Impressions 2014
Kelly Leonard ’15
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“Happy New Year to you, too. Love you.”
The second time. Far across the Pacific Ocean, an empty chair takes its space at the table during a family meal to celebrate the new year. One time, I excitedly pointed out how lucky we were to own an eight-seat table, which could exactly fit all members of my family. Now, far away from home, I just feel bad about how conspicuous at the same table the empty chair must be, which every one of my seven family members tries to avoid looking at.
I hang up the phone and sink into a deep daze. Olivia Xu ’15
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Fields (Three Runes)
The Grass Bright and luminous, Ta l l a s t r e e s ; As smooth as you please.
Scrubs Scraggy and bent, Good food for the animals. Holding onto life.
Rodents Squeezing past each other In their holes, Small in this huge world.
T h o m a s We s t b ro o k ’ 1 9
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D a n i e l Fo r m a n ’ 1 7
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Chandler Scull ’17
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Niagara Falls natural water, rushing down the falls Ducks, seagulls, flying high, enjoying the beautiful view You can’t miss the mist, up high, with the clouds, cooling you down, on that hot, hot day. Finishing the beauty with a colorful rainbow, smiling back at you. S o n i a H a f i z ’16
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Untitled 1 It hits you like a wave, Washing up from the deep. Soothing, like a mother’s arm. Vibrating through your body Like a drop of water in a still lake. Untitled 2
A small watery whirlpool. A frozen image trapped behind thick walls of glass. The previous motion, in all of it’s entirety Is understood from a single glance. A small underwater world: Totally magical and apart from trouble. Small fish, dancing and swimming around the Unattached world Far beneath the waves on the surface. The coral itself spinning. Entwined in the unattached world; A beautiful and amazing whirlpool of water Trapped behind thick glass walls. Hannah Sensenig ’15
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Daniel Dong ’14
Hidden Ceremony In the vast, Uninhabitable, Desert. The scorching heat And miserable dehydration, I endure. Until Endless mirages, Blinding hallucinations, Dizzying illusions, Overtake me. At last, My mind is pulled away. Being transported To a place unknown to me. I succumb. My obliviousness withdraws. In a mind-rippled state, I hover with caution, Through the slippery cemetery. I see a tempting gleam, A beacon- like a needle point of light Appearing through a Thick veil of fog. I see my reflection On the smooth exterior Of the forbidden fountain. I am drawn by the hidden ceremony; Blurred accents of tinted Ivory and hazel Surrounding two blackened pupils.
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I creep through lilac, Toward a fragile tree. It's branches, Reach for me. It's leaves, Outstretched. It grasps my sanity, Blurs it to nothingness. Suddenly My mind shifts, To another world. I try to grasp my thoughts, Like gears on an old, Unused clock. Trying to catch After decades untouched. With my head, Spinning. My thirst, Unquenched. I force myself Into this new world, Knowing it will be More threatening Than the last, Yet, Still hoping it will not. As I reach for this new place, I feel my light feet Graze soft sand. I open my eyes.
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Raging oceans glisten, Like pounded metal Beneath the summer sun. The crashing tides roar In a taunting melody. Beckoning me closer. I cup my ears, Blocking out the daunting sounds. My body still craving fluid. The tides Begging me to indulge myself In their cool ocean water. My mind knowing better, I thrust my chin into the air, I trudge on. I see ominous mountains, Just in sight. Abundant streams Trickle through my mind, Mocking my thirst. When I nearly Reach the tremendous summit, I venture into a dank opening. An imposing gouge On an otherwise perfect surface. I sense that it is tranquil. A place of redemption. I venture further. I reach a dimly lit Opening.
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Reach the tremendous summit, I venture into a dank opening. An imposing gouge On an otherwise perfect surface. I sense that it is tranquil. A place of redemption. I venture further. I reach a dimly lit Opening. A pool of water in the center, Provides the only light. I approach it with caution. The light it is emitting, Are from reflections Of my past mistakes. All the ones I have hurt, All the things I cannot Forgive myself for. In that moment, I realize why I was put on this journey. I drink the water, My thirst is quenched. I relive my mistakes I learn to accept them. I can move forward. Within the intimidating cliff, My self renewed. There, I end my expedition. Awakening, To a bleary harmony.
