Articles – Page 84 – Philadelphia Stories

The Life Unknown

(A Shandong Village in China, 1973)

The damp, cement walls surrounded the cramped rooms in the apartment that was home to three generations of a family. The TV was outdated and small, the curtains were drab, the couch was worn, and there was no air conditioning or heating. The family consisted of two grandparents, both around seventy years in age, their three now grown children and in-laws, and their five grandchildren. The youngest grandchild was only six, while the eldest was almost twenty. They all gathered on the couch, the only light from the glow of the moon and the glare of the landline’s light.

* * *

(Shanghai, China, 2000)

Staring solemnly outside the dust coated window, eleven-year old A-ne Zhang observed the chaotic disarray of cars beeping, infuriated shouting, and people shuffling between each other in the crowded streets of the city. Mama was wiping the dilapidated wooden table, while Baba (father) took Gege (eldest brother) on a walk through the streets to speak about immigrating to America for college. Seventeen-year old Jin was devoted to his dreams of going to Stanford and becoming a scientist. A-ne had no dreams whatsoever. Unless particularly talented, college was rare for the Meimei (younger sister) of Chinese households. While the modern western world had women becoming doctors, lawyers, and even politicians, most women in China were still doomed to a mundane life of cooking, cleaning, and nurturing the children. A-ne knew she would never surpass the overbearing shadow of Jin, and no matter how many times she tried to explain her aggravation to her parents, they could not relate. Her Mama was the eldest of three girls and was evidently treated as superior. Her Baba lived alone with his open minded Taiyeye (father’s grandfather), and was never disregarded.

* * *

(A Shandong Village in China, 1973)

The adults whispered while the two eldest children helped the two youngest children prepare for bedtime. The middle child, an unwanted girl of twelve, wandered to the corner of the room and pulled out the three cots reserved for the five children. The three girls, a twenty-year old, a twelve-year old, and a six-year old, slept on one cot, while each of the other cots were reserved for the boys. Then, she tugged out the pull-out bed in the couch and started spreading sheets on it. This was for her Mama and Baba. Mama was the middle one of her siblings as well, while Baba was the eldest boy in his family. He was placed into an arranged marriage but refused to follow through with it. He then married her Mama, who he truly loved. From then on, Yeye (father’s father) disowned his son and later died of heart disease. Nainai (father’s mother) took care of her Baba’s younger sister instead.

Returning from the trance of her own thoughts, she began to pump two air mattresses; one for her Dayi (eldest aunt) and her husband to sleep on, and the other for her Jiujiu (youngest uncle) and his wife to sleep on. Her Laoye (mother’s father) and Laolao (mother’s mother) would sleep on the bed in a separate room. The separate room was for the eldest couple of the eldest generation. The bed was quilted with the most extravagant sheets, bedding, blankets, and pillows they could afford. There was also a chest for their possessions and a wooden shrine to honor the generations before them.

* * *

(Shanghai, China, 2000)

Frustrated with boredom, A-ne glanced at her Mama, preoccupied with the dishes, and then dawdled off to the tiny closet in their room. She began to dig around, tossing aside shoes, jackets, and books before stumbling upon a light blue shoe box labeled “重要” (important). Disregarding her parents’ rules not to touch the belongings of others without their permission, she flung open the lid and began to study the documents inside. She was intrigued to discover a wrinkled paper with the heading “出生证明” (birth certificate) at the top. Scanning through it, she smiled at the sight of her name, birthdate, and size. She continued skimming the document, and then paused abruptly. A-ne immediately became alarmed at the name listed as her mother. It read, “Hua Fu Huang”. Her mother’s name was Lei Zhang; she was sure of it. Nearly certain it was a mistake, she read the name written as hers, more cautiously this time. It said, “A-ne Huang”. A million questions began to vividly swirl through her mind as the potential of this information collapsed down on her. A-ne sat paralyzed in disbelief. Was her entire life a lie? Was Jin even her real brother? How long has this been going on? But most of all, how come she was never told?

* * *

(A Shandong Village in China, 1973)

The house settled down as she laid awake in between the other two girls. Her grandparents were snoring soundly, and her other relatives all breathed heavily. She thought about her future, and what would become of her. She was always the one that was ignored or used as a chore girl. Her parents didn’t bother to spend any time ensuring that her hair was neat or that her shoes still fit. Her Didi (younger brother) was always out with their Gege. They received lavish apparel and new haircuts. They were sent to school with new, fresh supplies and were greatly praised with every proper mark. Her Jiejie (elder sister) was also sent to school, but it was a school for failed girls who were supposed to be taught manners and learn how to be proper. Jiejie was already arranged for marriage with a middle-class boy who was the son of a rice farmer. She would be sent away in a year and then would return to live with the family again in order for her husband to support the large household. Since her schooling was minimal, there was little chance of her attending college. She would simply care for and nurture her future children.

Thinking about her own future, the middle child also thought about her schooling. She was only sent to school twice a week for math and girls’ manners classes. The other days, she took care of her Meimei, who was sent to school once a week for her manners classes. All of her uncles worked and so did her grandfather. Her Mama stayed home with Laolao to cook and clean, and the two uncles helped Laoye at his school for boys. Every night, the men returned weary and grumpy. They demanded that they were served supper and a drink right away. She was usually the one to get the food. If the men did not like the way she was standing, what she was wearing, or if she was a little late, they would spank her and berate her, cursing viciously. She dreaded them coming home every night. She promised herself that one day, if she had a child, she would make sure her child was far away from this family.

* * *

(Shanghai, China, 2000)

Her daze of shock was interrupted by a thunderous shout for dinnertime. A-ne snatched the birth certificate and sprinted to the living room couch that she slept on each night. Rapidly, she stuffed the document under the cushions for safe-keeping, and dashed to the dining room. Baba, Mama, and Gege all stared at her in disapproval.

