Speech

SPEECH A COLLECTION OF WRITINGS BY

SARAH MAY-STEIN

TABLE OF CONTENTS Writer’s Statement Playwriting: First Cup – Ten minute play Fiction: First Day – Excerpt from a short story Wickinowa Quiche – Excerpt from a novella Non-Fiction: Places to Eat Around Town – Newspaper article Staying in or Going out: Homework Choices – Newspaper article

Taking my Place at the Table – A memoir Poetry: What Bothers me the Most Confessions of a Shopaholic 2nd Grade: As I Remember Daddy: 1983 Santa Clause

Writing has been a part of my life ever since I was born. While my mom was pregnant with me, she started writing her first short story. She would read out loud to me her story. When I was born, she continued to write stories, versions of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, and would read them to me whenever she got the chance. When I was old enough to speak, I would dictate my mom stories, and she would write them down for me. I couldn’t wait to learn how to write, so that I could write my own stories.

By the time I was in fifth grade, I considered myself a very accomplished writer.

I had about three stories almost finished. My mom had decided that she wanted to be a teacher, so as a project, she volunteered to teach poetry to the fifth grade at my school.

She called her club KWAC, Kokopelli’s Writing Adventure Club. At first, it started as only her teaching about twenty kids. But as KWAC became more popular, she had four other parents, who were also writers, teaching us poetry. It became a school-wide affair.

I went into CAPA thinking that I was the stuff, and that I was probably the best writer there. I was so wrong. Literary Arts has not only taught me how to become a much better writer, but to have humility.

Speech is a collection of my most recent work that shows the type of writer that I am. Both my strengths and weaknesses are presented in order to show how I have grown over the past four years in the Literary Arts department. I hope you enjoy reading my work as much as I enjoyed writing it.

First Cup

(MAGGIE is sitting in a booth in an old fashioned diner. She is drinking a coffee and looking out the window. ARLEEN walks in and sees Maggie.)

Maggie? Is that you?

ARLEEN

(Maggie looks up and turns away, trying to hide her face. Arleen runs over and sits across from Maggie.)

Where the hell have you been?

ARLEEN MAGGIE

What are you talking about?

ARLEEN Don’t play dumb with me. You think I don’t know you ran away?

MAGGIE I didn’t run away.

ARLEEN Oh really? What the hell are you doing then?

MAGGIE Why are you here?

Don’t change the subject.

ARLEEN MAGGIE

I’m spending some time alone.

Alone?

ARLEEN MAGGIE

Yes. I need some time out of the house.

Where are you staying?

ARLEEN MAGGIE

You’ll get mad.

ARLEEN

Oh Jesus Maggie, you’re not sleeping in a box, are you?

MAGGIE Arleen, chill. I’m staying at Ben’s house.

Who’s Ben?

ARLEEN MAGGIE

My boyfriend.

And his parents are okay with this?

ARLEEN

MAGGIE Well, um, his parents aren’t exactly in town.

What?!

ARLEEN MAGGIE

Told you you’d get mad.

Are you sleeping with him?

ARLEEN MAGGIE

(sarcastic) No, I sleep on the couch.

ARLEEN Maggie! You’re only seventeen.

I think that’s old enough.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

Maggie, I didn’t do that until… well…

Ever?

MAGGIE ARLEEN

Shut up.

MAGGIE

It’s okay Arleen, some people don’t loose it until they’re forty. You know that movie Forty Year Old VirARLEEN Yes I know that movie. And I’m only twenty. It’s not like I’m a total prude.

MAGGIE Please, you’re the perfect child. You won’t date until you’re married.

Thanks Maggie. That’s real nice.

ARLEEN MAGGIE

You know it’s true.

Whatever.

ARLEEN MAGGIE

(takes a sip of coffee) Since when do you drink coffee?

ARLEEN MAGGIE

My first cup.

How do you like it?

ARLEEN MAGGIE

Its foul. (laughs) It takes some getting used to.

ARLEEN

MAGGIE Ich. I’d rather not. You never answered my question.

ARLEEN What question?

Why are you here?

MAGGIE

ARLEEN Mom called me. She told me about… your situation.

How typical.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

What are you talking about?

MAGGIE (angrily) She could never deal with me herself. She always had to call up someone else.

Why are you so angry?

ARLEEN

MAGGIE It’s just… lately… Mom has been on my ass about college and how you got accepted to your FIRST choice and how you got A’s in all your classes and how you’re SO perfect and if only I could be half as good as you were then I’d be in great shape…

She didn’t say that.

ARLEEN MAGGIE

Basically.

ARLEEN Oh please, you blow everything out of proportion.

MAGGIE No. You don’t know how she is with me. You’re the perfect child. I’m the screw up. She treats us differently.

ARLEEN You’re not the screw up. (gives Arleen a look) Who’s the run away here?

MAGGIE

ARLEEN I thought you were spending some time alone.

MAGGIE Yeah, well, you never needed time alone.

ARLEEN You’re too young to remember, but I ran away once.

MAGGIE What?

ARLEEN Well, I was only gone for about three hours… but me and Suzanne bought train tickets to New York. We were going to meet her boy friend at college. But Mom caught me. (laughs) I have a rebellious side.

