Summer - 2007

I never knew the summer could be like this. Horns hooting unpromising support. Gooseneck men spewing at replacement workers. A sea of signs undulating to the rhythm of heated chants. It was July, hot, and volatile.

Dad scooped up his sign. "Nathan, stay here. Your mother will pick you up in an hour."

"Dad?"

"What?" He scowled and I knew I better not ask.

Shoulders straight, he marched to his position. Dad proudly supported the union's fight even though I knew he hated picketing, but he did it for a measly union check and a box filled with rice, canned vegetables, and recipes promising delicious and nutritious casseroles.

Six months behind on the house and car payment, I knew I shouldn't ask for the driver ed money, but I wanted my license. I had already given up soccer camp. My life had gone from playing jokes on my annoying sisters to spending time envying my friend, Tony.

Tony's father was management. Tony got to go to movies, eat subs at Joe's Snack Shack, and shop for cars. I spent my time socializing with strikers.

I hunched my shoulders and watched them, but they all blended into one image, worn-down people holding onto pocket-sized hope.

It's been ten months since the union laborers dropped their hardhats and walked out. Scabs were hired immediately. Didn't they get it? Their jobs were gone.

"You're Joe's boy, aren't yah?"

I turned to a bristle-faced man chewing an unlit cigarette. He was pouring sweat. His soiled united we stand T-shirt typified the mood of the crowd, dim hope that once seemed bright.

"Yah. Dad's picketing right now."

"Good man." He pulled out the cigarette, examined it, and placed it back in his mouth.

"Can't afford to smoke no more. How's your dad takin' the news?"

"What news?"

"Union announcement tonight. No more weekly checks. It's gonna be tough for those who've gone through their savings. Some will cross the line, but your dad will support the cause."

My stomach churned. How much longer could we go on? I caught Mom edging towards us. She walked erect with her hand bracing her back. She hadn't been to the chiropractor in months. Couldn't Dad see what he was doing to us?

That night he came in late. Murmurs surfaced from the kitchen. I sat on my bed, clicking the remote and cursing the window fan. Three stations. No cable. No air conditioning. It all sucked.

Lights danced across my room. I looked out to see Tony's father getting out of his SUV. What was he doing here? I entered the kitchen just as Dad and Mr. Carlton sat down.

"Do you need something, Nathan?" Dad asked.

"Just some water." I filled my glass and moved into the living room across from where they sat. The floor fan spun the stifling air.

Mr. Carlton glanced at me and then spoke. "Joe, you know the union is out of money."

"I know. Your point, Tom?"

"We could use your help. Not as a laborer, but as a supervisor." Mr. Carlton put up his hand. "I know, Joe, you're a union man, but hear me out. You have a family, and Forester Paper is willing to pay you a good salary with full benefits. It's a tough choice."

I held my breath.

Dad rubbed his forehead and looked over to Mom who stood nursing her back. He cradled his face. The mantle clock ticked away the minutes.

"Tom." Dad raised his head. "When it comes to my family, it's not a choice." He massaged his hands. "I'll take the job, and if there's nothing else right now, I'd like you to leave." Dad stood, shoulders straight.

Mr. Carlton rose and put out his hand. "Thank you, Joe." He glanced towards me. "Hope, to see you, Nathan. Tony wants to look at cars."

I walked over beside my dad. "I'll see Tony when I get a chance." I straightened my shoulders, and suddenly I didn't care if I went to soccer camp or had cable. I didn't even care if I had a car.

_______________________________________________________________________

“I never knew the summer could be like this,” Trixie sighed. She
stretched her legs and yawned, exposing a row of even white teeth. It
was a quiet, lazy afternoon-perfect for soaking up the sun. She lay on
the grass with her eyes closed and enjoyed the slight breeze that
stirred through her long, blonde hair. The one exception to the
otherwise extraordinary day was the pesky fly that kept buzzing around
her head.

Skip stood close by and stared out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t
want to be caught watching, but how could he not admire her? Trixie
was new in town; she had just arrived a few days earlier, but Skip
could tell she was a beautiful girl, both outside and in. She had the
prettiest big brown eyes, a lean body, a sweet personality, and she was
athletic as well. She was everything a guy would want.

Problem was, Trixie didn’t know he was alive.

Skip dropped his head and sauntered over to the water fountain to get
a drink.

Skip’s best pal, Jimmy, wandered over and nudged him on the shoulder.

“Hey! Have you caught her attention yet?”

Skip shook his head.

“Summer will be over and you’ll still be moping around like a lovesick
puppy. It’s time for the master to teach you a few tricks.”

Jimmy was a ladies’ man. He didn’t just walk up to the girls. He
strutted like a rooster. Jimmy was good looking, too, with his dark
hair and complexion. Not to mention his rippled muscles. But, if Skip
were to be critical at all, he would admit that his friend was lazy,
ate like a pig, and was a bit of a bully. Not traits Skip cared to
emulate.

“Okay,” Jimmy whispered. “I’ll show you how it’s done. First lesson.
Ladies like to be complimented. It’s all about noticing the details.
Watch this.”

Skip and Jimmy walked over to Trixie. “Excuse me,” Jimmy said, clearing his throat.