“A-ne,” Baba lectured, “don’t run like that, you are giving me a headache.”

“Come sit down,” Mama added, gesturing to the stool next to Jin.

A-ne nodded, and walked over with her head down. She stared at her bowl. Inside, there were three scoops of rice and five green beans. Baba and Jin’s bowls were filled with what seemed like a mountain of rice, an abundant handful of green beans on one side of the bowl, and chunks of fish on the other. Sighing, she took her chopsticks and picked around at her food.

“A-ne, don’t play with your food. Just eat it,” Mama scolded sharply.

“Sorry,” A-ne muttered. Her appetite was dwindling as she thought more of that birth certificate. Finally, she mustered up the courage to say something, anything to break the eerie silence, “Can I ask you something, Baba?”

“What?” Baba replied coldly.

“I was wondering if I could go to college like Jin.”

It was like she had detonated a lethal bomb as Baba stood up, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring. “You,” he responded slowly, “go to college?” A few moments passed of petrifying silence, before Baba began a very condescending laughter. The kind of laugh that an evil villain in a movie would make; the kind that would send shivers down your spine. “Please,” he roared, in between snickers, “a girl like you could never go to college! You’re absolutely worthless!”

* * *

(A Shandong Village in China, 1974)

Waking up, the middle one rejoiced. The middle child rejected by all of her family would not be rejected today. Her Jiejie would be named and she would be donned in beautiful silk clothing along with the rest of her family. She would take her husband’s last name, using her family last name as her middle name, and receiving a fitting first name. Her grandfather wanted to call her “星福阳”. Her first name would mean star, representing the eldest girl’s starry eyes. The middle child hoped her name would mean flower, moon, or something pretty. As her mother fussed with her hair and qipao, a traditional Chinese dress made of silk, the middle child braided her Meimei’s hair. She grinned with excitement, as she had been looking forward to this day for weeks.

During the ceremony, she began to fidget, as her sister’s name would be announced, and she would be officially married. The family had only four men to sustain a family of thirteen, so they couldn’t afford to put on a grand, elegant wedding and had to settle with a much simpler service. Laoye announced the new husband of Jiejie, 天阳, (Tian Yang) and then her sister’s new name, 星福阳 (Xin Fu Yang). Everyone attending cheered, and Jiejie beamed. Now, her Jiefu (eldest sister’s husband) would take Jiejie away, have a child, make some money, and come back to support everyone else. Jiejie would bring her entire family; her children, husband, and her husband’s parents home. The house would be more crowded, so the men would have to work harder to bring more income to extend the house. The men would come back with an even shorter fuse, but it was worth it. The despised middle child, would become a beloved Yima (sister of mother) to the new children.

* * *

(Shanghai, China, 2000)

A-ne, Jin, and Mama all sat shaking as Baba continued to screech in fury. “You foolish, futile girl. You will never amount to anything! You are simply a burden, and I bet if you disappeared nobody would miss, or even notice you were gone!”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but her heartache escalated into rage. Mama glanced over at her, and calmly ordered, “A-ne, apologize to your Baba.” Baba stared at A-ne, waiting impatiently for an apology. A-ne’s anger amplified and her hands turned into fists. She was fuming. Finally, she stood up suddenly, glowering at her Baba. But to her, he wasn’t her Baba, it was someone else, pretending to be her Baba.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I said, no,” A-ne reiterated, “my Baba isn’t here, so I am not apologizing to anyone.”

The adults froze as if they were just shot in the chest. Jin stood up. “Very mature A-ne,” He said calmly, “just grow up and apologize.”

A-ne scowled at him, “I told you, my Baba is not here! I don’t know where he is! Because those two, are not my parents! They’re strangers!”

Mama stuttered, “W-what do you mean we’re strangers?”

“You know exactly what I mean! And guess what? I’m going to find my real parents and we’re going to live happily ever after without the likes of you!”

Baba banged his fists against the table, “Enough with this nonsense! Sit down right now and finish your dinner!”

A-ne sat back down, gritting her teeth with anger. She knew she had to leave as soon as possible, and when nightfall came, she would pack up the little things she owned, and head off into the night, searching for someone she’s never met.

* * *

(A Shandong Village in China, 1981)

She was proud, she would be the fourth child to be named, and the second girl in the family to receive a fitting name. Her Laoye had picked a name that meant flower. She would only have two components of a name though, since she was not to be married. She had informed her Laolao that she wanted to go to Shanghai and start her own life. Laolao had agreed and told her that she was proud of her for being courageous enough to tell her.

“Hua Fu,” her Laoye said. That was her name. She loved it. Nothing in the world was better, and nothing would stop her from loving it. She stepped inside an old automobile, and started the long drive to Shanghai. There, she would settle down, perhaps create a family, and never go back to the village where she was a nothing.

* * *

(Shanghai, China, 2000)

A-ne refused to bawl her eyes out, determined to show her parents that they did not have the power to cause her such anguish. They had the power to treat Jin like a prince and kick their little peasant girl to the side. They had the power to bestow the entire kingdom upon their treasured son and pretend there was nobody else to consider. They had all that power, but they did not have the power to make her cry.

As her parents completed putting the dishes back into the cabinets, Mama looked at A-ne. “We will speak about your shameful outburst in the morning. Now get some sleep.”