That’s not running away.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

Close enough. (awkward silence) ARLEEN Why’d you leave? (sigh) It’s a long story.

Go for it.

MAGGIE

ARLEEN

MAGGIE (reluctantly) Well, you know how me and Mom aren’t on the best of terms?

ARLEEN Yeah.

MAGGIE We got into one of our fights earlier that night. And so I left and went to Annie’s house.

When I got back, Mom was in the kitchen cleaning and when she saw me she flipped out.

ARLEEN Well what did you expect? You left without permission.

MAGGIE

But, it was different. She called me a slut and told me that I was worthless.

ARLEEN She doesn’t mean that. She loves you.

MAGGIE You wouldn’t have known if you saw her that night. I thought she was going to hit me.

ARLEEN Maggie, she didn’t mean it. She was just upset.

She said I was worthless!

MAGGIE ARLEEN

You’re not worthless.

All I ever do is screw up.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

That’s not true.

I’m not in scholar’s classes.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

Maggie…

I never do what I’m supposed to.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

You’re a teenager…

I never listen…

MAGGIE ARLEEN

You’re not supposed to

MAGGIE I make life harder for Mom, I provoke her, I never make her happy, even when she really needs me. I’m never there for her.

ARLEEN You’re her kid! She’s supposed to be there for you, not the other way around.

It’s different now that you’re gone.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

What do you mean?

Dads never home. Ever.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

He never was home. His work is veryNo. He is NEVER home.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

You mean like…

He’s sleeping at his secretary’s house.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

WHAT? MAGGIE Mom cries all the time. She won’t leave him.

ARLEEN So you left her?

I’ll go back.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

Why won’t she leave him?

I don’t know. Maybe she still loves him.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

Poor Mom. Shit. I feel horrible.

MAGGIE

ARLEEN Don’t. Both of you are going through a rough time.

What’s so rough about my life?

MAGGIE

ARLEEN You don’t have Dad in your life! He left both of you, not just Mom. I guess. (uncomfortable silence) Let’s change the subject.

MAGGIE

ARLEEN

MAGGIE Fabulous. What would you like to talk about?

Something else.

ARLEEN MAGGIE

You want the rest of my coffee? (hands Arleen her cup) ARLEEN (takes a sip) Ew, it’s cold.

MAGGIE Sorry. (finishes the coffee in one gulp)

ARLEEN

Blech.

Ew, how can you do that?

MAGGIE ARLEEN

I’m addicted.

MAGGIE To coffee? What a horrible thing to get addicted to.

ARLEEN Better than heroin.

Heroin probably tastes better.

MAGGIE ARLEEN

Maggie!

MAGGIE Kidding! Just kidding. (studies Maggie’s face) When do you think you’ll come home?

I dunno. I like staying at Ben’s (mischievous smile) For real.

ARLEEN

MAGGIE

ARLEEN

MAGGIE Well I can’t go home today, it’s too humiliating.

To be brought home by your sister?

ARLEEN MAGGIE

I’ll be defeated.

Maggie, be serious.

ARLEEN

MAGGIE I need to get my stuff from Ben’s house. His parents were coming home anyways.

ARLEEN Let’s go then.

(Arleen gets up) MAGGIE You have to pay for your coffee.

ARLEEN No. YOU have to pay for YOUR coffee. Your first cup, remember?

MAGGIE You drank most of it. Besides, I have no money. (puts money on the table) You came to a diner with no money?

Not money that I want to spend.

ARLEEN

MAGGIE ARLEEN

(laughs) So you’re exploiting your sister.

MAGGIE Woops. (rolls eyes) Let’s go.

ARLEEN

CURTAIN

First Day Mary walked into the school building bright and early. She arrived before most of the other teachers. She had been too excited that morning to sleep. It was her first

real job. An English teacher at Polk Elementary, and she was only twenty-nine. Mary took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had taken a tour of the school that summer when she had been hired and another one the couple days of teacher work shopping before school started. But this was the first day of school. The first real day of real work.

Mary walked into her room. Her room. The thought excited her. She walked over to her desk and sat in her chair. The purple and grey chair reminded her of her father in his study, grading kid’s papers. None of them would get an A. It was his policy, seventh graders don’t know how to write a paper, they should not receive an A for a mediocre paper. Shaking her head at the memory, Mary took out her brand new binders with that “just bought” school supplies smell that she loved. Some people loved the smell of new cars. Mary loved the smell of the first day of school.

Mary paced around the room, nervous for her first day of real teaching.

Student teaching had gone fairly well. She had gotten all A’s in her courses. I’ll be fine she thought. Of course I will. She cracked her knuckles as she surveyed the room. Her dad hated it when she cracked her knuckles. He was supposed to call her today. Why hadn’t he called? Mary looked at her watch and smiled. It was only 6:30. He wasn’t up yet. Mary sat down at her desk again and sighed, putting her head in her hands.

April rolled over as her mother turned on the lights. “Wake up honey! First day of school!” She seemed to sing it rather than say it. April didn’t move. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep her mom would leave her alone and she could skip school today.

No such luck. April suddenly was very cold.