Trixie’s eyelids rolled open like a shade. “Hi fellas. It’s a
beautiful afternoon, isn’t it?”

“Sure is, Trixie,” Jimmy replied. “You’re looking fine today.”

“Thank you. Hello, Skip.”

She knew his name! “Hi, Trixie,” Skip said shyly.

“I love your toenails, Trix,” Jimmy gushed.

“I just had them done.”

“And that ribbon in your hair is really cute.”

Skip rolled his eyes. If Jimmy was such a stud, why was he saying
such dumb things?

“It is?” Trixie asked. “I thought it looked kinda silly.”

Skip held in a snicker. There was an awkward pause, and then Jimmy puffed out his chest.

“Skip and I were about to go for a run. Keep these hard bodies toned.
Would you care to join us?”

“Are you implying that I’m out of shape?” Trixie asked, rising to her
feet.

“No,” Jimmy stammered. Trixie winked at Skip to show she was teasing.

Skip’s heart began to race.

“I wouldn’t mind taking a leisurely walk,” Trixie said. “How about
you, Skip? Want to come?”

Skip couldn’t believe his ears. “Sure!”

Trixie and Skip started down a path, leaving Jimmy behind, dumbfounded
at the turn of events.

Trixie said, “Jimmy’s nice, but too cocky. I prefer the quiet,
considerate type. More like you.”

Trixie liked him! Suddenly Skip’s feet took on a springy step, much like bouncing upon a cloud.

Skip nodded toward a bunch of ripe berries hanging on a bush, offering
some to Trixie. When they came to a stream, they dipped their toes in and splashed
each other. Once in awhile, the two of them would brush against each other and
smile.

As they returned from their walk, they saw a pickup rumbling up the
drive.

“There’s our people!” Skip cried, breaking into a trot.

“Do you think they’re going to brush us?” Trixie asked, trotting alongside. “It feels good when the lady combs my mane.”

“They’re pulling out the saddles. I think we’re going on our first trail ride together!” Skip exclaimed.

Trixie whinnied loudly. “We’re going to have such fun. I like it
here. I’m so glad they bought me.”

“Me, too,” Skip replied happily. “I never knew the summer could be
like this.”

________________________________________________________________________

Honorable Mention - Olivia Wolf

A Job

I never knew the summer could be like this. I didn't know that a
person was capable of feeling this badly when the sun is shining.
Nothing seems to work; it's like fate is working against me. This job
will make things better.

Why are there so many people here? It's not even a hard task. And the
pay isn't good. The ad was only on craigslist for one single, solitary
day. I'm sure all the other people have good reasons for being here,
but mine is the best. I need this job. Not the money, just the job.
See, I've planned my whole fall around it. I scheduled my classes
around it.

I'm really good at reading aloud. I used to read to my little
cousins. I read aloud in school a lot. I have a really good reading
voice. But that's not what I'm going to say cause that would sound
like begging. I'm not going to say that my grandmother died or that my
mother was in the same car with her, that the car that went crashing
off the road and into a bank. I'm not going to say that. That would
make me sound desperate. I am desperate. But I don't want them to know
that.

"Read aloud New York times to old lady who has recently lost her
eyesight. Six days a week, ten dollars and hour." That is what the ad
said. That is why I'm here, waiting outside an apartment on the Upper
East Side for an interview, an interview to read aloud the New York
Times. I'm going to tell them that I regularly read the New York
Times; this is a lie, but I am going to say it anyway. That my
favorite section is the style section; no wait, the arts section. That
sounds better, much better.

Ok, I'm next. No wait, that older lady is in front of me. She is
dressed in all black, mid-thirties…wait, she is out of place. She
couldn't possibly need a day job. She looks like someone who would
have a Park Avenue household to manage. She looks like she'd be a good
reader. She can't take my place. She just can't.

She's going in now. Maybe if I lean up against the door, press my ear
to it, I'll be able to overhear. No, that might look weird. I hope she
hurries up. Ok, the door is opening.

I'm shaking her hand. The old woman kind of looks like my
grandmother, just slightly more heavyset, her hair a darker shade of
brown. I didn't visit my grandmother that much, should've seen her
more and then she and my mom were gone, all of a sudden, they were
gone and now my chest hurts all the time.

I think they like me. This woman's daughter, I think she likes me. I
told them my schedule is flexible. It is flexible. I don't have a job
right now. I could read the New York Times in the morning or at night;
I could even be there at noon.

The old woman just said that she likes my voice. I just read her a
few paragraphs of an article, Modern Work at the Guggenheim. I tell
her that I love the Guggenheim, that I've been there many times. This
is true. I walk out after kissing the woman on the cheek and telling
her how much I enjoyed meeting her.

Wait, they call, as I'm walking out the door. Come back. I turn
around and face the daughter of the woman in a tailored navy suit,
they'd like it if I would come and read tomorrow. They would! They'd
like it. I'm so excited I hug her. I walk out and look down. My chest
feels as though it's going to break. I walk onto the street, away from
the building, and sit on the curb as the doorman stares. And then I
throw up; I throw up. I throw up until there's nothing left.