Abby Schlageter ’17 Scholastics Honorable Mention |
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Himalayas Frosty, crisp like a cold spring day The snowy whitecaps, like whipped cream on a piece of pie The ice, more pure than any bottled water The numerous mountain goats, like speckles on an egg The king of all mountains, Mount Everest, stands tall and mighty The tour planes, buzzing around like bees All this beauty in one place The Himalayas Connor Lindsay ’19 14
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Jenna Schwartz ’18
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The In-Between Some say my name, Gabrielle, means “Woman of God.” Others think the name has no significance at all; rather, it is merely a female form of “Gabriel”, the archangel who foretold the birth of Jesus. But the fact is no one can capture my essence in any amount of words. Why let someone else define me?
Chandler Scull ’17
Say the name Gabrielle. Feel the way it rolls off your tongue, slipping away like silk chiffon. Focus, and articulate every sound. Gabrielle. It is a chunk of rich, dark chocolate slowly melting on your tongue. It floats through the streets of Paris in the springtime, the taste of it lingering in a coffee mug at an outdoor cafe.
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It whispers of fountains, sculptures, paintings, and romance. The beauty it evokes is serene and natural. But it is not just the name that inspires me; it is the person it represents. Gabrielle is who I aspire to be. She is a woman with an air of understated elegance and grace. She is an independent woman who has a strong sense of mind, character, and self-worth. One day you might see her roaming the streets of Italy, heels clicking as she walks, and the next day she’ll be burrowed in a cottage on the outskirts of London, scribbling and sweating over her latest novel. She is a well-educated and cultured woman. Though I am not Gabrielle, I hope someday I will be. For a long time I was Gabbi, written in pink, sparkly bubble letters. When I hear it, I think of the blissful freedom of summertime. Dripping strawberry popsicles and sticky red hands. Days spent lying in green grass and running through sprinklers. The time of the year when you have no schedule, nowhere you have to be, and no one expecting anything from you. The summer heat melts your worries away. Gabbi is a name for a young, playful girl. She loves skirts that swish when she twirls, and the flip-flop of her sandals in the summer. She never simply walks or sits. Instead, she joyfully flits about, constantly bubbly and babbling about whatever happens to cross her mind. Her attentions and interests are fleeting. In her wake she leaves messes and scarcely realizes it; she’s that kid who takes out the barbies and never puts them away. She’s a free spirit, and too young to know or care. I am the in-between. I am neither the sophisticated Gabrielle nor the childish Gabbi. Each of these people are a part of me - one is the little girl I’ve left behind and the other is the woman I aim to be. But who will I become? Gabrielle Mohn ’15
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Elizabeth Warfel ’15, Scholastics Gold Key 18
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Inspiration What is inspiration? It’s that moment when the spark of creativity catches And cuts through the darkness of monotony When you see the world around you in full color, instead of shades of gray So you run with the match, trying to light the candle that will keep the flame burning Your pencil flies across the page And your brush makes wide strokes, filling an empty canvas As you form an imprint of your thoughts and feelings Before the candle burns down And the beauty you see in the light is lost forever But maybe, just maybe Your candle will light a fire A fire that will burn for years and years Until someone else, lost in the darkness Will catch sight of the fading embers And run as fast as they can To see if there is any warmth to spare And perhaps there will be enough heat left To help their own spark catch For them to be inspired, and see the world in a way all their own. Charlotte Scott ’17, Scholastics Silver Key
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My Life: An Adventure Ahlan wa Sahlan ًالهسو ًالهأ, Marhaba هب بحرم
(“Welcome” in Arabic). I am a very global person. I absolutely love visiting different places across the planet. I have been to one of the most international and luxurious cities in the world: Dubai. It is a spectacular city--an amalgam of different cultures, sand, water, and shining lights at sundown. Within the United States, I love to travel, whether it is to cold lakefilled Minnesota or dry, sunny Texas. I hope to go snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef, and visit Apple and Google Headquarters. I have a passion for capturing different landmarks and cultures. I love to take photographs. I aspire to seize hold of earth’s beauty, whether it is a glowing sunset or a newborn’s face. I love capturing memories: birthday parties, Thanksgiving, weddings. Whenever I visit somewhere new, I feel even more thankful to be a part of this global community. Even so, whenever I travel by plane, I secretly want to touch the clouds; I want to step outside. How does it feel to be a free bird, spreading out my wings and gliding along the air? Although it is not the exact same feeling, I want to ride a hot air balloon. It is a dream I have for myself. Whenever I doze off into a sweet dream, I feel as if I am floating on a hot air balloon…drifting in the wind. I can see the earth beneath me and become a part of the sky. Up and away, I bid you goodbye. I am an explorer in reality and in my dreams. Sarah Hafiz ’14
