anxious to meet other tenants, Marisol really just needed time to calm down. She sat on the bed and turned on the television. “Nothing like a good edition of Sports Center,” she mumbled. But all the channels were fuzzy. “Fine, no problem. I’ll go swimming.” But the pool was still empty. Consumed by frustration, she left her room in search of the usher guy. He was in the hallway, just as he said one could find him. He was painting the walls a new shade of boring. “Sir, I’m having trouble with my TV.” “Cable’s out.” “Well, what about the swimming pool?” “It’s being cleaned. Perhaps you would enjoy some music.” He turned on what looked like a light switch. Suddenly, loud country music blared from an unidentifiable speaker. If there was one thing that annoyed her more than heavy metal, it was heavy country. She groaned and asked, “Can you turn that racket off?” “You don’t like it?” “No.” The usher turned the volume louder. “I see, you like to play games, huh? Well, can you at least turn on the air conditioner?” “There is no air conditioner.” “Well, can you at least turn on a fan? It’s hot as hell in here.” The usher laughed and made Marisol wonder what was so funny. “I can’t watch Sports Center, I’m hungry, I haven’t seen one other tenant, its stuffy, I’m hot and you won’t turn off that insane music! You had better do your job or the angels are going to get a nasty complaint. Do you understand Mr…” she paused realizing she had forgotten to ask his name. “It’s David.” He offered his hand and she shook it. “How
rude of me not to introduce myself.” His calm voice Just Beyond the River Two of the residents were different. They were José and Juan Rodrigo. Instead of magazines and liquor bottles, there were scraps of torn up paper and cigarette butts all over. But, the cockroaches were still there. José Rodrigo was a struggling author who was in a dark depression. Everything he wrote was not good enough according to him. To top it all off, his last three novels were rejected by the publishing company. Juan Rodrigo, José’s son, usually stayed upstairs in his little room. He liked to hang out on his windowsill and watch the activity going on in the street below. The father and son were both depressed. They needed to get out. They needed to go away. The year was 1977. A tall, handsome man had just entered the bar. Two other equally handsome men accompanied the man. They all took their barstools and waited for someone to take their orders. A stunningly beautiful waitress strutted over from their left side. “What can I get you boys?” she said to the three men as she pushed some silky black hair behind her ear. None of them spoke. They just stared - speechless. The tall one spoke first. “H-h-h-i. I’m J-j-j-osé.” The waitress glared at him. “That’s great, but can I get you anything to drink?” she asked. “T-t-three beers,” José told her. For the next two weeks, José came to the same bar just to stare at her. It was another two weeks before he got the courage to ask her out. Eventually, he did ask her out, and she said yes. Her name was Carmen, and she was the most amazing woman José had ever met. Five years later, José and Carmen were married, and they had a baby boy named Juan. It was nightfall in Salvatore. José
sat on his stoop smoking a cigarette. José was tired of being poor.
He wanted money, and he wanted a place where his novels would sell. He
took a long drag on his cigarette. Then, the thought came to him. It was
obvious - America. Thirteen-year-old Juan did not get much sleep the night before, so he went home to take a nap. José wanted to check on his wife. He walked to the bodega where she worked. He thought to himself how happy he was. He had a great life. He had a beautiful wife, a great son, and his new novel was just released. What could be better? As he awoke from his daydream, José
saw a lot of commotion down by the store. “What could possibly be
going on?” he thought to himself. He quickly walked inside to see
his wife sprawled out dead on the counter from a gunshot wound to the
head. The bartender made sure no one was listening.
