Carly

“Stop,” I said as I grab her hand. She looked at me with anger in her eyes and then pulled her arm away and I let go.
“Here you are sir,” said the baker handing me the bread. I thank him and left the store with Carly, my daughter.
“Don’t,” I said to her as she almost pick pocketed a man who walked passed us. I grab her hand and we walked to our very old house.
As we got home, someone was waiting for us, an old friend of mine who I have not seen in five years.
“Peter! How are you doing?” asked my old friend who I was shock to find on my doorstep.
“It’s been awhile Shawn, how’s everything out in the west?”
“Just as bad as here. Many people can’t find jobs or work for the black market and gangs. I came back here to find work. I heard it’s better than the west,” Shawn then looked at my daughter.
“Hello miss,” he said with a smile. Carly ignored him and walked into the house and I caught her taking his wallet.
“Carly!” I snapped and I took the wallet from her hand and before I could scold her she ran into the house and into her room.
“I’m sorry about her,” I told Shawn.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. How old is she? Thirteen?”
“Actually sixteen, I know, she looks young for her age,”
“And short,”
Dinner that night was quiet and Carly could not help but stare at Shawn, with no emotion on her face.
“Carly, you shouldn’t stare,” Carly was quieted and did not respond to me. She kept staring at Shawn with a pale and emotionless face.
“Carly,” I said with a clam voice and slowly made her face look at mine, but she wouldn’t look at me in the eye.
“Carly, I need eye contact. We have gone over this. I want to see your eyes when I speak to you and when you speak to me, please,” and she stared at me with eye contact and I told her to stop staring at Shawn since he was a guest.
“I’m full,” was the only thing Carly said and she got up from her seat and walked away.
“Carly, you need to clean up,” I told her, but she was already gone as if she did not hear me. I grab her plate, got up, and placed it in the sink along with her glass.
“Don’t mind her,” I told Shawn.
“Kids will be kids. Do you remember all those times we had together. Playing baseball, video games, and playing at the lake?”
“Of course. Summers were so hot we slept out on the porch or in the backyard in a tent. I remember everything when we were young. Before all this,”
“Yes, things were much simple and calm back then. The majority of the people in this country had a job but now, almost no one can find one. Children as young as ten turn to the gangs for money and food. I’ve met many kids who had been abandoned by their parents and even siblings. Those kids can’t trust anyone with all those abandonment,”
“Yeah, I’m aware. The young adults these days turn to the gangs and black markets, while us ‘old’ people have to scrap for food and are trying to hang on to our job. Almost everyone at the factory I work in are fill with old people who can’t retired because they don’t have enough to settle down,”
“Everything was better ten years ago before the revolution. When the skies were blue and not this dirty brownish color. When the grass was green and not brown. I remember flowers, but even the flowers are gone now. There is no life in this country and there is no escaping it,” Shawn and I sat there in quiet for a while. I felt a surge of pain in my heart because I could never imagine Carly on the streets, alone with no one. Without me. I’m not sure how long she would survive on the streets alone and I promised her that I would never let anything happen to her.
“Where did you find the kid?” Shawn asked.
“Her mother was a friend of mine from work. I didn’t really know her that well; we talked every now and then. I only met Carly once while her mother was alive,”
“Was?”
“Her mother got sick. She got very ill when Carly was six years old, ten years ago, right after the revolution. Her mother had no other family and I didn’t think she would do well in foster care, so I took her in. I became her foster father,”
“She calls you father?”
“Yes, her real father is unknown. I don’t know whom he is and I’m not sure her mother knew either. Even though I’m twelve years older then her and old enough to be her big brother, I’m proud to be called her father. She’s very smart and kind. She’s not the type who would join a gang or turn to violence,”
“What about her pick pocket skills?”
“Another child taught her but he’s not around anymore. He was here one day and left the next. By now he’s probably in a gang or dead. Who knows?”
All of a sudden there was a scream coming from Carly’s room. I jumped out of my seat and ran to her room, yelling her name. When I got there, she was sitting up on her bed and crying. I hugged her and whispered, “it was a bad dream. It was only a bad dream. It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here,”
“I thought you left,” she said quietly.
“No, I’m right here. I would never leave you. We’re a family remember? I’m your father and I will always be there for you. I made that promise and I’m not going to break it,” I stayed in Carly’s room until she calmed down and I returned to my friend to talk to him.
“Aspergers,”
“What?” I asked.
“Carly. She has aspergers doesn’t she?” I nodded to him. Carly had trouble with behavior and making eye contact, along with being obsessed with taking weird objects from random places but ever since her mother died she was also fascinated with the stars in the sky. She also had the inability to hug another person although she didn’t mind to be hugged.
“Someone with a PhD in psychology would easily figure that out,” I told Shawn.
“Can you find me a job?” he asked.

“Carly? Carly? Time to wake up,” I said knocking on her door. I thought that she might had overslept again so I walked in, but she wasn’t there. The bed was made and everything was still in its place.
“Carly!” I yelled and went looking around the house.
“What’s wrong?” asked Shawn.
“Carly’s gone. I can’t find her. Carly! Kiddo! This game isn’t funny! Carly!” I kept yelling but nothing happened. Carly was nowhere in site. I started to get a panic attack. Shawn ran towards me when he saw me huffing and puffing.
“Peter, Peter, don’t worry. We’ll find her. I’ll help you find her,” Shawn said.
“I need my daughter back. Her medicine is here and she needs it and she’ll basically talk to anyone. She’s has trouble adjusting to the world. She won’t survive long,” I said.
Shawn and I went out into the town to look for her and even went into the city and her favorite places, but we just couldn’t find her. I skipped my job, hoping my boss would understand why I skipped but I needed to find my daughter. I was going crazy after every second that she was missing. After raising her for ten years, I made a connection to her and she made a connection with me. When she was scared, I hugged her. When she was happy, I smiled with her. When she was angry, I helped her calm down. Now, I was worried of who would take care of her because she cannot take care of herself. Shawn and I met back at the house with no success.
“Anything?” I asked Shawn but he shook his head.
“Where can she be? It’s almost night time!” I said putting my hands on my head and sweating like a pig.
“Can you think of something else?” asked Shawn but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
“What did I miss?” I heard a voice and I turned around to see Carly.
“Carly! Honey!” I exclaimed as I put my arms around her. I started to shed a few tears but I was so happy that she was all right and not hurt.
“You made me worry,” I said.
“I had to leave early for the bus,” she said.
“The bus? Where did you go?”
“Mom’s grave. Don’t you remember, today was the day she died,” I was silent. How could I have forgotten her mother’s death? Her mother was very important since it was the two of them and I’m sure her mother’s death must had been very hard on her, even after ten years.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you,”
“It’s alright if you wake me up. It’s okay, I would had wanted to go with you.”
“Why are you sad, dad?”
“I’m just happy that you are okay,” I said as I put my arms around her and held her in my arms.
“Dad, you will always be there for me, right?” asked Carly.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Then I want to be there for you too. Because I love you dad.” And for the first time, Carly hugged me back without kicking or screaming.
“You’re really amazing,” Shawn said and he began to cry because Shawn finally saw something that he hasn’t seen in a long time. That if one person cared about another maybe this cruel world could change and the love of a family could one day be strong as it was ten years ago.