A-ne watched as they trudged over to their bedrooms and shut the door. Waiting a few moments, she thought about her journey ahead. Would she finally find the mysterious “Hua Fu Huang”? Still pondering how her adventure would go, A-ne took two changes of clothes, a gourd full of water, a map of Shanghai, a bag of uncooked rice, a box of matches, and the birth certificate, stuffing them into her leather satchel she’s had since she was born. Slinging it over her shoulder, A-ne slipped on her rubbers (rain boots), and walked along the streets of her neighborhood, careful to dodge the frenzy of cars zooming back and forth.

* * *

(Shanghai, China, 1981)

Hua Fu brought with her a leather satchel, a gourd, and some copper coins. Her village’s paper money had no value in the urban city of Shanghai. Her godmother lived in Shanghai, and owned a bank, The Bank of China. She would live with her until she could make her own living. Pulling into the spacious parking lot, she knocked quietly on the door. Her godmother stepped out, laid her eyes on her face, and smiled a warm beam of joy. It had been seven years since she had last saw her. Tears welled up in both their eyes as they embraced. Hua Fu was finally where she was loved.

In the morning, Hua Fu woke up to the smell of fresh Youtiao (Chinese fried dough). As she wandered downstairs, she lay her eyes on a man she had never seen. He introduced himself as Lin Huang. They stared at each other awkwardly, and then suddenly burst out in laughter. It felt good to laugh, for Hua Fu had not laughed warmly in her lifetime. She realized that this was true happiness and freedom. Her godmother drove both Hua and Lin to the bank, and explained that for now, they were both to be bankers in her bank. They would work together as partners, and she would pay them. Little did she know, that leaving these two alone, a true relationship was about to blossom.

* * *

(Shanghai, China, 2000)

Even with the sky pitch black and the winding streets ahead reeking of danger, A-ne sought comfort in the headlights of cars passing through and bikes riding amok. Her birth certificate indicated the hospital as “市民廣場站” (Guangzhou Women and Children’s Medical Center), approximately 1500 kilometers away. Regardless, she continued walking through the city, unsure of where to seek shelter. A-ne was fearful and reluctant to keep going, but her boundless spirit pushed through, guiding her through the narrow alleyways. For the first time, she felt free, like there was no King and Queen holding her back from achieving all of her dreams. Turning her pout of anxiety into an enthusiastic grin, A-ne began to skip through the neighborhoods as the break of dawn approached.

The sky transformed from the abyss of black to a burst of yellow and dusty pink. A-ne’s muscles ached from fatigue, and she decided it was time for a brief nap. She plodded to a wooden bench outside a seafood shop, and laid across it, clutching her leather satchel close to her chest.

* * *

(Shanghai, China, 1988)

Hua Fu and Lin Huang had gotten married. The wedding was a grand ceremony of love and joy. Seven years before, Hua Fu had been the one to say that she would never get married. Now she was glad she could spend her life with a man. Hua Fu had gotten to know this man very well, and after working for a year together, they had started going on dates, secretly taking breaks from their long shifts at the bank. Hua Fu was also now pregnant with their first child. She was due in March of 1989. She daydreamed about the child. She didn’t care whether it was a girl or boy, for she, as an unwanted girl, didn’t want her child to feel that way. She would love her no matter what.

A few months passed, and now it was February 1989. Hua Fu’s baby bump grew. A girl was going to be delivered. Her distant cousin, Lei Zhang, would be there for the birth. Hua Fu wanted a family member to be there, but her Laolao and godmother had both passed the year before. No one else had supported her or even tried to get in touch with her since she left. Lei Zhang didn’t live that far, and she wasn’t cruel to her, so Hua Fu begged Lei Zhang to come. They didn’t know each other that well, and were like strangers, but family was family, and Hua Fu was going to start one.

* * *

(Hangzhou, China 2000)

Day after day, A-ne would walk nonstop, sipping from her gourd, begging pedestrians for money, and eating the little food she could purchase from the few coins sitting at the bottom of her satchel. As she got closer to the hospital, she began to ask people if they ever heard of someone named Hua Fu. She would either be ignored or told no. It began to feel hopeless, and that boundless spirit seemed to have bounds.

It had been a couple of weeks, and A-ne’s energetic skipping had become an exhausted walk. She approached a homeless man sitting in an enormous box. “Hi sir,” A-ne greeted, “I was wondering if I could join you.” He sat with a ripped shirt, jacket, and pair of jeans, all covered in debris. He grunted and gestured to the smaller box next to him. A-ne, grateful she wasn’t actually invisible, sat on top of the box, and heaved a big sigh of disappointment.

But even though her life was a blur of hunger and lethargy, it still proved to be better than being in the shadows, concealed by the dominance of Jin. She’d rather die from starvation in an effort to find her mother, than die a poor old woman, who cleaned and cooked all her life.

* * *

(Guangzhou Women and Children’s Medical Center, March, 1989)

Hua Fu was limp, she had just delivered a healthy baby. She immediately named her, for the old tradition was no longer a practice. Her name would be Anne in English, but her Chinese name would be A-ne. She was a beautiful child, but for some reason, Hua Fu could not lift her arms to hold her. She lay there, and then, her skin turned cold, and her muscled relaxed. She was gone. Lin Huang was devastated, and vowed to take the child under his care. As if he wasn’t distraught enough, his entire life came shattering down on him. The bank shut down, and Lin Huang no longer had money. He had to give his child to Lei Zhang, making her promise to take good care of her, and then saying he would be back to fetch her when he got back on his feet. Without another word, he left, leaving the crying baby in Lei Zhang’s arms.