“Mom!” “Come on baby doll, first day of school!” She was still singing.

April grabbed for the blanket in her mom’s hands, but she was already walking out the door to wake up her Sammy. April rolled back over and shielded her eyes from the glaring light coming out of the bare light bulb on her ceiling. Forcing herself to get up, April grabbed a towel and ran into the bathroom to take a shower before her Sammy could and take up all the hot water.

April walked down the stairs brushing her hair. Sammy glared at April as she sat down and grabbed the box of cereal from her.

“I bet you took all the hot water,” Sammy said with her mouth full.

“If you were faster then you wouldn’t have to take a cold shower.” April smiled innocently at Sammy.

Sammy grumpily got up from the table. April’s mom sat down in her place. “You shouldn’t be so mean to your sister.”

April looked at her mom for a second, but went back to her cereal without saying anything.

“You’re getting so big April. Fifth grade. Wow, I can remember my first day of fifth grade. It’s the day I met your father.”

April looked up, half bored, half interested. Every year, her mother told her that that year was when she met her father. And they fell in-love instantly. April listened hoping that the story would somehow be different from last year’s. It never was.

Sammy walked in the kitchen. April looked up, surprised, “That was quick.”

Sammy’s lips were blue and her face was white, “Well that shower was cold as

hell.”

“Watch your mouth, “ April snapped.

April’s mom rolled her eyes and left the room. She plopped on the couch in front of the TV and opened a can of I.C. Light. She took a sip and yelled into the kitchen, “You girls gonna miss the bus if you keep bickering like this.”

April looked at her watch. 7:30. The bus came in five minutes. April grabbed her book bag and Sammy by the scruff of her shirt. “Come on, we’re gonna miss the bus.”

April and Sammy ran down the street to the bus stop, barely catching the bus. Sammy sat up in the front with her best friend. April walked to the very back. It was finally her turn to sit in the back of the bus. She had waited five long years for this and the time had finally come.

But when April got to the back seat, Aaron Mackey, a fourth grader was sitting there. Aaron looked up and grinned evilly at April. Any other kid, April would have just punched him in the face right then and there. But April and Aaron had a history. He had beaten her up last year, ruining her tough girl image. She was not about to risk a fourth grader even thinking about hitting her.

“Aaron, get the hell out my seat. You’re only a fourth grader. You don’t get to sit here.”

“What you gonna do ‘bout it April?”

“I’m calling fifth grade privilege. You gotta move.”

“You gonna make me like you did last year? You gonna whup my butt like you did last year April?”

That was the last straw. April punched Aaron in the face before she could stop

herself. Aaron jumped up on his feet and grabbed April by her collar. Instinctively, April kicked him hard in the nuts. Aaron fell to the ground, holding himself and whimpering.

By now, the whole bus had turned around to watch the fight. A couple kids had started chanting “fight, fight, fight.” The bus driver stopped the bus. She walked to the back and grabbed April and Aaron by their shirts and dragged them to the front of the bus. The bus got loud as soon as it started moving again. April smiled; she had got back her status of the bad ass of Polk Elementary.

Mary jumped as the bell rang. She couldn’t decide how she wanted the kids to see her for the first time. Sitting down, very non-chalante or standing up, waiting for them. First impressions were everything. She was still sitting when the first kids started trickling in. They were excited about something. Mary got up and stood in front of her desk, waiting for the rest of the class to file in.

Mary looked out the window at the buses that were coming in and dropping off kids. She over heard two girls excitedly talking about a fight on a bus. “Did you see April? Aaron didn’t even touch her!”

“Yeah, but did you see what Aaron did to her last year?”

“Oh please, that was a cheap shot.”

“He was still a third grader.”

“Well now she got him back. Serves him right.”

The late bell rang and the kids all sat down silently. Mary smiled; she wasn’t expecting the kids to behave so well. Especially on the first day of school. “Class,

welcome to fifth grade!” The kids cheered, but quieted down fairly quickly. “My name is Ms. Macintosh. But if you want, you can call me Ms. M.” Mary wrote Ms. M on the chalkboard. She turned back around to the class to tell them about their school year, but was interrupted by someone walking in the door.

“Hello, may I help you?”

“Are you new?”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t look like Mrs. Rodman.”

“That’s because I’m not Mrs. Rodman. My name is Ms. Macintosh and I’ll be you’re new English teacher.”

“I already know English.”

“That’s wonderful, why don’t you take a seat, um, what’s your name?”

“April.”

Mary watched April walk over to an empty seat in the back. There was something menacing about this girl. It was unnerving, almost frightening. Mary picked up her attendance sheet and started calling out names. When she came to April’s name, she looked up to meet April’s eyes. Mary stuttered a little calling the next boy’s name when she saw April giving her a death glare. An uneasy feeling crept up Mary’s spine. She continued to call attendance. This is going to be some year.

Wickinowa Quiche Racer sat on his front porch, smoking a cigarette and waiting for the newspaper boy to deliver his newspaper. He stared at the mist making swirls over the lake. The smoke from his pipe matched the graceful way the mist moved. He took another drag. The smoke left a familiar burn in the back of his throat that he had grown to like.