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Roses
Emily MacKinnon ’19
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In the Mirror
W hen I look in t he mi r ror al l I se e , Is t his st range f ace st ari ng ba ck at me . I st ud y t he mout h, t he nose , the e ye s. Try ing to p eer t hrough the di sg ui se I sc an, t hen stop , t hen s ca n some more , Not know ing w hat I’m l ook i ng for. W ho am I? W hat m ake s me me? T hese are t he t hings I ye ar n to se e I giv e up t he searc h an d bow my he a d. I st art to leav e b ut stay i nste ad. I raise my head w it h growi ng de spai r, and realize w ho is sta ndi ng the re . I am t he m out h, t he nose , the e ye s, t he nerv ous glances, t he awk wa rd si g hs. A s I gaze my feat ure s shi ft, M y f ace alight s and my spi r i ts l i ft. I know t his f ace t hat retur ns my stare . I t ’s alw ay s w it h me e ve r ywhe re . I leav e t he mirror and ope n the door, Not unsure of w ho I am a nymore . Paidin Andreas ’16
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Untitled A cold night is broken by commotion in the center of town. Through billowing smoke, floating in a haze toward the sky, Shouts choke the air, complemented by repeated praises. The cheers from the overexcited crowd are deafening; One girl does not want to yell. Pages are torn by hatred and prejudice, ignorance and anger. Centuries of stories are ended in an instant of judgment. No one dares to stop them; no one sees the need. Expressive passages go up in smoke as people watch; One girl does not want to look. The growing fire engulfs everything they feed to it; Coppery flames eat away at every tapered binding, Separating each charred cover from another charred cover. Once elegant and beautiful, stories are reduced to mere ash; One girl does not want them destroyed. They are told to do their part in the war to end all wrongs “We will cleanse the world,” they say with hubris, “Everyone should demolish the filth that leads them astray” They are told to throw in a book by order of the Führer; One girl does not want to play her part. She has seen death many times in her young life. It has followed her, always trailing faithfully behind, It seems to be she will never escape it, though she tries. Each story is a piece of her own serenity, her comfort. Intriguing, they lead her to an entirely different world, And have the power to tell her what she has never known. One girl steps forward in the cold, coat held tight around her. She reaches out, tentatively picking up a steaming book; It is covered in smoldering ash, and is still hot to the touch. She turns her head, ensuring she is all alone in the square. Stashing the taboo away in her coat, she hides it from sight. One girl has saved a book from burning. She is Liesel Meminger. She is the Book Thief. Caroline Ford ’17 24
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Caroline Ford ’17
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Sounds in Silence
Silence sounds different to me. I hear everything. I hear the soft buzzing of the lights, The gentle hum of a smart board, The tap tap tap of the keyboard as I hit the keys, The clicking pens and mechanical pencils. I hear murmurs from other rooms, The sudden scraping of a chair upstairs, Cars zooming past the open window, blowing a tornado of leaves. Every pencil racing across a paper, though mine is standing still. Breath and life all around me. Yet sounds call out to only me, Like invisible friends trying to get my attention. Emily MacKinnon ’19
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Fisher Lisk ’17
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Mineshaft A cavernous tunnel deep in the ground The monotonous sound echoes chink chink chink picks of stone and iron greeting the stone with a smash searching for a gilded treasure Yet another day for these men But it will be different for one As he thrusts his arm into another swing He breaks much more than gold as he lifts his arm to greet the wall yet again The gilded wall does not return his enthusiasm A stone, just rightly fixed, makes a new acquaintance William Messick ’19
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Maddie MacDowell ’14
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Grounded
Have you ever thought Or Realized That most of us Are grounded?
