First Writing Assignment

Candle’s Futile FightThe creamy white wax of the candle sits in a hard glob inside its translucent glass hurricane. The glass which is half empty of the wax widens in the center and rises up into a narrow opening. The hole is an elegant and undersized ring encircled with a shinny ribbon imprinted with the candle company’s name and the bouquet which has been selected to encompass the wax. On top of the wax, a smaller shimmery liquid puddle, about the size of a quarter begins to form in the center of the hard wax as the tiny pointy flame burns motionless on it’s short dark black wick. I imagine how that glossy wax puddle will grow larger and larger, in perfectly uniform and completely subtle rings until the entire top layer of the candle is fluid. It is as the wax becomes runny that the scent of the candle becomes evident. As I sit and the pool of liquid swells, the aroma of lime and coconut resonates out into the room. As I sit, the flame seems to gain confidence inside its small glass enclosure and it stretches taller as if trying to reach outside the rim of the glass. As the fire matures, it becomes frenzied, flickering and swaying against the invisible breeze that taunts it. The flame seems to be working harder now, trying to stretch, and expand into something significant and long lasting. It fights against the elements inside its glass house knowing that it takes but one of my breaths to douse it. It struggles between its two personalities, one of creating a welcoming atmosphere of vision and scent and it’s other of providing its dangerous heat, which it knows is truly its only defense against my effortless extinguishment of its dance inside the glass.

The Cure by Iris Rosewater

If I had really stopped to think about it, I would have been much more careful with my answers on that questionnaire.

“Have you lost interest in your hobbies?”

Yes, for the most part. (But, I keep up some extracurricular activities. It keeps me away from home.)

“Do you feel disengaged from your loved ones?”

Absolutely. Abandoned, in fact.

“Do you have difficulty facing the day, and wish to stay in bed?”

Who doesn’t?

I blitz through the questions like an easy exam, not thinking ahead to any outcome in particular, and hand the clipboard to the nurse, who whisks it out of the room. I sit uncomfortably on the exam table, my legs dangling, listening to the white paper crinkle beneath my backside. My hands are cold, so I wedge them under my thighs for warmth. I’m too tired to get down and grab an outdated magazine from the basket on the floor, so instead I think about all the times I’ve been to the doctor that I can remember. Pneumonia as a five-year-old, that nasty fall off my bike when I was nine, all the lengthy bouts with bronchitis in middle school… and now, at 15, mononucleosis. I didn’t get it in any worthwhile way, either. This is probably from a germy doorknob – because it definitely isn’t from any kiss. What a gyp.

The doctor finally meanders in. I know we’re at an army base clinic, but it still weirds me out to see nurses and doctors in camo. It makes me feel like I should be prepared to duck and cover in case war breaks out. I peek under my knees at the drawers in the exam table. Maybe they store ammo in there. He sits on his rolly-chair for a few seconds, flipping through my chart. Then, sticking the stethoscope into his ears, he starts listening to me breathe. The stinking thing is like an icecube, and I start to shiver. The mucous in my lungs rattles audibly as I take a deep breath (I don’t need any medical instrument to detect it), which triggers a deep, wet coughing fit. He asks if I’m doing any better than last time, blah blah blah, and then notices the questionnaire answers.

“How long have you felt like this, Beth?”

What was their wedding date, again?

“For a few months.”

“Months?”

Yeah, months. About six of them, unless you count the courtship. But, that wasn’t nearly as bad as living with him.

“Well, I’d like you to see Dr. Cromwell before you go. I believe he’s free at the moment. He may be able to help you that.”

Sure, send me to Dr. Whomever. Am I done here? He writes me another prescription for that terrible stuff I’m supposed to gargle to numb the ulcers on my tonsils, and then leads me down a hallway. The atmosphere gets progressively more nicey-nice the further we walk. Like we’re going to a place prepared for fragile people. Soft colors are painted on the walls, instead of sterile white, and bulletin boards covered in pictures of people with hopeful looks in their eyes. And then, we walk into Dr. What’s-his-face’s office, and my eyes squint and then widen, adjusting to the darkness. It is seriously dark in here. Maybe this guy treats people who are allergic to light. What am I doing here, exactly? Dressed in an argyle sweater vest and sky-blue collared-shirt instead of camo, he stands up and gingerly shakes my hand. He’s middle aged with a graying beard and receding hair line. They speak with low voices to each other for a moment, and then my doctor nods to me and shuts the door behind him. Then, daft, tired Beth, I finally put it all together. He’s a psychologist.