It was a particularly chilly morning, and Racer pulled at his sweater sleeves, trying to keep his wrists warm. The boy was late today. Racer grumbled to his dog Max, who was asleep under his chair. He waited every morning for the paperboy. Out on the lake, there wasn’t much company, and he liked talking to the boy, who was usually polite enough to talk for a few minutes.

Ever since Racer had moved to the lake, it was the same thing every day. He would wake up and take his coffee out to the front porch and wait. Reading the newspaper made Racer feel connected to the world. He loved predicting what would happen to people in the news, and would tell Max. This was the only time he and the dog interacted. The rest of the day, Max lounged on the porch, sleeping on his back when the sun was out, and sleeping under the chair when it was cloudy.

Racer, on the other hand, would try to be out of the house as much as possible.

He would go into town for lunch and to people watch. The rest of the day he would take a walk around the lake or make woodwork, and, once a week, have dinner with his neighbor, Paul.

Retirement had brought simplicity to Racer’s life, and that was how he liked it.

There was no hustle and bustle to this small town like that of Chicago, where he grew up. Things were pleasanter up here.

Paul had felt the same way. He was from Chicago too. He grew up on the opposite side of town from Racer, but they could have gone to school together. Neither one of them knows. They became acquainted one night when the power went out a few winters ago. Paul came over to Racer’s house with dinner, and since then, they have had dinner together once a week. It’s not that Paul and Racer particularly like one another; they just enjoy having someone to talk to.

Today was Racer’s week to host dinner. Racer had recently become a vegetarian, for health reasons. The change was hard on him. He had grown up eating fried chicken and steak. It was rare that Racer had a vegetable other than potatoes or

corn, which was probably why he had those health problems.

Racer puffed on his cigarette and blew the smoke in Max’s direction when he heard a tiny bell ringing. He looked up and saw Johnny, the newspaper boy, pull up to his porch, a little out of breath.

“You’re late today.” Racer affectionately growled, “Its cold out.”

“Well,” he replied, “you didn’t have to wait outside for me.”

“That’s beside the point.” Racer took the paper out of the boy’s hand and gave him a quarter. Johnny smiled and said that he really didn’t have to give him a quarter every day, but Racer insisted. He thought that the quarter was a sufficient way of saying thank you to the boy with out having to actually say it.

“Thanks Mr. Rivers, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He jumped on his bike and rode away.

Racer leaned back in his chair and watched the smoke lazily drift out of his nose. He wondered what he was going to make for dinner that night; maybe spaghetti, maybe a vegetable pot pie. He was getting sick of eating the same foods every night.

Taking a gulp of his coffee, Racer got up and went into the house. He tossed the newspaper onto the coffee table and sunk down into the old leather couch that he had gotten as a wedding gift.

He opened the newspaper and flipped through to the food section. It normally had a couple vegetarian options. This is where Racer got most of his recipes. There were a few selections today; pumpkin soup, potato and bean enchiladas and roasted grapes and carrots. “Spaghetti it is,” he mumbled under his breath.

Racer started flipping through the paper, looking for something interesting to

read. It must’ve been a slow news day. There was talk of construction down the road from him, but that was about the most exciting thing happening.

That was the only problem Racer had with the little lake town. Nothing exciting happened. Not like Chicago. Something was always happening there, whether it was a street fair, a block party or someone getting arrested. Racer had spent almost his whole life in Chicago, and was used to always having something to do.

After discovering that there was nothing exciting in the paper, Racer turned on the TV, in hopes that there was a government scandal or murder somewhere near by for him to turn his attention to. There was a story about a newlywed couple that got kidnapped in the Bahamas on their honeymoon.

This made Racer think of his daughter, Anna. She and her husband had married a couple months ago. It was the first time he had been to Chicago in twelve years. The wedding was beautiful, and so was Anna. She had gotten married at sunset in Racer’s old church. The way the sun hit the stained glass made the evening all the more magnificent.

Racer smiled as he remembered the way his daughter looked at her new husband. It was a look of complete happiness. And their joy was infectious. Every guest had the same, goofy grin plastered on their face. He was happy for her, and only wished that his wife could have been there to see it.

Anna was his only surviving child. His son, Joseph, had died in the gulf war. He had only been twenty-two, and his loss was devastating. Racer never recovered from reading the letter that told him his son had died for America.

So he clung to his daughter. She was his last tie to family, which had always

been the most important thing to him. Anna would try to come up to see him once a month and tell him about Chicago and the gossip from her work. Anna had called last week and Racer was still trying to keep all the names straight.

Maggie was cheating on her husband, Lucy was pregnant and Jane is a kleptomaniac. Or was it Lucy was the klepto, Maggie was pregnant and Jane was cheating on her husband? It was too hard to keep it straight, but he loved hearing it anyway.

Racer looked at his watch. It was only nine thirty. He turned off the TV and got up. “Max,” he yelled out to the porch, “you want to go for a walk?” Racer looked outside to see if Max had gotten up. Max had rolled on his back and stuck out his tongue.

“Dumb dog,” he muttered to himself. Racer filled Max’s water bowl and put some dog food next to him and closed the door.