We are born on this earth. And we will die on this earth. Take our first steps on this earth Only laughing on this planet
Same sun Same moon Time passes Nothing new
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Most are scared Of a new sun A new moon, New constellation outside their bedroom
But me I want to laugh On another planet understand another sun and moon Someone out in the stars
Erika Faulkner ‘16
Hannah Biles ’19
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Amy Shields, ’17, LCYA Silver Medal
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Untitled The student sits as teacher talks, His flitting eyes pass o’er the clocks. He is sincere; he wants to learn -He listens close but still doth yearn For secret knowledge unbeknown To teacher perched high on his throne. The high-throned teacher creaks and sways; He plots the periods, charts the days, Instructs the years; -- the upraised hand Requests the lesson left unplanned, The “secret knowledge.” More raise hands. This too the teacher understands. The student drops his upraised hand -This knowledge, he comes to understand, Cannot be taught; but rather, earned. The student must still yet be learned: Curiosity did cause Adam’s fall; The ill-fated cat should teach us all. *** Some say that wisdom grows from double talk Or tennis games between the first and last; Some feel the track’s a solitary walk, A mobius strip whereon you mirror your past. Use judgement on the teacher’s witness stand, But do not drop the inner upraised hand. Doug Wilson ’15 and Daniel Cohen, Ph.D
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Lilian Anderson ’17
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The Rocky Mountains
Nothing would move on an evening so cold Many a creature trapped deep in its burrows The snow, like boulders, suffocated all life As the great conifers withered away The air was thick, icy and dull It stung the hillsides like bees At night darkness shrouded the peaks The mountains were veiled wraiths And then in the morning, a single flower poked up from the snow A sure sign of things to come
William Messick ’19
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Chandler Scull ’17 Scholastics Silver Key
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Balcony I sit alone, listening Listening to the birds. the f a
l l i n g the faint car engines,
acorns
I sit alone seeing Seeing a bright fiery orb, the sun sinking in the distance, Seeing a light breeze move the limbs of the trees, I sit alone, feeling Feeling the last rays of sun grazing my cheeks, Feeling the warm wind wrapping tendrils of hair around me Making it harder to see, harder to listen, I sit alone, listening, seeing, and feeling, as though I were a bird Lauren Proffit ’19
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Amy Shields ’17
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Racing the Night My eyes flicker and I open them. I can’t sleep- my mind is racing, my heart pounding, and I know I can’t hold back anymore. There’s no use in resisting the urge. Climbing out of bed, I pull on my running clothes, open the door, and pad silently down the stairs. I slip out of the relative brightness of the house, and out into the near complete darkness beyond. I stop for a moment, with my feet on the cool grass, and listen: all I can hear now is the occasional chirp of crickets or the croak of a frog. I live far from the city, so there are only a few houses nearby. Out here, my family and I are almost alone, and now I’ve managed to escape even them. In a sudden, quick movement, I leap forward and start running down my lawn toward the dirt road near my house. No one can catch me, make me stop, because I’m free. I swear I’m flying, and my feet barely touch the ground as I start to feel my breath come harder. I don’t mind though; there’s something primal and beautiful about the way I gasp for air and my legs burn with effort. Out here, when I’m pushing myself, fighting to keep going, I can forget all my stress and fear. Nothing is holding me back or tying me down- I can leave all my problems behind. When I finally arrive back at my house, I gradually slow down and let myself melt back into the darkness. I love being outside in the dark. I become fast and graceful and strong, something more than myself, something better. I’m closer than ever to true perfection. I wish I could just stay out here, safe, forever, but I know that’s impossible. So as I’ve done many times before, I pad back into my house and turn on the shower. My parents never wake up, and they don’t suspect anything. That’s the way it needs to stay. So I always make sure to hide my running clothes until I can wash them, and I never run during the day for fear of being seen. No one can know what I’m doing. Once I’m clean and dry, I slip back into my bed, hoping to catch a few more hours of sleep before I need to get up. Far in the distance, I hear the whistle of a train. As I pull the covers up over my chest, I imagine what it would be like to race alongside that train, speeding through the dark...