Crusade

Beware those who want to do good deeds but in the wrong way

He approached me about a month ago. That Sunday I was at church at night, since my family could not go in the morning. He sat next to me while my parents were talking to the priests. He was dressed like a priest, but something seemed different about him. I was not sure if it was his glasses, or the scar on his cheek, or his long fingernails, but something seemed strange.
“My name is Noah,” he said.

The teacher called my name. I got up just as the previous student was leaving with a smile on his face.
“Len always gets an A,” I thought as I passed him. I sat down in the chair next to my English teacher, Mrs. Enmity.
“Destiny Paz, how do you think you are doing in my class?” she asked. I already knew the truth and stared at the wall.
“Not well,” I responded. I could see my friend, Faith staring at me, trying to figure out my grade by watching Mrs. Enmity’s body language.
“You do great on quizzes, tests, and projects. But you don’t do your homework. With that, you have an F average.”
“Okay,” I said in a low voice, disappointed in myself.
“I know about your dyslexia and that junior year is a hard year of high school. But hand in your work, even if it’s late. You can’t afford to fail my class.” I nodded and then she told me I could leave. I sat down next to Faith just as the next kid went up to listen to his grade.
“So?” she asked.
“F,” I told her. She looked down at her desk with a sad look: she too was failing the class. Unlike her, I wanted to cry and ask myself why.
“What about your other classes?” she asked.
“Failing science, the rest are all C’s.” Faith shook her head and went back to her reading.
I returned home to tell my parents. My father worked in New York City as a businessman, while my mother worked as a nurse at a local hospital. At dinnertime, I broke the news to my parents. They got extremely angry and I thought they were angry with me, but no, they were angry with the school.
Just last year I discovered that I had dyslexia. My parents were not that surprised. But my past with the school system was not great. In middle school, my teachers often yelled at me because I would ask too many questions and they never wanted to repeat something they said. I never wanted to read in front of the class, but my teachers made me do it anyway. I got low grades in middle school, which is why my parents went to so many parent teacher conferences. My teachers always told them that I just made it. Now it seemed as if my parents had just given up on everything involving school.
“I’m going to my room,” I told them.
Sunday came quickly. I never liked Sundays because I would have to finish up all my schoolwork, since I don’t do it on Saturdays. But on Sundays, the day seemed to go by so fast.
“Destiny! It’s time to go to church!” yelled my mother. I changed into a light blue collared shirt and black pants. I met my parents downstairs. My father was dressed in his business suit and my mom was dressed in a nice blouse and black skirt. I did not mind going to church because it was a place where I could think and ask God and myself questions.
After mass, my parents always wanted to talk to the priests. They were good people, and one of the priests, Father Isaac, was my CCD teacher for many years. He was almost like part of the family. Instead of joining my parents that night to talk with the priest, I stayed in the pew, then got up, and walked to the bottom steps of the altar. That was where Noah appeared.
“My name is Noah,” he said.
“Destiny,” I told him. He put his hand out and I shook it. His hands seemed cold and wrinkled.
“I can tell you’re special. Are you gifted? Let me guess. Drawing!” he said.
“No.”
“Writing?”
“No.”
“Chess?”
“No, I don’t have a gift.” But for some reason, Noah put on a sinister smile. It made me want to laugh but also made me want to cry.
“God gives us all a gift. From birth. Something that separates us from the world. My gift for example is teaching.”
“Teaching?”
“I taught at Princeton University. I taught education for children with physical and mental disabilities.” He then looked at me with curiosity, as if he already knew about my gift. The gift that I called a curse.
“Do you teach students how to deal with children with dyslexia?” I ask. He then had a huge smile, a smile that brought me hope and fear.
“Do you have dyslexia?” I nodded. He smiled compassionately.
“Dyslexia is a gift. You just have to realize it.”
“It always gets me in trouble. No one knows what to do with me in school anymore. My parents gave up and my teacher,” I stopped short, too upset to continue. He then put his right hand in his pocket and took out a card.
“I will have a seminar. I hope you can come, if you’re interested. It’s on students with disabilities, from as young as kindergarteners to as old as college students. Bring a friend.” I put the card in my pants pocket. He put his hat back on and left.