* * *

(Hangzhou, China 2000)

The draining weeks continued to inch slowly by, as A-ne and the man sat in utter silence, never even looking each other in the eye. A-ne would obtain as much food as she could at the markets once a day and bring them back, splitting them with the man. He would nod as a form of gratitude, still not speaking a single word to her. They would both look forward to rain, where they could collect the pollutant-free water in the gourds. This was her life now. A-ne could no longer concern herself with who received the best clothes, or who was given more attention out of her and Jin. But for once, she had her future planned out. She would find her mother, and they would move to America, just like Baba said Jin was to do. She would finish schooling there, and go to one of the prestigious universities there. While she still didn’t know what she aspired to do for the rest of the life, her mother would help her figure that out.

After contemplating her future again and again, A-ne grew frustrated and decided to attempt to begin a conversation with the homeless man. “What’s your name? My name is A-ne,” she asked hastily, looking over at the man huddled in his jacket.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Your name is A-ne?” he replied, flustered.

* * *

Lin Huang looked at the little girl he had meet a just few weeks earlier. He couldn’t believe his ears. He stared at her in awkward silence, and then embraced his child, that he had thought was gone. He lived on the streets, looking fondly at every family, wishing he still had his. Now, his daughter that he had given up, had come here. They had sat together for the longest time, but he didn’t say a word to her. He embraced her fragile body in his tired arms. A-ne looked at him in bewilderment, and raised her eyebrows, confused. The more Lin Huang looked at her, the more she resembled Hua. She had her deep eyes, highlighted hair, bulb nose, full lips, her petite figure, and clumsy build. Right there, tears streamed down his face, as he smiled at his child. He was glad that he had finally seen her again, but confused why she would have left Lei Zhang.

“What did Lei Zhang do?” was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

* * *

A-ne scooted backwards, uncomfortable, “Who are you?”

“I-I’m you father A-ne,” he replied, “Now, what did Lei Zhang do?”

A-ne fidgeted with her shoes awkwardly, “She didn’t do anything. I found the birth certificate and wanted to find my Mama.” It felt strange, talking to her father. She wondered if it was worth it to leave. Her Baba was stricken with poverty, and that wasn’t the life she wanted. She wanted her family to have enough wealth to get to America, but those dreams seemed to have faded away. Those dreams of growing up in a large suburban home in the one of the many towns in America. Those dreams of going to school and exploring the different passions she could have. Those dreams of dancing at prom with the boy of her dreams. All those dreams could not be accomplished if they didn’t have enough money to get to America in the first place. She tried to hide her disappointment as she looked back up at the man. “Where is she?”

As he spoke to her, telling her the story of what happened in the hospital, A-ne’s face went pale. All that time to search for her mother, and she turned out to be dead. Guilt began to build up in her gut, and it felt like it was all her fault. She was the one who killed her mother. The blood was on her hands. “I’m sorry I killed her,” she mumbled in a monotone voice.

* * *

Lin Huang stared at the ground, and felt the bundle of American dollars in his pocket. He had taken them from the bank he and his deceased wife had worked at. There was about 10,000 USD in hundred dollar bills. He glanced at his daughter, and whispered, “Do you want to go to America?”

Her face had brightened and she looked at him with the endless eyes that her mother had. She did not speak, just looked at him wide eyed. Lin Huang hung his head, disappointed that he could not make her smile. Oh how he missed Hua Fu. He stood up on shaking legs, grabbed A-ne’s hand, and started walking.

* * *

(China Air Airport, Beijing, 2000)

After taking the bullet train from the Shanghai Hongqiao Railway Station to the Beijing South Railway Station, they had finally reached the China Air Airport. The two were eager to finally escape the tangle of hardship that was Shanghai. America was a land of opportunity; a place where a girl could be just as successful, or even more successful than a boy. A land, where nobody would stare at you with judgmental smirks when you received an insufficient mark. A-ne’s Baba could finally get a job, A-ne would receive an excellent education, and everything would be perfect. The absence of Hua left a damaging hole in both of their hearts, but with the immigration to America, their family can be whole again.

A-ne held tightly onto her mother’s leather satchel, as she and Lin walked onto the plane, and sat down. They were headed to Richmond, Virginia for a much needed break from the hustle and bustle of the city. For the first time since leaving the Zhang household, A-ne beamed with delight, and looked up at her father. Their life would soon be complete.

Katie Lu is a quiet seventh grader who loves writing, art, and music. She lives in a suburban neighborhood outside of Philadelphia. She is an only child, with no aunts or uncles, but has always been interested in her other relatives’ lives in Shanghai, China. She doesn’t know much about the Chinese language or lifestyle, but befriending Allie expanded her knowledge on her heritage.

Allie Jiang is a thirteen-year-old who sees herself as a dancer and bunny enthusiast (many people would describe her as having a VERY large personality). She lives within walking distance of her close friend Katie, and loves to spend time laughing and producing creative art pieces with her. She is fluent in Mandarin Chinese and has a large family in the Shandong province of China.

This story tells two tales of the common life of girls in China.

I am an Oak Tree

I am an oak tree.
Big, bold, tall, kind, your best friend.
Child, look after me.

Caroline is 11 years old and a student in the fifth grade at Tatem Elementary School in Collingswood, New Jersey. When Caroline gets older, she hopes to be a scientist or a veterinarian. Her advice for writers and artists young and old: mistakes are not always the end. They are the bloom of new ideas.

I Am From

I am from
Dominican Republic
Where it is
poor and not
so good, where
we have to
search walls
and rivers and beaches are so
beautiful

I am from
music and dance
where love
is never
broken
I’m from
where empty
plates are a thing.
Where family
is always
together and
never apart.
I am from Dominican Republic
where Dios may free you.