His dim office is covered in hunting décor. Apparently, he’s big into mallards. They are EVERYWHERE. Wooden figures, sitting placidly on the edges of his desk… a large painting on the wall with a whole flock of them trying in vain to make an escape. All of them have a vacant, soulless look in their eyes. Which, by the way, is not how a duck really looks. My aunt had a few. They were rather clever, I thought. I pictured them, waddling devotedly behind her around the garden while she pulled weeds, quacking happily when she’d toss a slug or a worm their way. How in the world am I supposed to take this guy seriously?

Dr. Cromwell starts asking me some questions about my home life. I explain about my stepfather, who lays on the couch day and night, with the TV blaring away. I explain that I am sick with mono, and of course I want to sleep all the time – I have been asleep 16 hours of every day for the last few weeks. He asks about school, and I tell him how I’m first chair cellist in my orchestra, I am in 3 honors classes and have a 3.8 GPA. Do I think it will get better? He asks. Well, I can’t be sick forever, I reason. If only my stepfather was a nasty disease that I knew would run its course and then we’d all have antibodies that would keep him away forever. He seems to pick up on the unspoken, never-ending half of my depression. He looks at me for a while – an uncomfortable amount of time, I might add – leaning back in his black leather office chair. And then he starts to tell me what a great kid I am, how I really seem to have my head on my shoulders… how lucky my parents are. Clearly, I don’t seem to be “clinically” depressed (which is apparently much worse), just “situationally” depressed. Well, I think, if the situation doesn’t end, does that make it clinical? But, I don’t want to tamper with his tidy diagnosis, so I don’t say anything more. I let him prescribe me something that will “help get me through this difficult transition”.

In the car, my mom seems relieved… almost a little happy as we head to the pharmacy. We sit silently, and I think about what makes me happy anymore. I mentally comb through my everyday life. Rehearsals, essays, tests, sleep… all that comes up in the way of happiness is my golden retriever, Ranger. He’s getting old, even though I don’t like to admit it. His muzzle is turning white and his eyes look a bit saggy. I think if what few endorphins I have left in my brain and how they start to trickle out when I sit and touch his silky ears and let him lick my hands with his velvety tongue. I like the happy grumbling noise he makes when I scratch his tummy, and the little tufts of fur that grow between his toes. I even like the way he smells – sweet, and a bit like warm sand. Then, delving further into the last time I was really happy, I think about my sister, Sarah.

When Dad left, our Mother went to pieces. She stopped eating or leaving the house. She seemed only capable of two activities: sleeping and sobbing. Sarah was in high school at the time, and I was in middle school. I dreaded coming home from school for the first half of eighth grade. Sarah dreaded leaving… maybe because she was afraid of what she might come home to find if she left Mom alone all day.

We soldiered on, the two of us, through that horrible year. And, just when Mom had started to go stretches of days and then weeks without crying, and Sarah and I thought we were going to be okay after all, she met Bob. Bob the blob. They met online of all places… both feeling lonely after messy divorces. He lived a few hours away, so Mom would leave us for a week at a time to visit, leaving Sarah in charge, of course. (As if that was any kind of change… Sarah had been running things for the last year).

It’s funny that, in the midst of all the garbage I had suffered, my mind pinpointed these times as the happiest for me. When Mom went on her visits, Sarah would shoot me a sly smile, explaining that I was needed at home that school day, or gee, didn’t I look sick this morning…

We ate lazy breakfasts… like bowls of an assortment of sugary cereals mixed together. We laid on a blanket under the tree in the back yard, sunbathing with the cat. We got fountain drinks at the drive-through during happy hour. We did puzzles. We laughed. She played the piano and we sang songs from old musicals like West Side Story. Sarah was my sister and my best friend.

And then Mom decided to marry Bob the Blob. And take me with her. Sarah was starting college by then, and had no plans to move five hours away to live with Bob. So, it was just me against the world, instead of the two of us. I was alone.

I am alone.

Mom has started to talk by the time we pull into the pharmacy drive-thru line. She’s obviously happy at this point, and a clear endorser of anti-depressants. Someone should hire this woman to do an ad, the way she’s going on. Isn’t it wonderful this day and age to have medicine like this… something to get us back in “the right frame of mind.” She wishes someone would have told her sooner about them, when Dad left. It would have changed that whole experience. You mean, we wouldn’t have been orphans for a year? I almost ask. She pulls up and pays for my prescription, reaching for a white bag through the little window.

As we drive away, I take out the little orange bottle with my name printed in capital letters. My Mom leans over and smiles, patting my leg reassuringly.

“See, Honey?” she says, “Everything is going to be all right.”