“This is it,” I told Faith. We both stared at the building. It was a middle school, apparently the seminar was being held in a gymnasium room at a private Catholic school.
“Who is he?” ask Faith.
“His name is Noah. A professor from a university. He teaches special education at the college level.”
“Why does he want us at a seminar?”
“I don’t know. But let’s listen. It might be interesting.”
The two of us walked in through the front doors. We weren’t the only kids there. Most of the people who had gathered were students from all different grade levels, with different types of disability, from those in wheel chairs to kids like us.
“They all have disabilities,” said Faith.
“I’m not surprised,” I replied. There were so many kids in the room just talking, drinking soda, and eating chips that it was difficult to count. The younger kids had adults with them; I guessed they were their parents. But I also noticed some kids from our own high school.
“They’re all IEP kids, like us,” said Faith. The IEP is a system in the school to help kids with disabilities. Many, including my parents, said that it failed and was a flawed program.
“Sit, please,” said a voice over the loud speaker. We all turned to see Noah on stage in front of a microphone.
“My children. Thank you for coming. As most of you know I am Noah. A professor from Princeton University, and I am here to spread the words of God. God came to me in a dream and told me that the IEP system failed to meet the requirements to help you. So I went to many schools of all levels, and saw this to be true. God then returned to me in a dream and said: ‘Spread my word. Find the lost children and teach them my teachings, because they are the future. Not the students who are average, nor the ones who do not have an IEP. But you!’ So I spread God’s word to you, my children. He says that they are of the ‘old’ race and we are the ‘new.’ Many more of you will show up and we need to praise you. Not banish you, not get angry with you, not abandon you, but praise and rejoice. God gave me a vision. We are to go to a county and eliminate all the ‘old’ race children, from the youngest in kindergarten to the oldest in college. This county shall be a new genesis county!”
Faith and I stayed to listen to the rest of Noah’s preaching. I realized that this wasn’t a seminar, but a rally. Noah told us that God favored us and that other “normal” children were sinners. Noah was a prophet of God and wanted us to eliminate the ‘old’ race. I turned to Faith who had a smile on. She started to shout and praise Noah with the other children. Even the college students were praising this new God, this new Allah, this new Jehovah.
“It makes perfect sense,” she told me. Then I started to question my belief. After so many years, was there really someone watching over us? Us, the forgotten kids whom many just tossed aside. Was God always with us?
“Here is the plan,” Noah began. I stared at Noah and my true beliefs came forward. I was ready to be a soldier for this new God.

Room 203. Room 203. That was the room I was assigned. When the signal went off, I quickly got out my handgun and ran to room 203. I watched the others move too. The college students arrived for back up.
“Kick the door down,” I said. The college student named David kicked it open with one kick. Jacob, another college kid, and I entered. We found the kids and the teacher in a corner. We held up our guns to them, but did not shoot.
“Destiny,” someone said. I stared at Mr. Aid, the teacher. Mr. Aid was my English teacher last year, and even though he was still very young, he was only one of two teachers in my life who has ever help me in school. At the beginning of junior year, he was no longer my teacher, but a friend. I stood frozen.
“What’s wrong? You look pale,” said David. Mr. Aid helped me, he saved me, how could I do this to him? After all he did for me, was this how I was supposed to repay him?
“Redemption,” I ordered. David and Jacob grabbed Mr. Aid. Mr. Aid could not fight them because they were both football players and so they were very strong. They tied Mr. Aid to his desk.
“Who shall be first?” ask David.
“I don’t care,” I said. One by one, David and Jacob took a student, tortured him, and killed him.
“Stop! Why are you doing this! Destiny, what happened to you? Kill me!” yelled Mr. Aid as he watched his students final moments. After the last one was killed, Mr. Aid was untied. He fell down, all shaken up. I walked up to him and stood over him.
“Destiny, why?” he said with a shaken voice. He looked sick, about to throw up.
“My name is Judas.”

Brooding

In honor of those who teach children with learning disabilities and all their hard work and my own hero; Mr. Morone my high school English teacher


The bell rings and I watch as my new students leave my classroom. None of them return with any questions about the up coming year. I sit at my desk and pick up the pile of folders of each student I have. I decide to start with period 8, my 9th graders. As I flip through their files, one student stands out. Her name is Linda Cooper. She is classified as dyslexic.
Once I get home I walk in and say hello to my wife. My daughter runs up to me and starts talking about her first day of middle school. I say to both of them that I have to read the student's files as my first homework. They both laugh. I walk upstairs to my office and let myself fall onto my chair. My office is right across from the playroom, where I watch my eleven year old daughter draw. I watch my daughter enjoy her painting and she always loves to show me her creations. She has also won many painting contests. She's a true artist. She is also dyslexic.

When my daughter started to learn to read and write, it was very difficult for her. We thought it was a phase, but we took her to a neurologist who told us she was dyslexic. She kept complaining of the sentences dancing and she kept getting words mix up. She also had difficulty in math and never wanted to study. My wife and I grew concerned about our daughter. Everyday she came home angry about how the other kids understood everything and she was always stuck. Later my wife and I hired a tutor and went to special classes to understand her dyslexia. While going to these classes and with help from the tutor, my daughter learned to read and write and slowly became a star student. She also discovered her talent in drawing. She loves art. By the time she was in fourth grade, she won her first painting contest. In fifth grade for almost the whole year she had straight A's and that was when I learned that she had defeated her dyslexia. But not all kids were as lucky as my daughter.
When I was 24 I transferred to work at my old high school as an English teacher. There was this one student who stood out from the rest. Destiny Baker; a 10th grader with dyslexia. Even though, it was about 14 years ago, I still remembered it as if it was yesterday. Destiny discovered her dyslexia in the middle of the school year, around November or December. As a second year teacher, I didn't know what to do. Everyday I thought I did what was right for Destiny, but it wasn't until my daughter had dyslexia that I discovered that what I did was wrong. I often told Destiny, "get out of the can't zone," when in truth she was trying her hardest. I also said, "put your head up," ignoring that putting her head down was a cry for help. "I just went over it," when in truth she listened but the information wasn't in her head. I tried pushing her to her limits, but I think I was pushing her off a cliff blindly. Everyday was a battle for her and when she needed my help, I betrayed her. When she raised her hand, I made her ask her questions in the front of the class, not realizing that her questions maybe embarrassing in front of her classmates.
She struggled on quizzes and tests too. I kept saying, "What's going on? You finished the last one on time." or "What's the deal?" I said those things in front of the whole class; I must have made her sound dumb or something. I must have been putting her on the spot. By how I said those things, it must have been painful for her and I thought I was doing her a favor, but I must have just made it worse. When the class had to do work, she never started right away, she mostly started it and finish at home and all I said was "Come on!"
Why did I say those things? After I found out my daughter had dyslexia, I discovered that they need encouragement and can easily get frustrated and need help. Did I give Destiny any encouragement at all? I made her laughed, but I never encouraged her. By the end of June of 2009, I watched all my students leave as 11th graders and when I saw Destiny leave I thought I did a great thing for her.
But it wasn't until years later that I learned the truth. If I ever saw Destiny again I would say, "I'm sorry kiddo." Now thinking about it I called everyone "kiddo" all the time. Except Destiny, I only called her kiddo twice or three times that year. How did that make her feel when I stopped calling her kiddo and just plain Destiny? Did she feel left out of the class? Did she feel like I gave up on her? Maybe she thought I didn't care at all. She often came by after school, but I didn't spend much time with her. She would come in the next day with her work completed, but not how I wanted it. I should have work with her more. Not just 5min, but maybe 30min. If I worked with her for 30min then she might have came in just about once a week instead of everyday. Not many of my students came in with questions, so it would have worked out just fine. But I didn't work with her; I was young and had other things on my mind. I regret it now. I regret a lot of things. But Destiny is one of them. She was such a bright student and innocent. She didn't like curse words and never really thought about boys, she was more interested in her pens and stacking up books. She had a great creative mind. She was above average in creativity if you ask me. She also loved to write despite her poor handwriting and grammar. But she always made interesting stories and the type that gets you thinking. She was such a great kid and she was so kind too. She never wanted to disappoint anyone or get anyone angry. She never insulted anyone and took a lot of blame for many things. She would be the real definition of innocence if you ask me. But I must have made her crack; I must have made her world fall into millions of pieces. I thought I was doing her good, well I wasn't. I wish I could see her again and call her kiddo. "Hey kiddo,"