Kalmaris Diaz is in the sixth grade at Feltonville Arts and Sciences in North Philly. Her favorite subject is Math, and she likes to hang out with her family in her spare

Nicknames For Me

The valedictorian who loves to win
Lazy girl, hazy girl
Girl with black locks who rarely ever mocks
Homework hater, the debater
Always uptight, very bright
Strong and loud, makes her family proud
The reader of books
She who cooks,
Stubborn and sporty, also very courty
A leader, a beader
This is me defined!

Chloe Dinh is a 10-year-old who lives in Lindenwold, NJ. She loves reading and has won three medals for it. Chloe is all about grades, grades, and grades! She loves to play ping pong, sew, and bake. Chloe wants to be a politician when she is older.

Big, bold, tall, kind, your best friend

I am an oak tree.
Big, bold, tall, kind, your best friend.
Child, look after me.

Little River

Life surrounds me,
It allows me to relax.
Turtles lay in the sun on their rock,
Time feels less rushed.
Ladybugs sit in their bush,
Earth spins slowly with my thoughts

Resting in my kayak,
I am free again.
Voices of nature whisper,
Evergreen trees all around,
Rain can’t wash me away from here.

This feels like home.
Little river.

Little river

Interview With Jim Benton

Devi: What inspired you to be a writer?

Jim: I think it’s because when I was a kid, I really liked to read, and I read all kinds of stuff. I read good books, I read junky books, I read comics., I read equal quantities of stuff that was good for me, and I read garbage. I think that one might think, if you like it a lot, you’d like to write someday. Do you like to read?

Devi: I do!

Jim: See, that’s where writers come from. They start off when they’re younger. They really like to read, and the next thing you know, they’re writing. You probably write too, right?

Devi: Yeah.

Jim: Yeah, ok, so one day, before you know it, someone will make something you wrote into a book.

Devi: What was your first story about?

Jim: The first thing I ever wrote? Well, I did a book a long time ago, a book of cartoons, that was called Dealing with The Idiots In Your Life. But that was mostly just cartoons, that wasn’t really a story; so, I guess the first one I did was a Franny K. Stein story.

Devi: What are three things you found funny as a kid, that you still find funny today?

Jim: Hmmm. Well, farts. Those were funny then, and they’re funny now; I’m pretty sure those stay funny forever. Probably babies make me laugh a lot. When they try to eat or walk or stuff like that. Let’s see… farts…babies… oh! And when babies fart.

Devi: Were you ever afraid of the dark?

Jim: I had a weird thing that when I was afraid of the dark, I would sort of rush into it. So, if I thought there was a monster in the basement, I’d have this weird tendency of running down after it. I think I just always thought that I could be scarier. I mean, it was my basement! I knew where everything was; I guess I always thought that I was the scariest thing in the dark.

Devi: What were you scared of as a kid? Do you use that in stories that you write today?

Jim: See, the other thing is that I was born on Halloween. So, from my very first memories of birthdays, which are your happiest memories, it was all monsters and zombies and stuff like that. So, I never found that stuff really scary. I think I’m actually more scared of crazy, real people than monsters or ghosts or anything like that.

Devi: Do you ever draw pictures before writing the story?

Jim: Yes, sometimes I’ll draw something and the drawing will make me think of a story. Or, sometimes when I can’t think of what I want to do, I might draw it first. And, the next Franny story, the idea I had just started as a little drawing… So, yes, sometimes the drawings start it, and sometimes the writing starts it.

Devi: Which do you like better: drawing or writing?

Jim: If I had to pick, I would probably pick drawing; I’ve been drawing longer than I’ve been writing. And drawing, in lots of ways, is much easier than writing.

Devi: How did you learn to write stories and illustrate them? Did you study or learn someplace special?

Jim: I think I just jumped in and started. It’s kind of something that you can’t do wrong, really. You just jump in and you start doing it, and if your editors want you to change something, they’ll tell you. One of these days, you might want to sell a story to a publisher, and what you shouldn’t get too hung up on are things like “how many pages should it be” and stuff like that, because the editors can see past all of that, and they can see past all the rough spots. They can see what’s brilliant in the story, what’s great about it. And they’ll help you bring it along. They don’t necessarily expect you to walk in the door with something that’s done. So, I learned it just by jumping in.

Devi: Who are some people who encouraged you along the way?

Jim: My parents encouraged me, and I had a lot of teachers that encouraged me. In 7th grade I had a really, really good English teacher, and we sort of became friends. We would talk about things that didn’t have anything to do with school. We would talk about books we liked and different kinds of writing. It’s important for kids to know adults that talk to them like they’re smart. And that could be your parents, that could be your teachers, or, that could be your friends. But kids need to be respected, you know?

Devi: I really like your books, whose books do you like?

Jim: I like PG Wodehouse. He writes books about Edwardian England, and they’re really kind of stuffy but really funny. I read scary books, too, like ones by Stephen King and Dean Koontz. And I read books about real things, like, The History of Salt, which sounds dumb, but you read about it from someone who knows what they’re talking about and its really fascinating. That teacher who I told you about in the 7th grade, she gave me one of the best pieces of advice that I ever had. She said “read books outside of your interests. Find books that look like you’ll hate them and read them anyways, because that’s how you discover things. You might get 10 pages in and discover that you were right, you hate it, but sometimes you discover a writer or a topic that you didn’t even know you liked.

Devi: Franny knows a lot about what she likes but is awkward around other kids. Did you ever feel like her?

Jim: Ah no, I didn’t. I actually feel quite comfortable anyplace I am, which is also bad. So, the opposite of feeling shy or awkward- that’s me. So, if I walk into a room and I think I don’t belong with these people, I assume that they’re in the wrong room. And it’s just as weird and just as bad, but that’s what I have.

Devi: Why does Franny K. Stein seem not as happy around other people as she is around her dog?