Prologue

It was a hot day, probably the hottest of the summer, but Ethan Fields didn’t notice. He was unaware of the sweat dripping off the end of his nose. He was actually quite thirsty, but he didn’t realize it, even though a bottle of water sat just a few feet from where he was working. Ethan was exploring, his favorite thing in the whole world to do. And living on his grandfather’s ranch was perfect for the twelve year olds preferred pastime. He’d grown up there, spending as much of his free time as he could outside.

Once in a while Ethan’s grandfather would join him, but he hadn’t been able to for the past few days. A cow had kicked him during a recent branding session so he had been mainly in his bed or on the couch. It was strange to see him prostrate, instead of driving his truck around the ranch or taking care of cows or alfalfa fields.

Finally the heat caught up with him and Ethan grabbed his water and sat down in the shade of a juniper tree. He surveyed his work through squinted eyes. A large pile of earth sat next to a deep hole. A sieve was sitting on the dirt, along with an old lunchbox. He’d bought the sieve with his allowance, and today he was enjoying sifting dirt through it to see if the ranch had any secret treasures. Anything he found worth keeping went into the lunchbox, which unfortunately wasn’t very full. But to Ethan, the hunt was much more important than the end result.

After a few minutes Ethan got up and went back to his sifting. The sun was getting awfully hot, and he decided to give it 15 more minutes, and then head home.

“Oh well,” Ethan murmured when his time was up. “I’ll dig somewhere else tomorrow.” He dug his sieve into the dirt once more, and lifted it out. He wasn’t even going to sift the dirt, just dump it out, but something caught his eye. As the loose dirt fell through the sieve, Ethan gasped. There at the bottom was a key. It was obviously old, the brass tarnished and caked in dirt. Ethan lifted it out carefully and studied it. There was nothing written on it, but the top section was a strange symbol, almost like a letter “g” but not quite.

Ethan felt his heart pumping in his chest. He had finally found treasure! Even if is was only the key to the old bee house, it was exciting none the less. He grabbed his sieve and lunchbox and started running home. He was going to try every lock on the ranch until he found which one this key opened.

Chapter One

Nathan Fields was bored. It was summer, and it was hot, and all of his friends had gone away for the summer. Being twelve was not easy, especially when his dad was gone all the time, his mom worked, and his older brother only thought about girls. There was never anyone home to drive him anywhere, and the family lived too far from town to walk. Even Grandpa, who Nathan used to be able to follow all over the ranch, was laid up in bed, too sick to even talk to.

“I guess I’ll just go for a walk, like I aways do, alone, like I always am,” Nathan said outloud to himself. He felt like he did that a lot these days, talked even when no one was around to listen. He felt pathetic, like a complete loser. But there was no one to notice that, even.

Opening the front door to his house, Nathan scanned the sky. It was a clear day, with just a few white puffs way off in the distance. It was also hot, typical for a summer day in the desert. It was tempting to stay inside with the air conditioning, playing video games or watching tv. But he had done that yesterday, and had felt no satisfaction after doing so.

Walking up the stairs to his room, Nathan quickly rubbed on some sunblock, grabbed his red hat, and headed outside to the shed. That was where all of the tools were kept, and Nathan had decided to go digging. It was something he had done for years, only less and less in the past few. When he was five his older brother Ethan had found a mysterious key, and had spent that entire summer looking for what it opened. He didn’t find it then, and even thought he did look the next summer, he hadn’t found it, and had given up and imparted the key to Nathan. By then he was more interested in girls anyway, he didn’t really care about childish things like digging in the dirt.

Nathan heard a car’s engine and looked up. His brother’s old pickup was coming up the driveway a bit crazily, and Nathan guessed that Ethan was trying to impress a girl inside. He watched the truck park in front of the house, and Ethan and a girl Nathan hadn’t seen before hopped out and walked into the house hand in hand. All Nathan could do was roll his eyes and shrug.

Pulling out his digging tools which he kept in a bucket, Nathan closed the shed door and headed towards Elephant Hill. His grandpa said he had named it that when he was just a kid moving with his parents to settle the land. It wasn’t hard to understand where the name came from. The hill was a big lump with a long thin protusion sticking out one side. Nathan decided to head for the north side, which happened to be the end of the elephant’s trunk.

When he reached his destination, he sat down on a large rock and wiped his forehead. He wished he had thought to bring water; it was a really hot day. Glancing around he looked for a good spot to dig. Nothing looked very promising. He started walking around the trunk, feeling the stone as he hiked. It was sandstone, and quite rough and gritty.