"Okay pop quiz," I said. We've been in the new school year for about a month already. I pass out the quizzes around the room. After 15min many of the students start to hand them in. Those who still have the quiz are almost finish, but one. Linda. I promised myself I wouldn't create another Destiny situation. I walk over to Linda and sit at the empty desk next to her. I say in a low voice, so only she can hear me "Do you need help? Are you able to understand? Don't worry, just try your best. Okay kiddo?" Yeah. That is what I should have said to Destiny.

Bond

I walked in, only to find him half awake and half asleep again. He was coughing a lot too and in a soft, struggling voice asked me to walk towards him.
“Open the window,” he said. After opening the window, I saw how nice it was outside. The flowers were in full bloom, you could hear the music from the chirping of the birds, the sound of the water running at the pond, and I spotted a butterfly dancing in the sunlight. When I was about to leave, grandfather told me to sit down and listen to a story.

It was a long time ago, but I still remember the smell of the Italian air in Sicily. I remember the mansion I lived in, the place I was born and the open field in the back yard. I would run outside and I was fast for a young boy. I remember mama sitting in the garden with the other ladies and papa always making money and wearing his clean, shiny, black suit. But it was also lonely, even if our property was big, there were no other kids around and I was too young for school. Mama and papa always had their own agendas and when it rained, I stayed in my room, playing with my wooden toy cars and trains. Then one day he appeared at my window.
Even though we lived in the same building, we only saw each other at dinner. We never exchanged words and I kept forgetting his name because even though he was four years older, he too had his own agenda.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Playing,” I answered.
“Looks boring. Do you want to play outside?” I nodded. He told me to walk closer to him and he picked me up.
“I like the open field, right over the hill.” I told him. He nodded and gave me a piggyback ride there. When we got to the open filled we started to run everywhere and he taught me how to run up the hill and roll down it. I never tried it before, it was a whole new experience to me, but I enjoyed it. Then he started to head for the woods.
“Mama says not to play in the woods.” I told him.
“Why?” he asked.
“She says it's dangerous.” He took one step in and looked back at me. I stood and watched him; to see if anything would happen. He started to take more steps and then walked in. I was both scared and excited, but I didn't move. He then came back running out, but with a big smile on his face.
“What is it?” I asked. But with his huge smile on, he shook his head.
“I won't tell you until next week,” he said. I ask why and then I remembered that the next week was my fifth birthday. Before leaving the field, I ask him his name. He seemed both happy and disappointed that I ask that question, but he answered.
“Angelo,”
After that first encounter, Angelo would appear at my window and take me to the field. Sometimes he took me to mama's garden, the secret lake that no one knew about, and his secret hiding places. On my fifth birthday he didn't come to my window because mama and papa planned a party for me and we ate my birthday cake at noon. Angelo was there too. When the small party was over and papa went back to work and mama continued talking with the ladies, Angelo took me by the hand and led me back to the open field.
“Remember my promised?” he asked. I nodded. I followed him into the woods and I wanted to show him that I was a big boy and that I wouldn't be scared. After following him on an unknown path, we made it to another open field, but this field was filled with flowers and butterflies.
“Buon compleanno mio fratello,” he said. It was beautiful watching the butterflies fly everywhere, the colorful flowers, and the smell of the summer in that field. We both started to chase all the butterflies, but instead of leaving, it seemed as if the butterflies were actually dancing. I told Angelo that this was the best gift ever for my birthday. Then Angelo started to cry.
That following fall, my parents enrolled me at a private school in town. I was at school from morning to afternoon and I quickly started to miss those times with Angelo. But Angelo started to take me out shortly after I would arrive home. I would often take off my tie and jacket and follow Angelo to one of our own secret places. One day when we went to the butterfly field, I noticed that there weren't any butterflies and I started to get cold.
“Where are they?” I asked.
“It's fall. They don't like the cold weather.” Angelo said.
“Where do they go?”
“Heaven. The place has the perfect weather for butterflies.”
“They're dead?”
“No, they'll come back. In the spring they'll come back.”
“But when you go to heaven, you can't come back. You're gone forever.”
“Not butterflies. They’re magical. They have magical powers so they can make people on earth happy.”
“What kind of magical power?”
“Love.” After talking with him, he said it was time to return home. But I was confused about the butterflies and Angelo knew it. He told me that I would understand when I was older.
As the years passed, I started to learn more about Angelo. Angelo was the first-born in my family and therefore was favored by papa. Angelo never went to school; he was tutored by the best. He even got lessons in archery, fencing, horseback riding, and Latin. When our parents held those fancy parties for their friends, Angelo always went. Mama would say I was too little to join in the party and said when I'm older I'll be able to join the fancy parties with Angelo. One time I snuck down stairs and saw Angelo in a good looking suit, his short brown hair was combed, and he acted and talked like an adult. He was also able to dance with the women at the party, but he never once put on a smile in front of them.
I envy Angelo and looked up to him. I was never jealous or angry with him because I knew the real him. The part of him that no one else ever saw, the kid deep down in that body, the Angelo that took me a way from my little silly world.
Years went by quickly, but Angelo and I never drifted from each other. Even though he still had his tutors and started watching what papa did so he could take on the family business, he was still the same and always found me and took me to our secret places. We used to run around, but then we got more interested in pretend games and my favorite, war games. Angelo once told me, that he wasn't ready to grow up. He hated wearing suits and ties, just like I did. Angelo also taught me how to throw and catch and even how to play soccer. At school, I was able to show off in front of the other boys and even though I made friends, I always thought of Angelo as my best friend. Angelo and I loved each other because besides being best friends, we were also brothers. Even though we got older, we never left each other. We had a strong brotherly bond.

