PROSE - 2006

Grades 7 - 9

First Place - Annie Fishman

Second Place - Elana Orbuch

Third Place - Kyla Siedband

Grades 10 - 12

First Place - Ian Aizman

Second Place - Mendel Silver

Third Place - Ari Orenstein

Third Place - Maddy Shaw

Prose, Grades 7 - 9: First Place

The Old Lady - Annie Fishman

 

 

            It was one of those days.  The skies were dark, the halls leaked with gloom, and everyone was in a bad mood. To top it all off, nerdy and greasy volunteer coordinator, Megan, came over to me just as my last class of the day finished.
            “Hi, Leah,” she energetically said. (I stand corrected; there was one cheery person.)
            I cut right to the chase.  “What do you want?” I asked.
            “Well, I was wondering if I could possibly count on you to participate by volunteering in the National Blood Drive Day this Sunday.  You don’t need to give blood or anything,” she said in response to my appalled face.  “But, we do need volunteers to help out.”
            “I don’t think I can do it,” I said with a mock sad look on my face.
            Suddenly, nice little Megan turned into a monster.  “You never help out  What about the bake-a-thon?   No, the cancer children don’t matter to Leah Mullen.  What about the Annual Marathon for the Homeless?   No, we’ll just tell the homeless to proceed to live outside.  Why? Because Leah can’t help.  How about the toy drive, or the rummage sale?   You’re so selfish!  You may be rich, but what do you have to show for it?”   She gave me one last seething look and stalked off.
            I continued to stare at the place where she had stood in utter shock and disbelief.  Was I as selfish as Megan made me out to be?  Is that how others thought of me?   No, I told myself.  I have lots of friends.  But, do they only like me because I got a Porsche for my last birthday and I have three Gucci purses? 
            I suddenly felt very empty inside.   I shuffled to my locker, took my bag and headed for the door.  Usually, I walk home, but today I just needed some alone time.  I headed for the park. 
            I found a bench which had an elderly lady sitting on it.  She had silky looking gray hair tied back in a bow.  Even though she held herself high as if she were a woman of great importance, deep creases in her face suggested that she had gone through many hardships.  She looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on how exactly I knew her.
            I took a seat on the other side of the bench and put my hands over my eyes.
            The woman turned to me and asked, “Something wrong, dear?”
            I sighed.  “Ya, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
            She nodded.  “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my days, and I learned that the easiest way to heal is to open up.  Come on now, let’s hear it,” she said.
            “Well,” I started, “someone I barely know called me selfish.  I don’t want people calling me names, but I just don’t do volunteer work.  It’s not for me.”
            “Tell me, was there any time that someone did something nice for you?”  the woman questioned.
            ‘Yes, I suppose.  Just yesterday, in fact, Sara came over to my house and explained our Algebra II homework.  I had no idea how to do it, and she helped me,”
            “That’s simple joy. But, it made you happy, right?” she asked in a rhetorical way. I nodded, and she continued, “Well, what if someone saved your life, and…”
            “Hey!” I cut in, “someone did once save my life.  When I was eight and at a pool party, I didn’t know how to swim in the deep end.  I jumped off the diving board anyway, and when I started to drown, Amanda Mack jumped in and saved my life.  That’s how I got this scar,” I said, showing her the deep scar on my right hand.  “When she pulled me out of the water, I scraped my hand on the pool’s edge.” I ran my index finger over the scar.
            “Okay, so don’t you want to save lives in return?  Who knows, maybe by working in a blood drive someone’s life will be saved.  Help out, okay?  Take it from someone who knows.  I was selfish my whole life.  My husband married me for my money; my friends only liked me for the same reason.  Then, when I had a fight with my parents and they disinherited me, what did I get?  Divorce papers and not a single friend.  My parents died without me even saying goodbye.  You don’t want to become me,” she said as a single sad tear trickled down her sagging cheek.
            Everything was sounding clear and I began to nod.  Suddenly, something struck me.   “Wait, how did you know I was asked to volunteer at a blood drive?  I never told you!”       
She moved closer to me, and as she put her right hand on mine, said softly, “I know, Leah. I know.”
            “Leah? How did you know my…”  And that’s when I got goose bumps over my entire body.  I noticed that she had a scar on her right hand that was identical to mine.
            The old lady smiled and walked off leaving me with a lot to think about.

 

 

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