Jim: It’s because Franny is really intensely focused on her science and her projects. And so her dog, Igor, just helps her. He doesn’t really get in the way. He makes mistakes, but he’s trying. He’s just not as brilliant as Franny; his heart’s in the right place but his brain isn’t.

Devi: Why did you choose Franny K. Stein to be a mad scientist?

Jim: When my daughter was little, she only liked princesses and pretty ponies. What she really liked more were scary things and kooky, weird stuff. So, I wrote Franny for her. And like I said, being born on Halloween, all of these monsters were really friendly and familiar to me.

Devi: Did you want to be a mad scientist?

Jim: You know, I’m fascinated by science, and I think that all kids are sort of born scientists. You’re born not knowing anything. And you spend most of your childhood running experiments, in order to learn things. Even babies are experimenting all the time. I think human beings are born scientists, myself included.

Devi: Is there an inspiration behind Franny or Viktor?

Jim: Well, Franny, like I mentioned, was for my daughter. Viktor, I wrote because there are so many characters out there of kids who are awkward and feel embarrassed all the time, or don’t have any confidence. So, I wanted to write a character that sees a lot different than that. And you can tell from reading Viktor that he believes he can do anything.

Devi: If Franny and Viktor ever met, how do you think that would go?

Jim: (Laughs) Well, let’s see. I think that they’d both think they were smarter than each other, and one of them would be right

Devi: In Dear Dumb Diary, why does Jamie Kelly hate science class? She is like the opposite of Franny K. Stein!

Jim: Jamie has deep feelings, but she kind of just blurts out anything she’s thinking because she’s writing in a diary. One day she might hate science and the next day she might love it. She just writes whatever she thinks.

Devi: Which was your most and least favorite subjects in school?

Jim: My least favorite, this is really easy for me, was math. I was really bad at it. You’re going to get to a point where you’ll do something called proofs. You have to write down these equations, and then you have to go down the list and you have to prove why what you wrote is correct. When I was in high school, once I got in trouble. My teacher was Mr. Van Draught, and he knew I hated math. He said “Mr. Benton, would you please come up to the board and do the proof on this equation?” and I said “Mr. Van Draught, didn’t somebody prove this to you last year? How many times do we have to prove this to you before you just accept it?” Well, I got sent to the principal’s office.

My favorite classes were English and Art, which you could kind of guess.

Devi: If you could pick one character from your books, whom do you think is the most like you?

Jim: Uh, there’s actually little bits of me in all of them. Even characters like Isabella, who can be really mean sometimes; I have a really mean side. And Angeline, who’s really nice, I have a really nice side. But I’m not exactly like any one of them.

Torn

On the ground the red, white, and blue lie worn
A nation that is undoubtedly torn
Those men in blue who have sworn to protect
Show those of opposite races nothing but neglect
Screaming red pours from the veins onto the floor
Making us resent the nation we want to adore,
Instead this nation driven by equality is trapped in a war.
A free nation undivided, or so they thought,
The government rather let it citizens rot.
Wealth and power has corrupted the leaders with thoughts of greed
In return they refuse to give those without the education and help they need
In a nation undivided, here it lies torn
Racism and greed has cut this nation’s flesh like a thorn.
For those who chose to turn a blind eye
How would it feel to watch a loved one die?
For those who are proud of this nation
How can you can you ignore those whose cries wail so loud?
On the ground the red, white, and blue, lie worn
A nation undoubtedly torn.
Do you see the hatred that radiates in their veins?
Do you see their mind so swollen with prejudice?
Do you see them, blinded by that red
Shielding their eyes from the differences that makes us great?
Do you see through them to the black depths of their heart
Where it is cold and being rotted away by mold?
Their minds are confined by steel barriers that trap them, trap them into feeling only hate
As they draw their weapons and tear us apart for the differences that make us great,
On the ground the red, white and blue lie worn
A nation undoubtedly torn.

Nicholas Graff is interested in joining the Navy. He writes poems about social status and tensions in America.

Obligation

Kristen has learned to accept that her grandfather will not know her face apart from her siblings. She is his grandchild, non-differentiable from the other dozen, and he knows little more of this stranger than of someone off the street, and less than if she had had a conversation with him.

“So, when’s school start for you?”

“In just a week.”

“And you’re going into…”

“…12th grade.”

Kristen never participated in sports like her sister; she was never Homecoming Queen. It took her the first three years of high school to accept that there is much more to her. Her qualities, although not as keen towards recognition, are qualities she has grown to love. There is so much she could share: the art exhibit she’s invited to in the winter, the anticipation and fear when considering years after graduation, the anxiety of deciding the next step of life when she cannot even decipher if she is on the right path. These are the variables of her life that become flat in his presence, smothered by repetitive questions.

“12th grade.”

Her grandfather directs the conversation to her father, “How’s work going for you?” He shuffles his feet towards his son and then away, as if unsure if the question is appropriate.

“It’s alright.” Her father stands with his arms crossed, as if a guard to his own kingdom. His expression is not unwelcoming, but unresponsive to any attempt at engagement. Expressionless. He has trained himself to preserve his emotions for the ones who can appreciate them. It’s difficult to sympathize with an impassive father after having children of his own, children he cherishes and longs to be with, a trait he certainly did not inherit from this man whose only offering to the world is peripheral anecdotes: the number of times a robin pecked his window sill, the current success or failure of his watermelon patch, stories of childhood friends who, last week, he either saw at church or their funeral.