The two hour walk to town could have taken him twenty minutes in the car, but Racer enjoyed looking at the scenery. Early October was his favorite time of year. The leaves were just starting to change. The trees that had yellow and green leaves were his favorite.

Every Thanksgiving and every summer, Racer and his wife would come up to the lake. Anna was born in the cabin Racer was living in now. The day after Thanksgiving, Racer would carve up what was left of the turkey and make sandwiches.

Everyone would make something. His wife would make cider from scratch, Anna would make a dessert and Joseph would make macaroni and mashed potato casserole, his one and only specialty. The family would find the prettiest tree on the lake, and picnic underneath it.

Racer and Anna still continued the Thanksgiving picnic. It was the only time he could eat macaroni and mashed potato casserole. This year, the family was expanding, and the family tradition would be passed on. It made him feel secure knowing that his family traditions wouldn’t end with Anna.

The day had become a little warmer as the sun came out, and Racer was beginning to sweat. He took off his sweater and slowed his pace, enjoying the sun reflecting off of the lake. Maybe he and Paul would go fishing that afternoon. He didn’t know if he was allowed to eat fish, and Racer would never hurt an animal unless he intended on eating it. He made a mental note to call his doctor when he got home.

Fishing was one of Racer’s favorite past-times. He would sit back and let the sun warm his skin as he listened to Don Wade talk on the radio about the happenings of the world. His deep voice was like a lullaby, and Racer would usually fall asleep, only to wake up to the tugging of his fishing pole.

Racer’s leisurely walk ended when the dirt road turned to asphalt. The town had the faint smell of sewage in the air. It had smelled that way ever since the lake flooded a few decades ago, forever ruining the sewer system. The air was muggy. Racer always hated how the town, which used to be as clean as the houses by the lake, had gotten dirtier. Tourists from Chicago would bring their Hummers and Mini-Vans to the lake. They would stay in town and drive everywhere, polluting the normally crisp air.

Racer walked to Ernie’s Deli, the only place that had stayed the same over the years. Ernie, at ninety years old, was too old to work at the counter. His grandson Matthew had taken over the restaurant.

Racer ordered a veggie melt and hot tea. He took his lunch to the same table he

had been sitting in for thirty years. It had taken him a while to find the perfect seat, but once he found it, he wouldn’t give it up.

The deli had a traditional glass front. Racer would sit in the front corner of the deli and look out of the window, people watching. His table was far enough away from the rest of the deli that he could eat in peace, but still hear their conversations. He could look out onto the street and watch people sleepily amble about or children excitedly dragging their parents to a nearby park. He could also see into an alleyway, where sometimes teenagers skipping school would smoke cigarettes stolen from their parents.

Places to Eat Around Town As growing teenagers, most of us are hungry after school. Those twenty-five minutes of lunch that we ate four hours ago just don’t cut it. But where can a high school kid grab a cheap bite to eat before the bus comes? There is always McDonalds and Arbys, but aside from fast food, are there other cheap places to get something to eat? The answer is yes.

One of the most popular eateries is Fernando’s. Fernando’s is on the corner of Liberty Avenue and 10th Street. Fernando’s is right on the bus stop of Liberty and 10 th, so most kids can grab something to go if they’re in a hurry. Fernando’s has wraps, pizza, hoagies, noodles, ice cream, various other desserts, drinks and snack food. The service is fast and the most expensive thing on their menu (the wraps) is a little over five dollars. There are specials for each day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you can get a wrap, a bag of chips and a drink for six bucks. Pretty cheap huh?

A new addition to Downtown is the Q’doba. It’s a little more expensive than Fernando’s, but what is lacks in cheapness, it makes up for in quality. Q’doba specializes in Mexican cuisine, ranging from tacos and quesadillas to chips and salsa.

Q’doba is on the corner of Liberty and Wood, across from the Crazy Mocha.

If you’re in the mood for a cute, little coffee shop, but don’t want to spend a

fortune at Starbucks, then the Crazy Mocha is right for you. The Crazy Mocha can be distinguished by the goats drinking coffee on its windows. This coffee shop serves sandwiches, salads, cookies, brownies and other things of that sort. There is a wide variety of drinks and a cute lounge with comfy chairs in the back.

So next time you find yourself wandering around Downtown, looking for something to eat, remember that you don’t have to break the bank if you don’t want any fast food. Happy eating!

Going out or Staying in: Homework Choices It’s the beginning of the year, it’s nice outside and we’ve forgotten all about last year. We’ve made a promise to ourselves that this year we’re going to do our homework on time, and, of course, a week after we make this resolution, we go back on our word. Our friends are more important, we have family obligations or we just plain forget. Everyone has the same excuse and it’s a shame we haven’t learned yet.

After four years of promising myself that I will do my homework on time, and not following through, I have learned a couple ways to stay on top of the mountain that accumulates. But nothing beats doing your homework the night before and going to bed knowing that you don’t have to stress the next morning.

Think all the way back to the beginning of the year. Do you remember how long it took you to finish your homework? Not too much time. So we think that, since homework doesn’t take a lot of our time, we can go out first and do homework later.