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My mother’s gentle voice wakes me. “Brooke, honey, it’s time |
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to get up,” she whispers, as she does almost every morning. It’s rare for me to wake up on my own, and I let my parents think its because I have so much less energy than I used to. Used to. Change is such a funny thing, because after it happens, you can barely remember what your life was like before. I don’t know what I thought, how I felt, before everything changed. A life without my fears, without my doubts, seems impossible now. I can’t even tell you when or how it happened, exactly. All I know is that it was coming for a long time. No one could have stopped it- all it took was a little push to send me over the edge. Sometimes I think school is the one place I feel happy, the one place I’m safe from all my problems. I keep my secrets, and no one has to know, no one has to understand, to connect the dots into the picture that is the horrible truth. Other times I feel as if it just makes things worse. Seeing all the girls around me at lunch, talking, laughing, but hardly eating. They all have excuses, but it doesn’t stop me from staring at my own food, feeling ashamed. Ashamed that there is always someone going farther, eating less than me. Still, there must be some point at which I’ll be happy. It’s impossible to strive for something forever, and it’s best to enjoy the |
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peace while I can, because soon enough I’ll be home again, back under the microscope. It feels like the entire world is watching me, judging every little thing I do. I can’t make my own decisions there, I can’t choose anything for myself. All because I chose what they said was wrong one too many times, now my freedom has been taken away. On the bus ride back home, I watch the trees, bushes, and houses blur together and let my mind wander. For just a few minutes, I stare out and sing under my breath, pretending that I’m a completely average teenager with a normal, crisis free family. I imagine that my family accepts me decisions and trusts me again. But as the bus jerks to a stop in front of my house, I shake myself out of the useless reverie, reminding myself that they’ll never understand. No one does. I’ve only been home for a few minutes when my mother walks in with a cheery, “Hi sweetie!” I do the best I can to stay positive, but this doesn’t change where I have to go today. Again. “Hey mom!” I say with a somewhat forced smile. “How was work?” “The usual,” she sighs. “Long and hard. But I’m home now. You remember where we’re going this afternoon, don’t you?” How could I forget? I’ve been dreading it all week, but at least after this I won’t have to go for a while. Two weeks, instead of just one, because the doctor will be away on vacation. “Four-thirty, right?” I ask her. She nods apologetically, able to detect the sigh in my voice. “I understand this isn’t easy,” she tells me, “And I just want you to know how proud I am of you. You’re trying, and that means so much to me.” I simply smile weakly in response. Hearing her tell me how proud she is just makes things worse, making me feel guilty for only pretending to eat my lunches at school. Sure, it looks like I’m trying, but underneath it all I’m fighting back, even though Mom and Dad have no idea. All they see is the obedient girl who listens carefully, nods her head, and eats whatever she is told. Yes, I feel guilty, but I have no other choice but to pretend. I know from experience that it’s not hard to fool people who want to believe what they see. I take a deep breath as I step across the threshold of the building, flanked on either side by my parents. As we ride the elevator up to the third floor and walk down the hallway, I try to stay calm, but I’m 42
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becoming more nervous by the second. Until now, I’ve always been able to avoid flat out lying to my parents. But if the doctor asks me why I haven’t gained any weight, what can I tell her? I always considered myself fairly honest, but I feel so far away from that girl now. My long-ago innocence is gone. That’s the price I’ve had to pay to do what I know is right and be happy, though, and it’s worth it, isn’t it? I’m sitting on the too-soft chair, staring down at the dark wood of the doctor’s desk, while she talks quietly with my parents. There’s no use listening to them, because I’ve heard it all before. I know they think what I’m doing is wrong. Everyone does. I was once just like them, not thinking or worrying at all. Only in the past few months have I realized how wrong I was-life has to be structured, planned, calculated. Nowadays I follow one simple rule: the less calories I eat, the better. By sticking near one extreme, I don’t have to worry about