“Yes, that is him. Do not tell anyone,” the bartender answered. José sat across from the man. He was
in his mid-30’s and had a bushy mustache. The Coyote took off his
sunglasses. “What is your name?” he questioned. The Coyote looked at him, “You were a very good author. I am fond of your work especially your first novel. What was it called…oh, yes, The Glory Days. Superbly written.” “Thank you.” “So what do you want?” “I want to go to America.” “Hmmm…I see…tell you what. Our next caravan leaves Tuesday. I usually charge 100 pesos a person. Do you have children?” “Yes, a 16-year-old-boy.” “Okay. Since I am such a fan of your
work, 100 pesos for you and your son. Meet me outside this bar next Tuesday
at 4:00 am.” It was still dark when José and Juan left their house. They each exited with a trash bag that held their things over their shoulders. José was happier than he had been in a while. He walked with a spring in his step as his son followed. As they walked to the bar, Juan asked his father, “What is America like?” José thought for a while and then said, “America is the land of milk and honey where opportunity lies around every corner. We will live a better life, you will be educated, we will have money and, most of all, we will have freedom. Juan answered, “Cool.” “We have to make eight more stops. Twelve
families will be crammed in here,” The Coyote said. “You know
you may die of heat or dehydration.” "As long as I enter the states, I will suffer anything,” José told The Coyote. “Good. Just hop in and we’ll get going,” The Coyote finished. José and Juan jumped in as The Coyote shut the door behind them. This was only their first leap in the hurdles to freedom. For only being 300 miles away from the U.S. border, the ride to the Rio Grande took a while - about three days. Every six hours they would make a stop. They would either pick up a family or The Coyote would give them water. It was dreadfully hot inside the caravan. Out of the 26 people who went on the journey to the Rio Grande, 19 survived. An old couple both died of heat exhaustion. Two young men died - one of dehydration and the other of heat exhaustion. The two four-year-olds died. Finally a woman died. The old woman did not die of heat. She died of lung cancer. She was a heavy smoker and wanted to touch American soil before she died. Right after she died, José vowed that once he arrived in America, he would stop smoking. Juan lay next to his father wide-awake. He was tired, but he couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept since the night they left Salvatore. Why aren’t we there yet, he thought, it’s been three days and we still haven’t arrived at the Rio Grande. Juan bounced up and down lightly as he thought about his journey. He bounced lighter and lighter until he wasn’t bouncing anymore. Wait a minute, he thought, we stopped. He shook his father awake. “What is it, Juan?” José asked. “Dad,” Juan began, “we stopped.” “Thank God.” The back doors of the van flew open. You could barely see The Coyote’s face in the darkness. “Get out,” he quietly said. It was about five or six o’clock in the morning. The only thing visible was the lit cigarette hanging of the The Coyote’s mouth. “All right everyone,” The Coyote announced, “blow up your trash bags. These will get you across. You will float by holding on to it. Quietly kick across to the U.S.” Everyone did so as they said their last goodbyes to Mexico. José put some Mexican sand in his trash bag. He did it to remember where he came from. Before they left, everyone said their goodbyes and thank yous to The Coyote. The women kissed him, the men praised him. All the immigrants were happy. After about a half hour they all climbed into the murky brown water of the Rio Grande. The water was freezing. It sent a chill up everyone’s spine. The river was wide so it took about another half hour to get across. When José and Juan finally got across, the sun was rising on the horizon. “Juan?” José said. “Yeah, Dad?” Juan answered. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful sunrise?” “No, I haven’t,” said Juan. José reached into his bag and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. “I thought you said you were gonna quit,” Juan said. “Just one more,” José answered with a laugh. José put his arm around Juan’s shoulder as they laughed together. They knew from the beginning that coming
to America and starting a new life would be hard. Now they had one thing
they didn’t have in Mexico. My Endless Life The sky was gloomy. Like a dark, heavy blanket being dragged over the vast sky. My neck and face were dripping with sweat and blood. My heart was pounding, my hands were trembling. Shots and cannons were being fired all around me. One by one, soldiers were falling to the ground. My best friend, Jonah, was right beside me, giving me the strength I needed to keep going forward. Oh why, why did I get myself caught up in this good-for-nothing war? Why couldn’t I have the courage to just say “no”? Well, it’s too late now to go back. All I can do is just pray to God that he will get me through this. All I can do is just hope and wish that I could go back to my lovely wife and four children. All I want is for the war to be completely over so I can resume my life. I wait for peace. But - will I live to see it?
|