Papa and mama heard the news about the epidemic on the main land of Italy. I was only nine years old, but I remembered the panics they were having at the ports and what my parents read in the newspaper. It seemed as if the plague was far away from Sicily, but people were still worried. Mama started to always stay inside and stopped seeing the ladies. Papa started to come home earlier from work and they told Angelo and I not to go out. Papa even hired tutors for me, but he said only for a short time. Then one sunny day when the snow was still outside, Angelo and I snuck out. Out in the field we build a snowman and had a snowball fight until the moon came out. That was when Angelo started to cough.
The coughing went away for a couple of days, but news said that the plague had arrived in Sicily and that many were already dead all over the place. Then one day, Angelo started to cough again and during one of his lessons, he collapsed. The family doctor said that it was only a cold and that Angelo should stay in bed. After my lessons I would visit Angelo and help him with the work he missed. Angelo said that when he got better, he would take me out again and we would have another everlasting snowball fight and then when spring comes, we would see those millions of butterflies. I took his hand and gave him a big smile. But he got worse and mama wouldn't let me in his room anymore, but I desperately wanted to see him. So I got my jacket and snuck outside and I walked all the way around the house to Angelo's room and knocked on his window. He slowly got out of bed and opened his window, showing me his big smile.
“What ever you’re doing, it seems boring,” I told him.
We lost many family members from young to old. Papa decided to make the funeral after the plague and burry the relatives we had lost on the same day. We all lined up to watch the open caskets go by to the family's plot. Papa and mama were behind me and I could tell that papa was holding back his tears and mama was crying a little. I saw a casket with a little girl in it, barely my age, and a cousin of mine. I saw her mother weep into her husband's arms over the lost of their only child. Then I saw Angelo's. Mama couldn't hold in her tears anymore and papa held her. When I saw my brother's lifeless body, I wanted to hold him, kiss him, and wait for him to wake up. But tears only went down my face and I noticed something. In front of everyone, he had a smile on. Angelo was always a child who was chained by this family and only in death was he truly free and I cried to show my happiness of his freedom.
I didn't go to the family plot. I ran to the open field. I took off my tie and jacket. I sat down and cried because I wanted to join my brother. I wanted to play with him and ask him many questions. I was wondering why God took such as wonderful boy away. For some reason I ran to the field of flowers. When I got there, I was surprise to see some flowers already in full bloom and many butterflies. I was able to point out a little butterfly, a butterfly that was the littlest of them all and the most beautiful. I then put on a smile and exclaimed, “You came back!”

It's been about eighty years after my brother died. Papa got tutors for me and made me take the same lessons that Angelo used to take. When I was eight-teen I ran away to the United States where I fell in love and had a family. Now at eighty-nine, I looked at the window and saw how wide it was open. As wide as Angelo used to open it. Then I saw him; he put his head through the window and looked around as if he was looking for something. His face then turned towards me and smiled. He hadn't change a bit. He was still young and had that big smile on. He reached out to me and I grabbed it.

“Look grandfather! There are two butterflies outside!” exclaimed the girl, but her grandfather was already gone. Lying there with a peaceful smile on his face and the girl watched as the two butterflies dance with joy.

The Truth of Manuel Wu

“Stop that thief!” yelled the man. No one in the crowded streets stopped the boy from running away with a loaf of bread. There was always someone stealing something from someone. The man stop chasing the boy when he reached the corner and the boy crossed the street in heavy traffic.
“Next time, I’ll cut your arm off.” But the boy ignored this warning. The boy walked into a dark alley and sat down to enjoy his meal. He opened his bag and started eating his bread. He then heard a plane above and looked up.
“Wat sucker is entering tis stupid cauntry?” he thought. He then shrugged if off and continue eating.

“Manito, don’t wander off.” Said the man. The man was wearing a suit, like any other businessman, but he was talking to his son who was wearing a collar shirt and long pants, he looked like he was going to a rich boarding school. Manito stood by his father, until his father saw an interesting newspaper. Manito then walked away to a huge glass window, where he could view all of Beijing. But Manito was still disappointed about moving.
Manuel Wu is Manito’s full name. He was born in the Bronx of New York City. His father was always away on business trips, so his mother raised him. Manito only saw his father once a year and never really liked him. His father was not there when he learned to talk or walk. He was also away for all his birthdays. Manito was with his mom so much that he learned to speak both English and Spanish. His father wished he could learn Chinese. When Manito was five, his mother died of a heart disease, leaving Manito in his father’s care. Manito’s father took him to Mexico, where Manito stayed with his father for two years. In Mexico, Manito made friends and played soccer. His hair became curly brown and he looked a lot like his mother. He only had his father’s tiny Asian eyes, which he was upset about.
After looking out the window, Manito walked back to the newspaper stand, only to discover that his father was no longer there. Manito looked all around, but he saw too many men in suits and they all looked alike.
“Dad!” he yelled, but no answer.
Manito walked outside, thinking he might find his father getting help from the police to find his son, but his father was nowhere in sight. Instead Manito, saw a boy close to his age digging though garbage. Manito walked over to the boy and stared at him. The boy stopped digging when he noticed Manito.
“Wat da ya want rich kid?” the boy asks. Manito just stood there with a strange look because he didn’t understand Chinese.
“Ya don’t speak Chinese. Where’s ya pa o ma? I’m talk’en ta ya rich kid,” said the boy holding a chicken leg that was left over. Manito just looked at him and said nothing.
“Ya nat from a’round here. Go ta ya rich life,” said the boy and he started walking away. Manito didn’t know what to do, but follow. The boy tried to get Manito away from him, but Manito kept following him.
“Fine. Ya can stay wit me,” said the boy and he let Manito follow him.
The two boys walked into a huge landfill that was filled with other homeless children. Manito saw children fighting over a piece of chicken, a young girl carrying a baby, and an older boy watching the kids, laughing and smoking. The boy took Manito to a broken van that was missing a door.
“Welcame home.” Said the boy. The two boys sat inside and then the boy started eating his chicken. He took off a piece and handed it to Manito who was starving and decided to eat it.
“Manito.” Manito said pointing to himself.