The house hasn’t changed since Oma’s death. If anything, Opa’s collection has grown. It overtakes the garage, organized but growing rapidly. Beat up softballs line the back wall, worn and discolored from their previous settlement in roadside ditches. Dozens of forgotten basketballs acquired from school playgrounds are trapped in metal trash cans behind the red truck planted at the heart of the garage: a relic from his days as a carpenter. The freezer– thoroughly stocked with Dollar Store dumpster hotdogs and candy bars- – is accompanied by scooters on either side. Every item– every tennis racquet, every snowshoe, every roller skate– has a story. They belonged to a young Amish boy: a shadow cast from Opa’s childhood into the next generation. They were tossed aside, outgrown and unwelcome by a group of teenagers. They were treasured by school kids, and then discarded when new trends overshadowed traditions.

It’s been 20 years and still Opa keeps Oma’s belongings in the back room, unvisited and steadily collecting dust. Light filters through the single window, casting a dim glow over the room’s inhabitants: her rocking chair, countless piles of miscellaneous fax papers, a typewriter, National Geographics from the 30’s, photo albums, and books. Hundreds and hundreds of books. Novels on nursing, science, history. Stories of death and world catastrophes, of religion and end times. They pervade every corner, line the shelves, weigh on tables. They permeate the atmosphere, shed their warnings of doom while simultaneously offering their knowledge, as if doing a favor to the curious wanderers.

Intertwined amongst the books stand family photos. Black and white and sepia-tinted replicas, time capsules of the familiar yet distant past. Oma and Opa’s wedding day, a family portrait of their three sons, her father sitting in the front yard as a young boy. They sit under a haze of time, as if the decades have rubbed out the edges. As if one day, as fewer and fewer understand the handsewn dresses and head coverings of their upbringing, they may altogether fade.

Opa does not acknowledge the room, and yet cannot bring himself to rid the house of her belongings. And so the house tilts perpetually to one side, laden with the past that creeps steadily towards vapor as he cannot forget her, and yet he cannot even speak her name.

Hotdogs from a crockpot and stale chips are set out for lunch. Kristen and her family sit in the sun room, avoiding the actual consumption of the food but trying to maintain polite gratitude for the effort made.

“I was in my truck when I saw this shoe on the side of the road– the road behind White Horse.” He points to his left foot, adorned with a bright blue sneaker with neon soles. “Didn’t really think much of it, but then about a quarter mile down the road I see the other shoe, so I pick it up and drive back to get the first one. Some kid probably threw them out without thinking about it. But now I have a nice pair of sneakers and didn’t pay a buck!” Her brother pokes her shoulder, whispers, “Are we leaving soon?”

Kristen shushes him, but feels the same restlessness that comes with his monologues of the monotonous details that suddenly become very interesting in old age.

Kristen has been told that Oma got in an accident on the way home from a party. She pictures a party with boxed cookies and stale coffee and women with weary attitudes. The kind of party where ladies get together to discuss quilting, their kids, their husbands, church, anything so as not to talk about the expanding hopelessness and nullity of their lives. She imagines Oma sitting in a cold folding chair in a circle of women, looking at their faces and wondering what purpose she has there. She imagines Oma’s bent back, forty years weighing upon her shoulders, exhausted by her marriage. Instead of relief, her empty house brings despair; a sure sign her boys are past needing her help, having families of their own. Inundated by the forlorn sense of growing old. Kristen wishes away any regret in Oma’s decision; she replaces it with gratitude for her children and the optimism of new lives in the world. Oma believed she earned a better life than what she got, after working night shifts at the hospital to supplement her husband’s meager paycheck as a carpenter; being present for her children while her husband developed his collection of dumpster finds. Oma must have been struggling with the idea for years, ever since their first kid.

Kristen had been told there was an accident, but the tree was Oma’s opportunity, her way out.

There is still a memorial along the highway.

Oma never met her seventh grandchild. She knew about her, but left just weeks before Kristen was born. Eight months into the pregnancy. They say Oma would have loved her, but it’s easy to say how someone would have cared when that someone is dead. Oma would have loved her, but she would not have known her. When isolation and disconnect is a family pattern, it’s foolish to think one grandbaby could change the dynamics between parents and their children.

Kristen has been conditioned to understand that grandparents are not friends; they are obligations. They are people she has dinner with when guilt rises after months have gone by without a visit. She hears her parents’ critical analysis of their childhood and watches the pattern of detachment continue. They feel no responsibility to the people who raised them, no obligation to their siblings. They see a problem and remove it. She fears she will do the same.

Her parents give up on conversation. A silence falls over the company. Opa must feel some burden, some anxiety at his inability to carry the conversation.

“Opa, could I borrow a book or two sometime? I saw some interesting ones in the back room.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Help yourself! I have some suggestions if you’re interested.”

She walks with him, through the kitchen, down the hallway, to the back room. It’s a start.

Olivia Stoltzfus is a senior at Solanco High School where she is involved in a variety of arts programs, including National Art Honor Society. She works to further develop her literature skills by analyzing advanced pieces of literature in her AP English class, and writing both in and out of school. After graduation, she plans to continue her fine art education at a post-secondary art school on the East Coast.

Winter’s Spell

“You know, I never liked winter.” Tammy turned her head to the sound of her old friend Donnie’s voice, her eyes lost in the milky night sky. They had encased themselves in the freezing February dusk, struggling to search for help. They had first found themselves trapped after taking a wrong turn from a hiking path into the immense Malsano Grove. According to Donnie’s extensive knowledge of mystery movies, they were supposed to be found in at least 3 days. However, it was already weeks after and civilization appeared to be a faint dream now. The brisk air cut at their skin, their hair practically frozen in thick locks, while their fingers were red with frostbite.