losing control, and slipping toward the other. I’m just starting to wonder about dinner when I hear my mother’s voice. “What do you think, Brooke? It is a little strange that your weight hasn’t increased,” she says. This is it. The moment I’ve been dreading. I bite my lip and furrow my brow, hoping for more time to come up with a response. Then I’m thrown a lifeline. “Of course,” the doctor says, “She might just not be eating enough for meals.” My parents look at each other, concerned, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. “Try to increase her intake, and use the meal plan as a guide,” she finishes. “We’ll talk more during your next visit, and I’ll look reevaluate to see if there really is a problem. Eyes wide and innocent, I nod my head seriously. It’s all right, I tell myself. None of them suspect that it’s your fault. Still, if I don’t want them to find out what I’ve been doing, I need to come up with a better excuse. As my parents schedule my next appointment, I hear the secretary remind my parents the doctor won’t be here next week- hopefully that will give me some time. My parents are still struggling to find a suitable time when I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. While I’m looking into the mirror, I see a girl enter behind me. I give her a small smile and then look away, but suddenly I hear her speak. “I know what you’re doing,” she says quietly. “You can’t hide it from me.” Shocked, I turn around and look at the girl more closely. She’s about my height, and her body looks very |
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similar to mine, but somehow she still seems at least a few years older. Then with a jolt I understand what I’m seeing. Her growth has been stunted, by the same thing I’ve been warned about- eating too little to support your development. For a brief second I glimpse my own possible future in this girl: I see myself short and slight, suspended in time, for the rest of my life.”Yeah,” she whispers sadly. “It can happen. That’s why you should stop now, before it’s too late.” Instinctively I think she knows about my secret, but I remind myself that’s not possible. And yet when she looks into my eyes, somehow I believe her as she says, “I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re still fighting. You’re not trying to get better.” “They don’t understand! They’re the ones who need to get better,” I tell her, annoyed. The girl shakes her head, and I start to feel angry. She’s acting like she understands me, like she actually knows what I’ve gone through. “Trust me. It’s not worth it in the end.” She insists. I’m about to open my mouth and tell her that it is worth it, that she doesn’t know anything about me, when she holds up a hand. “Please. Listen. I was just like you, once. I thought that by starving myself, I could escape all the fear and worry I was feeling, about everything. But it was never really gone.” Her gaze drops to the floor. “By the time I realized how much I’d given up, that being thin wasn’t going to make me happy, it was too late. I’d done too much damage, and there was no going back.” I bite my lip, and for a second I feel uncertain. No, I tell myself. I don’t need to listen to her. “I’m sorry, but you don’t know me,” I tell her finally. “You can’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.” I feel slightly mean, but I can’t let a stranger make me doubt myself. “I know I can’t,” she says, and I can feel her eyes on me. “I can’t make this decision for you. This is your choice, and your life, no one else’s. All I can say is that deep down, you know the truth. But you have to be the one to decide your future.” And with that she walks away, out the door and down the hall, back to wherever she came from. And I’m left standing alone, staring at my reflection in the mirror, with the words of an unknown and yet somehow familiar girl swirling through my mind. Days pass, and I feel as if I’m somehow running out of time. The 44
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date of my next appointment is drawing nearer and nearer, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. How will I face the doctor, let alone my parents, when they realize I haven’t gained anything? Parts of the day go by so fast, and others are impossibly slow. Every time one of my parents mentions how well I’m doing, I feel an urge to get up and run out the door, and keep running until I can escape this mess I’m caught up in. I can tell they’re starting to notice that I’m not filling out at all, that I really am as skinny as ever, and I can tell they’re worried. I keep running, but now it somehow seems forced. I’m not moving away from my problems anymore, I’m not getting anywhere. Soon the truth will catch up with me, and what will I do then? Four nights before my next appointment, I slip out of bed as usual to go running. There’s