The four boys were running down the street away from the police. Even though five years passed, nothing changed in the city. The four boys knew the streets well and knew where to hide and where all the short cuts were. After running around through dark allies, they got away from the police.
“I want my share,” said Lin.
“Fine. Here,” said the bigger boy. He handed three hundred and forty yuan to Lin and then to Manito.
“Da deal was seven hundred,” said Lin.
“Hey! You did ya job, but it wasn’t worth seven hundred,” said the other boy.
“We help ya steal tat money!” exclaimed Lin, but the two older boys walked away.
“Buy ya selves some boos,” one said. Lin couldn’t fight back; the two older boys were much bigger and stronger.
“I am gaing ta buy some candy,” said Manito.
“Ya ga do tat. I’ll ga ta da old man’s store,” said Lin. Then the two walked their separated ways.
It was almost nighttime when Manito went back to the landfill. Manito noticed that there were more homeless children than when he arrived five years ago. Manito also saw a couple of dead children every now and then. Their bodies were just dumped into the pile of trash. Usually the kids died of starvation, cold, or abuse by the older kids. Most kids who die are the younger kids who have no protection. No one.
In his van which Manito and Lin shared, he took out his pile of candy and chocolate and started shoving them in his mouth until he was full. Manito quickly noticed a smaller child trying to take a piece of his candy and Manito kicked him to the ground. The kid started to run.
“If I see ya tauch anyth’en of mines again, I’ll cut ya arm aff!” yelled Manito. Manito then looked at the moon. It’s been five years since Manito saw his father, since he was on his own. Manito wondered every night if his father was looking for him or just gave up. Did he even care at all? Manito didn’t spend much time with his father, not even in Mexico.
On the streets, Manito befriended Lin, an orphan from an earthquake. Lin grew up in a small village full of farmers, only his older sister and he survived the earthquake, along with many other homeless farmers and orphans. Lin and his sister were left on the streets and his sister fell in love with a gangster, who didn’t like Lin. His sister’s boyfriend beat Lin up every day and then Lin decided to leave. The day Lin left was the day his sister and her boyfriend died in a shoot out. Lin said he could care less; he was only eight years old.
Now on the streets Manito was twelve and Lin was fourteen. A couple of years ago, Lin got addicted to stuff that Manito didn’t like. It made Lin crazy and sick, but he kept either buying it or stealing it. Manito said he would never get addicted to it, but Lin says he would when he’s older.
Life on the streets was difficult: not knowing when you’ll eat, not knowing what the day is going to be like, not even knowing if you are going to survive. But Manito did enjoy the freedom. He also preferred his baggy shorts and old T-shirts instead of his fancy clothes his father made him wear. But Manito did miss a bed, a place with a lot of food, a place to learn, and a place that was warm every day during any season.
Manito woke up to screams in the landfill. Manito then saw red and blue flashing lights.
“How did dey find us?” Manito thought and quickly jumped out of the van. He started running towards the end of the landfill where the emergency escape route was. No one could follow him once he got out of the landfill and went down that route. Everywhere Manito ran, he heard screams and cries of children being caught by the police.
“There’s one here!” someone yelled and Manito turned around to see a policeman starting to chase him. Manito was so close to the emergency escape, but then a policeman jumped in front of him and tackled him to the ground.
“No!” Manito yelled in English. Manito was handcuffed and then put in a van with other children and he knew he would never see the landfill and Lin again.
Manito and the other children were drop off at the police station. Cops kept coming one by one, taking about five to ten children and then leaving. Manito knew they were going to orphanages, most likely the same one if they took them by groups. Before Manito knew it, there were only four kids left. A policeman came in and took the four children.
“Wat about me?” ask Manito.
“Stay here.” The policeman. Then there was one.
After what seemed like hours, a policeman came in with a man in a suit with a suitcase that the businessman carry around. The man was tall, white skin, short brown hair, and blue eyes. Manito could tell he was not from China.
“Manuel Wu.” The man said with an American accent. Manito knew he spoke English and absolutely no Chinese by his accent. Manito stared at him trying to think why he knew his name.
“I am Mr. Cooks. I work for your father. We’ve been looking for you. Five years. We never thought you would be with a group of orphans,” he said.
“Wat did ya think?” Manito asks in English.
“We thought you were kidnapped. But your father never gave up.”
“Is my father here?”
“No, he is currently in Germany, working on a project.”
“Dat saunds just like him. Does he knaw I am here?”
“No, not yet. We will call him. I just wanted you to know, he’s been looking for you.” The man got up and started to leave. Manito was then in deep thought. He then looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was longer; black straight hair. His skin got more tanned. He looked more Chinese than Hispanic, like his father. Manito then got up.
“Tell him, I dan’t want ta live with him!” Manito yelled.
“The law states he is your father and with no other relatives, you will be sent to live with him,” said the man and he walked out.
Manito was in the back of the car with a social worker. Manito was going to a foster home to stay at for a couple of days because his flight didn’t leave until after the holidays. Manito didn’t like his new clothes and didn’t want to return to his father. When the car stopped at a traffic light, Manito opened the door and ran. He heard the social worker yell his name, but Manito kept running. He ran down the busy street until he was gone from view.


The funeral was held in the Bronx, in respect of the boy. The boy had no relatives but his father, who didn’t even shed a tear for him. The boy was twelve but his father only had pictures of him from when he was five to seven years old. In all of the pictures, the boy was not smiling or laughing. The father got up and walked to Mr. Cooks.
“He was in Beijing?” he asks.
“Yes, we confirmed who he was by his teeth. He was burned badly in the fire, you couldn’t even recognized him.”
“I see. Thank you. I had finally found my son.” The father was the only person to attend the church and then the burial. Mr. Cooks sat in his car, knowing that Manito was still out there, somewhere in China. Mr. Cooks could never tell the man who wasted billions of dollars to find his son that he ran away and didn’t want to return. Mr. Cooks sat in the car only knowing the real truth of Manuel Wu.