“They say it swallows you whole,” Donnie mumbled to herself. “The winter. It takes away your sanity.” Tammy nodded in agreement as she reminded herself that the person before her was not a meal. Delusions like this had plagued her since she arrived in the woods, her mind unraveling with each passing day. Some days the hallucinations were simple, a mysterious sound or fictional shadows. On bad days she saw people, dead relatives or old rivals. But the worst days were the ones she dreamt of eating, feasting upon imaginary meals created by her warped brain. It didn’t matter if what her eyes saw was inedible, she perceived it to be otherwise. Even now, as she sat next to the girl she’d known all her life, all she could envision was snatching off a limb, maybe even just a hand, and sinking her teeth into the bloody human flesh to have some form of sustenance inside of her stomach.

“Have you been able to sleep at night?” Tammy questioned quietly. Donnie shook her head, her mind flashing with the images of her nightmares. They only occurred at night, unlike Tammy’s hallucinations, and only boiled down to one vivid dream. She was alone, locked within the depths of her mind, lacking any ability to move or even think for herself. At first, the only comfort she had lay in the piercing silence, leaving her with only hollowness. That’s when the shadow appeared. It was sleek and abstract, lacking any real physical form besides pure darkness. However, as time moved on, the darkness began to transmute, forming into the very person it stood behind. It began its movements by raising its arms in a gun-wielding position as Donnie’s body mirrored it, the actual weapon lying within her large hands. The barrel was cold against her skin, paining her fingers as she held on. The shadow placed its hands on the trigger, staring down the barrel towards its target. It was then that a massacre was committed, blood splattering onto Donnie’s face as the screams of her victims reverberated in her ears. And then, she’d wake up, body quaking as her fingers tingled from grasping the phantom gun.

“I sleep fine,” Tammy joked as Donnie slowly returned to reality.

“Good for you.” Donnie huffed, jealous of her friend’s clear conscience.

“I think a storm is coming,” Tammy remarked. Donnie rolled her eyes, skeptical of the sudden claim.

“You said there was going to be a storm last week. There wasn’t even a little snowfall.”

“I know. But this time is different.” Tammy turned to gaze into Donnie’s eyes then, the soft grey coloring matching the night. “Something bad is gonna happen.” Donnie bit her lip for a moment, lost in thought. Tammy’s predictions were usually close-calls at best, but otherwise entirely incorrect. The likelihood of her ideas being correct was 0 to none, although she’d never say it aloud.

“Whatever you say. Let’s just hope whatever it is leaves just as soon as it comes.” Donnie sighed while lying on the ground, pulling her jacket closer to her body. Tammy soon followed, lying on her arm with a small hum.

“Can you promise me something?” Tammy questioned.

“Depends on what it is,” Donnie chortled. Tammy closed her eyes then, her mind deceiving her with more delusions of feasting.

“If we ever get separated, I want you to run. Doesn’t matter where we are or what you heard, just run,”Tammy said. Donnie widened her eyes at the girl, surprised she would suggest such a thing. They had been trapped for so long, what point was there in separating after all they had been through together?

“Are you sure?” Donnie mumbled. Tammy nodded, her eyes locked into the stars as she came to terms with what she must do. It was with that bitter note, the two slept, allowing the soft chills of the night to lull them. That night, Donnie did not dream of her shadow, only the stark darkness that came before morning, content that Tammy’s delusions would never fall through. The following day, a sheet of white had immersed the Malsano Grove. The trees, the dirt, even the tracks that had previously been made, all were submerged in the snow. The scent of cold water mingled with dirty foliage to form something foul and reminiscent of death. Donnie opened her eyes with a start, the snow clustered on her eyelashes while her face felt like ice.

“Shit,” she huffed. “I guess you were right, Tam.” The wind whispered past, encompassing Donnie’s body with even more snow.

“Tammy?” Donnie turned to her side to find a blank patch of snow. Sirens rang through her head as Donnie jumped to her feet, her eyes scanning the woods.

“Tammy?!” Electric-like adrenaline pumped through Donnie’s veins as her heart pounded within her chest like a drum. Where could Tammy have gone? She’d only fallen asleep for a few hours; what could she be doing? Suddenly, like a faint, haunted memory, Tammy’s words from last night came to mind.

“If we ever get separated, I want you to run.” Donnie opened and closed her clammy fist, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as she realized what she must do. Nausea rocked her stomach like a ship caught in a storm, crashing in waves within her. She put herself into a running position, counting to ten before she decided to make a decision that would change her life forever. Her feet were light as she fled, each footstep worsening the ache in her heart as she ran away from the same girl she had grown to love. She could barely register her location as she ran, the snow blending together to make a prison of white. Why? Why? Why? Why was God so cruel to her, unforgiving and malicious? First imprisoned in this winter spell, and now forced to leave behind the one girl she loved, how could the world curse her so? However, as she continued to dash within the nightmare, she failed to realize the shadow that began to take shape behind her, lifting its arms with its cold barreled gun.

BANG!

The sound rang across the forest, slowing down time itself. Donnie could feel her heart go still within her chest as a bullet propelled itself through her gut, staining the crisp snow an ugly crimson. Her body collapsed to the ground, her knees giving, followed by her upper half. Her eyes struggled to peer behind her, only to be met with that shadowy monstrosity.

The shadow held up the gun once more, staring down the barrel into Donnie’s eyes that were draped in betrayal. The shadow placed the gun against Donnie’s head, a devilish smile across her face as she came to accept her delusions. The death was quick, another shot echoing throughout the grove as ruby red blood pooled under Donnie’s head. The shadow showed no remorse as it leaned down towards her friend’s limp body, grabbing onto the flesh as she prepared to feast.

“You were right about the winter,” the shadow whispered. “It really does swallow you whole.”

Anisa is in 12th grade and lives in Camden, NJ with her older sisters and her mom. She enjoys writing in her spare time and plays clarinet for her school band.