That’s the biggest trap. Here are a couple tips to avoid the trap: •

Start your homework early. Whenever you have free time, start reading your English book or do you math homework

•

Read on the bus

•

Do your homework as soon as you get home. You are still in “school mode,” so the information is fresh in your mind

•

If you’re hanging out with friends after school, do homework together.

•

Don’t leave homework to the last minute! No one likes pulling an all-nighter; why give yourself the stress? Do your homework as soon as possible.

•

Don’t procrastinate. Homework takes three hours to finish because we procrastinate for two hours.

Homework isn’t that big of a deal. Take an hour or two out of your afternoon to

get it done. You’ll thank yourself later. It’s not fun to be rushing in the morning to turn in sloppy work or staying up past midnight trying to get it done. The year will run a lot smoother for you.

Taking my Place at the Table By the time I was able to remember things, when I was about two, I didn’t have anything to remember. Except that I was allergic to chocolate last year, but this year, I could eat all the chocolate I wanted without breaking out in hives. When we moved to our big new house, I still didn’t have anything to remember. Maybe the girl next door who was adopted from Honduras. But I didn’t know her very well.

I would explore every nook and cranny of the house with my brother. I knew the basement and it’s three rooms, even though we only used two, and one was actually my auntie’s bedroom. I would sit on her waterbed and wrestle with my brother until we got too dizzy to hit each other.

The room I spent the most time in, though, was the kitchen. There were always at least three people in the kitchen at any given moment. Mainly my mother, my auntie and me. The kitchen was the smallest room in the house, besides my brother’s bedroom, but it was constantly filled. I would sit on the counter next to the stove, Indian style, so as not to get in the way of the resident cooks. I would hold bowls or recipe books or food to compensate for the counter space I took up.

My mother would be at the stove, stirring something. Noodles, soup, broccoli, potatoes; anything she could get her hands on. My auntie would be in the back, chopping things, seasoning things, preparing things to be boiled and stirred by my mother. They’d gossip about Terry and how she’s raising Emily all wrong and if I ever mentioned this to

anyone outside this kitchen, I wouldn’t be allowed back. I nodded my head and listened silently. My father would sometimes venture timidly into the kitchen. He knew this was woman’s domain, unsafe for anyone who did not have an extensive knowledge of fruits and vegetables. I was proud to be a part of that. It was mine. I was a woman.

I had extensive knowledge of fruits and vegetables. I knew there were apples, bananas and oranges. There was broccoli and salad. See? I knew all there was to know about fruits and vegetables and I had earned my way to the kitchen countertop.

At five, I had out grown the kitchen. Not mentally, I loved being one of the women, but I had literally out grown the kitchen. Just like I had out grown my pants from last year. I was too big to sit on the counter top, and there was no room on the floor for me to stand. I broke away from the women of the family and moved to the men. They lived in the living room. Our little TV was always on. My dad and brother sat on the grey armchair in the corner. My uncle lay stretched out on the couch, his dirty tube socks half on, half off. I’d take them off, one at a time and throw them across the room.

But soon I grew bored and brain-dead; TV watching filled the days of my male family, so I ventured outside. Next door, the adopted girl, Andrea, was also on the same track as I was. Bored and ready for bigger and better things. I started out on my porch. It was too dangerous beyond that white gate that surrounded our house. I was playing ‘Barbie in the Desert’ in my sandbox when I became friends with Andrea. She was sitting on the brick divider between our houses, popping gum.

As we became friends, my “safe zone” expanded. I was allowed on her porch, then the front lawn, but only if there was an adult with us. I grew older and my safe zone got bigger and bigger. My dad, who had just started working as a principal, grew very

nervous of my wandering around the neighborhood. Which was actually me crossing the street to visit Rosie and her husband.

“Honey,” he would bend down to my level and say this every time before I went out to play. “There are some people out there who like to take kids. So don’t talk to strangers. What do you do if one comes up to you?”

I’d sigh and roll my eyes but always give him the answer he wanted. “Run away, and scream as loud as I can.”

Satisfied, he’d let me go wander around, but I would never go anywhere unless I could see my house. But that soon grew boring. I wandered up the street. When I could no longer see my house, I ran back, just to make sure it was there. After several runnings back and forth between the houses, I learned that the houses didn’t move, and it would always be there. Reassured, I took Andrea and walked up the street.

I went beyond the houses that I knew very well, then the houses that I knew sort of, and then came the houses that I didn’t know. They were big and scary. Andrea marched bravely on, but I stayed a couple steps behind. If a monster jumped out from behind the bushes in front of us, it would eat her while I ran away.

But there was no monster. Just Tony and Danny, the two boys who lived five minutes up the street, if I walked real slow. I started learning the houses that seemed scary. The bog brown houses after the small yellow one never had their lights on. Then the small brick houses went on until I couldn’t see anymore. Tony and Danny lived in the first little brick house. Their front yard had Pokemon cards strewn about and sometimes their blind dog would be lying out in the sun. I went in their house once. And I never went back. You couldn’t pay me to go back in that house. It was dark and smelled like

pee.

I learned all the ways to get to Tony and Danny’s house. The front way, the back way and even the side way. I could get there though our neighbor’s backyards and through the woods behind our houses.