Inseparable

In honor of the victims of Hurricane Mitch, 1998


The village of B’alam, is located in today’s Honduras. In the ancient Mayan language, B’alam means “jaguar”. According to the villagers, the night god founded the village and offered its protection for all eternity as long as they provided offerings to him. In Mayan mythology, the sun god Ahau Kin travels the world and when he goes down in the west, he becomes the night god, the night jaguar. Unlike the other Mayan tribes or city-states the B’alam people do not fear the night or the jaguar, but view the jaguar as a God and this somehow has become one of the few surviving villages from the Spaniards during the 1500’s but the people would soon discover that their suerte or luck would be gone forever.

“Chicas, don’t wander away from the village. You’ll give the elders a heart attack,” said their mother as she left for work. The two girls stood outside of their family’s mud house and waved good-bye.
“Come on,” said one of the girls and she took her sister’s hand and they snuck out of the village into the forest.
In the forest, the two girls wandered around and ran all around playing those old “pretend” games. The girls were twins. They were actually the only twins in the whole village. The two girls were born on July 16, 1993 and since then have been considered “buena suerte” or “good luck” by the villagers, because twins were considered sacred, holy, and spiritual. Though the girls knew this, they never cared. They only cared that they had each other and were like any normal children.
“We should be heading back, mamá will be home soon to cook lunch,” said Sarita, the oldest of the two by thirteen minutes. Grace, the youngest one, nodded. The two spent so much time in the forest that they knew their way back and quickly got back home before the elders knew they were gone.
Life in a village was simple, especially in B’alam. The men were farmers and left early in the morning usually before or during dawn. A boy joined the ranks of man around the age of seven to eight. The women worked in the city, which was a long walk from the village. The women worked as maids or waitresses. Females wouldn’t start working until the age of nine or ten. Because of this, there weren’t too many children around and very few elders who got blinder every day. Also there were many in the village that left once they became of age, saying they would start a better life in the capital or big city. The adults never returned home until after dark. Only the women returned to make lunch for the children and the elders.
“How was your day?” asked the girls mother.
“Good,” replied Sarita.
“That’s good. Eat all your tacos, I don’t want you two to starve when I am away. Speaking of being away, the elders have told me you haven’t been seen all day.”
“We’ve been in the house,” said Grace.
“Really? That’s not what the elders told me.” The two girls stared at each other, seeing if one could come up with a lie. Their mother sighed and looked at the two girls, straight in the eyes.
“You know how dangerous the forest is. You don’t know what’s in the forest or who could be in the forest. Tonight, when your father and I are home, we will discuss your punishment.” Their mother then left, leaving the two girls to finish their tacos. The two girls stared at each other, wandering what their punishment would be.
That night, when they were eating tamales, their parents were talking to each other in the Mayan language to decide their punishment. Almost no one spoke the ancient language because Spanish has become so popular that even the new generation speaks it. The two girls don’t even know their ancestor’s language.
“We’ve decided,” said their mother. The two girls looked at their father who was stretching his legs and arms.
“Your mother and I have decided that you will go with her tomorrow and she will leave you at the local day care for four days, so you will wake up, go to the day care, and then come home for dinner,” he said. The two girls were about to cry because the day care in the town was horrible. They would never let the girls do what they allow them to do in the village, like run around and get dirty. The day care would try to teach the girls how to read and other boring stuff. The girls then went to bed early.
Sarita woke up early; hearing her father leaving and noticing her mother was about to go to bed.
“Where is papá going?” asked Sarita.
“To work, all the men are going because they forgot to do something important and they need to do this or the corn won’t grow. He’ll be back soon,” she said. Sarita then went back to sleep, with a sleeping Grace next to her. Her mother soon fell asleep from the long hard day’s work.

“Sarita! Grace!” their mother yelled waking them up. Both girls woke up at a start from their mother’s worried voice. The girls noticed it was raining outside and that water had come into their house.
“Girls, go onto the roof. I need to go outside and bring things into the house. ¡Ve!” and the two girls listened to her and quickly got out of their bed and started climbing onto their flat roof. The rain was coming down more quickly and the girls discovered themselves wet and cold on the roof. The winds started to get stronger. It was becoming a hurricane.
“Where is mamá? She should have been up here by now,” said Grace. Sarita didn’t hear her and as the rain and winds got stronger, the girls huddled together and held onto each other. They couldn’t see through the dark and cold winds. But they heard screams, cries, crashing noises, and were wondering what was going on. They were wondering where their mother was. The girls stayed on the roof for what seemed like many years.

“Grace, wake up. Grace,” said Sarita. Grace woke, cold and hungry, still on the roof.
“¿Qué?” she asked. Her sister pointed out into the sky and Grace got up to look at what she was pointing to. Grace and Sarita stood with amazement. Five mud houses were standing, but the rest had fallen. There were people lying in the village and not moving. Many were crushed by trees and houses that had collapsed on them. So many trees fell, that both the girls could see the town had suffered a lot of damage too. Grace then looked around and noticed someone she knew.
“¡Mamá!” she yelled and Grace slowly got down. Sarita wanted to get down quickly to join her sister, but as she was climbing down, she slipped and fell. Grace looked back at her sister who was lying on the ground crying. Grace then ran back to help her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Both my legs hurt. I can’t walk,” said Sarita. Grace started to think of how she could help her sister.
“Papá and the men are in the fields. There is a strong building nearby that they could have stayed at during the storm,” and Grace left, running down the road to the field.
Once Grace got there, she was dumbfounded. The fields were destroyed and in their place were dead men from the village. Grace saw her father, who was bleeding from the head. Tears started going down Grace’s face and she started running back to her sister in shock.
When Grace got back to her village, she saw a white van. The van had a red cross on it. Grace quickly thought that help had finally arrived for her sister and her. She saw a young woman with long blond hair and blue eyes, picking up her sisters and putting her on a white bed and then putting the white bed in the van. Grace ran up to the lady and tugged on her white coat.
“Can you help my sister?” ask Grace. The lady looked down at Grace and could quickly tell she was her twin sister. The lady spoke Spanish with an American accent.
“We are here to help. We will help your sister,” she said.
“I have to go with her,” said Grace.
“There is no room in the van. We will send someone to get you. Just wait here,” she said. The van left without Grace.
Grace stayed at the front of her house and watched as people came to take the dead bodies away. She was still waiting for the lady, but the only people she saw were people taking bodies, one after the other. She saw them when they took her mother’s body away. No one asked her if she needed help or if she was okay. Before she knew it, all the bodies were taken away and night fell quickly. She fell asleep ruined, alone.
Grace waited a day and no one came. She became hungry and thirsty. She then noticed a boy enter her village and he quickly saw her. He seemed a bit older than herself. He walked up to her.
“Are ya’ alone? Where are ya’ ma’ and pa’?” he asked.
“Dead.” Grace said. The boy nodded.
“Mine too. Come wit me. I live wit oters just like us,” he then started walking away. He turned back to see Grace still sitting at the front of her house. She then started to think that if she stayed she would die. She already felt sad being in her ruined village with no one and her house had too many happy, but bittersweet memories. She got up and walked towards the boy, who smiled at her.
“My name is Grace.”