a sense of urgency, a sort of charge in the air, and I feel it building up as I slip on my running clothes. I suddenly feel hot, and my breathing comes faster and faster. I tear down the stairs, and just when I think I can’t take it anymore I wrench open the door and gasp in the cool night air. Still, this isn’t enough, and I set off running. I’m going fast, the world whips by, but I can still hear the girl’s words in my head. “...you have to be the one to decide your future...” What is my future? I’m not so sure anymore. My legs burn, they feel like they’re on fire, but nothing can drown out the thoughts running through my head. I don’t want to think about this. I want to go on with what makes sense to me, what helps me soothe the constant fear I feel. But it’s not working anymore- doubt is eating in to my confidence, my belief that I’m right and everyone else is wrong. I can hear myself gasping, and it doesn’t sound beautiful now. It sounds frightened, unsure. No! A part of me screams. You’re almost perfect now! Look how far you’ve come! And with that thought I stop, just grind to a halt and stand still. I can’t avoid the question anymore, I have to face it, once and for all. So I ask myself, truthfully, How far have I come? I’ve lost almost ten pounds. I’ve become adept at deceiving my parents, my friends, everyone around me. The color in my cheeks, the light in my eyes, and most importantly, my real happiness, is all gone. And do I feel safe, do I feel free? I know that the answer is no, that I’ve thrown almost my whole life away, all in pursuit of something impossible- perfection. For a second, I catch a glimpse of what my life used to be like, when I had hopes and dreams and a real future. And now I want that back, no matter how hard it will |
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be to get there. I don’t want to run away from my fear, I want it gone. I want to be free, and not for an instant, forever. So I start to walk back the way I came. For once, I can really listen to the sounds of the night around me, and see the stars clearly, not just in a blur. I arrive back at the house in a peaceful sort of daze, and as I walk up the stairs I don’t bother to be quiet. I’m not going to hide anymore. Still in my running clothes, I lift my fist, ready to knock on my parent’s door. I can’t fight this alone, and finally I’ve realized that they need to know the truth.
Julia Runkle ’17, LCYA Gold Medal
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Epilogue: Six Months Later As I step outside, I blink in the bright sunlight. It’s a beautiful early fall day, with only a slight chill in the air, and the leaves are just beginning to turn. I glance back toward the door, and I see my mother raise her hand with a smile. Having her approval, encouragement even, feels amazing. I look down at myself, and smile at my legs, legs that are stronger than they ever were before. It took a long time and lots of work, but I’m finally allowed to run short distances again. I’m still healing, still undoing all that damage undereating did to me, but this is one part of my life I can have back. And one day, I’ll have it all. Unwilling to wait any longer, I start to run, slowly and tentatively at first, but then faster as I reach the road. The sun shines down on my face, my legs, and I soak it in, revelling in the fact that I’m finally out of the dark. I still have a long ways to go, but I’m not scared anymore. I’ve started to live again, to change, to grow. As I gaze at the brilliant colors around me, I think back to the words of the one girl who changed everything. She was right. In the end, starving myself didn’t set me free, it held me back. It’s like I’ve finally woken up, and I can smile and laugh, like I can feel again. I’ve stopped running away from my problems. I’ve faced them, stared them down, and now I’m running forward, toward my future. Charlotte Scott ’17, Scholastics, Silver Key Photo Page 41, Andrea Everett ’16, LCYA Gold Medal |
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Lian Najarian ’15, LCYA Honorable Mention 48
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Maddie MacDowell ’14, Scholatics Gold Key
Lian Najarian ’15 , Scholastics Gold Key, LCYA Gold Medal |
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The 2014 Impressions Staff is responsible for the contents of this publication. The Impressions staff includes: Paidin Andreas, Alesha Arshad, Caroline Dai, Caroline Ford, Hannah Sensenig, Maddie Mohn, E.B. Vanasse, and Victoria Willis. Faculty advisor is Donna Wilcox. Contributing writers’ and artists’ names are listed throughout the publication. Cover Art: Quinn Evans ’16 Cover Design: Maddie Mohn ’16 Copyright 2014© Lancaster Country Day School
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Quinn Evans ’16, Scholastics Honorable Mention, LCYA Silver Medal