Now, I can’t get to Tony and Danny’s house through the woods. I don’t even remember where they live, if they still live there. I’ve driven past my old house, up and down that street. The trees are bigger, all the people I used to know are off at college or dead. It’s no longer the community I knew. It’s a community that someone else knows.

Completely different from mine.

My early childhood is a blur to me. It almost seems as if it didn’t happen. Trying to remember what happened and how it happened and the people in my life before I entered the ‘real world’ of school and kids that didn’t live on my street. I remember my life after second grade, but before that, my mind draws blank.

I see pictures of my brother and me playing with stickers, and in the dirt. I see pictures of me at my third birthday party. But I don’t remember living it. All I know is the stories that my mom and dad tell me what happened. Now, I can remember almost anything I’ve been told within five years to an almost scary accuracy. And I can remember most of what has happened to me since second grade. All I can do now is try to imagine what was happening around me in those pictures.

The first picture ever taken of me was taken thirty minutes after I was born. I was born with a red face, thick black hair and a pointed head. When my grandma held me for the first time, my hat fell off, and she almost dropped me at the sight of my extra pointy

head.

We lived in a duplex house, painted blue. The inside had paneled walls. I can’t remember much, but there are three rooms I do remember. The living room, the dining room and the kitchen. Those rooms are the heart and soul of my family’s houses.

Anywhere we’ve lived, those rooms have been the places where we congregated. We make the food, eat the food, then digest the food. Each station of food has it’s own room.

Family is big in my life. Some families don’t talk to each other, or live in different parts of the country. My family is the complete opposite. My family is the central family of our extended family. My aunts, uncles and grandparents come to our house for thanksgiving, our house for Hanukkah and Christmas, our house for Easter, and of course, birthday parties. When I was two or three, my aunt Suzanne moved with her husband to our small house from Oklahoma. She was pregnant and wanted to have my cousin in a stable environment, i.e. my house. My uncle Chris and aunt Julie moved from Germany to our neighborhood when I was five and my grandma Marianne moved from California to Pittsburgh seven years ago.

But there are some family members that I don’t see anymore. My father’s dad died when my dad was thirteen, so in my early childhood, I only had one grandpa. But that didn’t phase me. Grandpa Jim, my mom’s dad, saw me at least four times a week. By this time, as the photos dictate, I had curly red hair. But he and my mom would get in fights almost every time we saw him. After a while, the visits weren’t as frequent. I haven’t seen my grandpa since I turned three. Actually, he wasn’t at my third birthday, so somewhere between two-and-a-half to three, I haven’t seen my grandpa. Sometimes I wish I had my grandpa in my life. One would fit perfectly in our family. The last time I

can actually remember him, was with my brother. We were eating corn and watermelon in his back yard for my brother’s birthday.

My brother was born in ’92, fifteen months after I had been born. I’m sure I was jealous of the attention he was getting, being the newborn and all, seeing as I’m a very jealous person. But I have no horror stories of how I dropped him in the fish tank, or left him in the middle of the street. We were pretty close in age, so we had the same friends.

Our next door neighbor, Andrea, had been my best friend since I moved to our house.

When my brother decided to start talking, he would follow us around the neighborhood.

The other pictures I have are of certain events that aren’t very important in a child’s life. Little things that we can look back on when we’re older and laugh, but no events spurred out of pictures. Some pictures aren’t even worth mentioning. I mean, if we want to knit pick through every event in my life, sure. But that’s everyone’s life. A bit of this, a bit of that.

My elementary school experience was somewhat different from the average white middle class Jewish girl. I went to school in East Hills, a poor neighborhood in the middle of the projects. To get to school I took the Squirrel Hill bus, which had almost all the white kids from the school on it. We picked all the kids up, I was one of the last stops, and then drove half and hour to school. We drove through East Liberty and Homewood to get to East Hills.

As a naïve kid, I didn’t really recognize the different lifestyles of my classmates

who lived in these neighborhoods. I’d look out the window and think that it was an ugly neighborhood, nothing else. It was so different from what I used to, I couldn’t comprehend that other people lived like they did in the movies because, come on, they were just movies.

My school had five floors. Two underground and three above. It had an ugly red carpet with a grey stripe down the middle all throughout the school except for the cafeteria and gym. The doors were painted teal and had purple trim. Kindergarten and the fifth grade rooms were on the bottom floors. The library and fourth grade rooms were on the next floor. On the ground floor, there was the office, cafeteria and third grade rooms.

The second floor up was second grade and the third floor up was first grade.

Mr. Nicholas, our principal, was a tall man; around six feet. He wore a three-piece suit to school everyday. He was in his fifties and graying around his temples and the nape of his neck. He stayed in his office, which was painted yellow, most of the day. Around lunch time he would wander the school and check on the students. At the end of the day, he would stand outside the school and say goodbye to every kid by their first name.