Demigod

The bell rang at three, at which time the school day ended and my students ran out the door of my classroom into the world of freedom, where they would go home and do work or play video games or even get in trouble. I was a normal high school teacher in my third year of teaching, until that spring, when my life would change forever.
I was staying late, grading exam papers that I had to return the next day. All my colleagues had left for the day to go home and spend time with their children, or girlfriend, or husband. I was looking at the pile of papers that still needed to be graded; I thought I was going to be stuck in the building until about dinnertime or so. But in one second, everything changed.
“Get down!” I heard someone yell. I got under my desk as the windows shattered. I put my hands over my head and was under my desk, wondering what had happened.
I was still under my desk, hearing a strange sound. It sounded almost like an animal, growling at its prey, ready to attack. I could tell the creature was angry. But I also heard a snake hissing, as if it were stalking a poor innocent mouse. I could not make sense of what I was hearing or what was going on.
I got up from under my desk and I could not believe what I saw. The creature’s bright, yellow eyes turned to my direction. The creature had four legs, like a dog, but it had the head of a lion, and a goat’s head on its back! At the end of its tail was a snake whose eyes were also staring at me. I could tell the creature was ready to attack me and I was not sure how I was going to defend myself. Then the creature got hit by a book.
“You’re battle is with me!” said a voice. I turned toward the door where a former student of mine was standing, with a dagger in her hand. The creature quickly lost its interest in me and turned toward the student, growling at her, angered by the attack. The two were staring each other down.
Then a whistle blew and I could tell it was coming from far away, from the woods in the back of the school. The creature turned around and jumped through the broken window.
“Get back here! I’m not done with you, you big fur ball!” yelled the student as she ran toward the window, but as quickly as the creature had shown, it disappeared. The student threw her dagger into the air. It vanished just as it was about to fall. Then the student, whose name was Jaime, turned toward me.
“You are in danger, you must come with me,” she said.
“I don’t understand. What was that thing?”
“A chimera. If I didn’t make it in time, you would have been dead. Come on, we have to be quick. They know you’re here.”
“I still don’t understand. Who knows I’m here? Why does a chimera want to kill me? I didn’t even know chimeras existed. Is this really happening? Is this a joke?”
“Everything will be answered if you just come with me. If you want to stay here, that’s fine. But if you do, you’ll die.” I grabbed my stuff and followed Jaime out the classroom.

“This is it!” exclaimed Jaime as she got out of the car. I was still holding on tight to the door and to my seat belt. I always wanted to know what it would be like to ride in a flying car, but after Jaime’s driving, I felt as if I could never go flying again, even in an airplane.
“Come on! There are no monsters here,” she said as she opened my door and pulled me out.
It was so misty outside that it was hard to see where we were. I could tell we were in a forest since the trees were so high and I could hear birds in the trees and the sun was bright over our heads.
“This is as far as the car goes, so now we have to walk the rest of the way,” said Jaime. She turned to face a cave. “That’s the entrance.”
We walked into the cave but it seemed to have no end, but as it started to get dark in the cave, it got lighter on the other side. Once we got to the other side, we were in a new place. A place where all the buildings were white and being held up by Greek-style columns. It looked like a Greek city-state that was just built yesterday, but with modern people walking around.
“Welcome to New Olympia,” said Jaime as she smiled down at the city.
“New Olympia?” I asked.
“Well, we had to give it a name. Since Olympus means so much to us, we decided to name it after Olympia, the Greek city-state. Come with me; the elder should be in the temple.”
We walked down a path that lead straight into New Olympia and many people walked up to Jaime and welcomed her. Many people in New Olympia were in their late teens to late twenties. The people wore modern clothing, but the city seemed so new, if this city-state were authentic, where was it? How could it have survived for so long?
Jaime took me to a big building that was in the shape of a square. The doors at the top of the staircase were closed. They were decorated with the different ages of mankind.
The doors opened and a face popped out. It was a young man, about my age, in his early twenties. He had long black hair that was pulled back, and light, pale skin.
“Jamie! I was so worried! I heard you were attack by a chimera! You know how I feel when you enter battle without telling me in advance!” said the man. As he stepped out, I realized that he was not a human.
The man had the body of a human, but he had black wings on his back. His nails were sharp and almost all his teeth were fangs. But even though he wasn’t a human, I saw his affection for Jaime, almost like a father. I could tell that Jaime was embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, Seto. I should have told you, but I didn’t plan on going into battle, it just happened.” The creature named Seto put his hand on Jaime’s head and gave her a big smile. Then he turned to me.
“The elder has been waiting for you, for many years now. Please follow me,” he said.
We entered the temple. The room was huge, like a ballroom. But the only thing inside was at the end of the room. A giant statue of Zeus, the Greek god of the skies. On the side of the room were many doors. Seto and Jaime walked towards one door and entered, gesturing me to follow them.
We entered a room that was as white as the building itself. There was a brown desk at the end of the room, and in the middle, two leather couches. The floor had a nice maroon rug and on the couch was an elderly man, reading a book. He was wearing a suit and had glasses on; he almost looked like a mix between Dr. Seuss and Dr. Freud. He looked up at us with a smile. Seto and Jamie bowed and I followed their example.
There was a moment of silence, and then the elder spoke to me, the first thing he said to me, which would change my life, forever.
“Hello Mr. K, I was expecting you for some time now. Or should I call you, son of Apollo?”