Then, unexpectedly, Nathan felt something smooth, like glass. He peeked his head into the crevice where he felt it, and saw an oval, about the size of a baseball, of what looked like diamond. In the center was a small hole, with a smaller hole directly underneath it. Nathan rubbed his finger over it. It seemed familiar, like a keyhole, but what would a keyhole be doing in a rock?

Suddenly Nathan’s eyes widened, and he stood straight up. Ethan’s key! What if it fit this keyhole? Maybe there was a treasure hidden inside Elephant hill! Nathan quickly stuck a shovel in the ground under the keyhole, then ran home as fast as he could. It was usually a twenty-minute walk, but he ran it in what felt like two. Throwing the door open, he ran upstairs to his room and opened his top desk drawer. There, in a small box, was the key. He seized it, then ran back downstairs to the living room where he heard voices.

“Ethan, I found a keyhole!” he exclaimed, out of breath and wheezing. His announcement was met with silence. “Did you hear me, Ethan? I found a keyhole!”

Nathan’s head poked up from behind the couch, which faced away from Nathan. “What are you raving about?” Another head came into view, the unfamiliar girls.

“Ethan, listen to me. I found a keyhole. In Elephant rock. You have to come with me.”

Ethan just sighed, kissed the girl, and got up and walked over to his excited brother. “Look, Nathan, I’m a little busy here. And you’re probably just imagining things. You must have just found a hole that looked like a keyhole.”

Nathan stomped his foot. “No! I know it’s a keyhole.”

Ethan shook his head and went back to the couch. “Well, you go try the key and tell me what happens later.”

Nathan wanted to scream at his brother. Why was he being such a jerk at such an important time? “You’ll wish you came,” he muttered, storming out the door. He would find a treasure, and he would keep it all to himself. It would be Ethan’s own fault he didn’t get any of it; Nathan had tried to get him to come.

Nathan ran all the say back to Elephant rock without stopping, the key clutched tightly in his hand. When he reached it, he dusted the keyhole lightly with his hand, then slid the key slowly into it. It fit! His heart pumping in his ears, he turned to key first to the left. Nothing. He tried again, this time to the right, and it turned slowly, making a small screeching sound. Then there was a small pop and whir, and the stone slid back away from the diamond. What was left looked like a doorknob. Nathan turned it, and an outline of a curved door appeared in the sandstone. It slowly moved back, then swung back to reveal what looked like the other side Elephant Rock. Nathan was confused. Why would someone make a door that just led right through the rock?

Stepping through the doorway, Ethan expected to see the ranch in the distance, but instead he saw only landscape. Confused, he turned around and went back through. Going around the trunk of the rock, he again looked where the ranch should be, and there it was.

“What is going on here?” He wondered aloud. Walking back through the doorway, he again saw the empty landscape. Turning back once more to see if Ethan had come to his senses and seeing no one, he began to walk. All of the scenery was familiar, but it all lacked something. Pieces of the ranch. The hills were familiar, but they lacked power poles. The land he walked he’d seen a thousand times, but it lacked a dirt road he’d driven on with his grandpa over and over again. Why? Had walking through the door erased his grandpa’s ranch from the earth? Had it transported him to another part of the world?

On and on Nathan walked, looking for something familiar. He was hot, but his curiosity drove him on. He watched birds fly over, wondering if they were as confused as he was. One of the birds landed a few feet away, and Nathan stopped in his tracks. This was no bird he’d ever seen before. It was shaped like a robin, but it was a brownish purple, and instead of a beak it had a pointy snout. It opened it and showed pointy little teeth. Nathan stared at it wide-eyed, then began to back away.

“Haven’t you ever seen a sneefle before?” a voice to his left called out. Nathan looked up to see a girl standing next to a tree, looking at him curiously. “You look like you’re afraid of him. He won’t hurt you.” She began walking towards him, and he could see that she was wearing what looked like a brown sheet. Her feet were bare, and her blond hair was braided and twisted around her head. She carried what looked like a helmet in her hand.

“I’ve never seen one of those in my life,” Nathan said finally. “Are there a lot around here?”

The girl smiled as the “sneefle” flew off towards a group of trees. “Oh yes, they are the most common animal in these parts. You must not be from here.”

“I’m not sure,” Nathan answered. The girl looked at him questioningly. “I mean, I guess not,” he finished.

“Well, it isn’t safe to be wandering around, especially with that thing you are wearing on your head. Why don’t you come home with me, and you can tell me where you are from.” She motioned him in the direction they should go, and he began to walk next to her.

“My name is Sweethala,” the girl said. It sounded like silk running off of her tongue.

“Mine is Nathan,” he replied.