In an attempt to educate young children in poor neighborhoods, my mother started a poetry club at my school when I was in third grade. It was called KWAC, Kokopelli’s Writing Adventure Club. At first, everyone joined, and by everyone I mean the Squirrel Hill kids, because my mom was friends with all of their parents. But as it went on, we would get pulled out of class, and it became more popular. Suddenly, the whole school was involved in KWAC. By fifth grade, I had skipping classes down. I knew which teachers I could bullshit and which ones I had to make up elaborate stories for. I knew which rooms to go

in and when. I would go into the back room, where KWAC was normally held, with some of my friends. We had already told our teachers that we were helping out with KWAC, even if there wasn’t KWAC that day. If a teacher or janitor would walk in the room and ask us what we were doing, we would tell them that we were helping out with KWAC and that my mom was in the bathroom. That was our plan, anyway. But no teachers came in; no one asked us what we were doing in the back room with no adult.

Lunch time was always social hour, no matter what age you were. The tables were designated by grade, and each long table had its own section. The weird girls on one end.

Next to them were the loud, obnoxious girls. Then the popular boys mixed with some girls. And then at my end, all of the other girls.

When I was in kindergarten, I bought a lunch. Well, bought really isn’t the best word, but I ate a school lunch. It never dawned on me that you had to pay for a school lunch. So I would go in line, get my lunch and then walk away without paying for it.

Towards the end of first grade, I was walking away and tripped on my shoelaces. I did a face plant right into my stolen lunch. I never ‘bought’ a school lunch again.

After that little incident, I packed my lunches. At our end of the table, we played the ‘extras’ game. Whoever had extra food left over would share it with everyone else.

But before you started eating, you had to scream out whose extras you wanted. We would always fight over Cary’s extras, because her mom always packed her a good lunch. We would fight and get the lunch ladies involved. They ended the extras game.

What Bothers Me The Most What bothers me the most is that I am treated like other people

until they find out who I am.

What bothers me the most is that as a woman, I will be paid 77 cents for every dollar a man makes.

What bothers me the most is that I will be attacked for my beliefs in God and that Israel’s actions will be reflected on me What bothers me the most is that my friends don’t see the Israeli side of the conflict, only the Palestinian.

What bothers me the most is that I cannot marry whomever I choose.

What bothers me the most is that Proposition 8 passed and that it is still illegal to marry someone of the same sex.

Even though I love someone of the same sex.

What bothers me the most is that in modern day America, a free country, what I do with my body is government business.

What bothers me the most is that there is no outrage.

Where are the marches, boycotts and rallies Like those of the sixties?

Don’t women and gays, lesbians and transgender people deserve the same civil rights as every other American?

Are we second-class citizens in our own country?

We preach equality liberty and justice for all.

Where is it?

Where is my justice?

I demand it.

America will not be America until all people, regardless of race, religion or sexuality, are treated fairly.

What bothers me the most is how little things have changed since Dr. King died.

Confessions of a Shopaholic (Hey, Hey)

Buy, Buy, Buy Buy, Buy… Buy, Buy… Oh, Oh… I’m telling you tonight You’re probably gonna wanna cry I know this wasn’t right I maxed out your credit card I used it endlessly It just was so easy And telling you this was really hard You have every right to be mad It ain’t no lie This problem I have might be bad But I can’t stop buy, buy, buy Buy, buy!

Don’t wanna shop at Limitted Too Let’s go down to Sax Fifth Avenue I can’t stop shopping and it ain’t no lie Buy, buy, buy!

I get all my purses at Coach At times it makes me a little hard to approach I might sound snooty But it ain’t no lie I can’t stop buy, buy, buy (Oh, oh) I’m telling you the truth Now, mom you’re more than welcome to Give me one more chance I won’t do it again I was a bit silly But no it’s really clear to me That I need to take on more responsibility You have every right to be mad It ain’t no lie This problem I have might be bad But I can’t stop buy, buy, buy Buy, buy!

Don’t wanna shop at Limitted Too Let’s go down to Sax Fifth Avenue I can’t stop shopping and it ain’t no lie Buy, buy, buy

Buy, buy!

2nd Grade: As I Remember Brandon Smith leaned over

to me in math class one day.

He smelled like something awful.

Sharp.

Metallic.

I thought he smelled like poop.

He tried to put his arm around me, but being the feminist that I was, I pushed him away.

I held hands with my boyfriend to prove that I was a taken woman.

The next math class the same thing.

Brandon Smith was trying to put his arm around me!

The hallway was a bit dramatic.

He tried to hold my hand.

What nerve. I was with my man.

I turned around and screamed Brandon, I don’t love you. I love Max (who was my current boyfriend).

He didn’t bother me after that. ever. He switched seats in math class.

Daddy. 1983 You’re sitting on your father’s

car.

The only thing left of him that your mom and sister didn’t take.

That proud, goofy smile doesn’t fool me.

I’m glad that I’ll never know what it’s like to lose your dad at fourteen.

Or just in general.

You never thought that you would live past the age your father died at.

41.

You made it.

Santa Claus Santa, where are you?

I see you in malls and on TV and even in movies.

But Christmas after Christmas, you seem to skip over my house.

Have you forgotten me?

Is my house not on your map?

I didn’t even get coal.

Santa, is there something I did to you?

Is there any way that I can convince you to change your mind?

Santa, let me in on Christmas.

It’s not very nice of you to not include me.

You preach nice over naughty.

But Santa, you’re being pretty mean.

Santa, maybe I don’t want you to come to my house.

Maybe I’m better off without you.