Chicken Soup for the Girl's Soul Page 13

  At first, Faith had a lot of trouble keeping up with us. She was a little chubby. At the rate she was going, she was going to weigh about 100 pounds by kindergarten. She ate huge amounts of food. My mom had her eat a little less and made her stop coming back and forth to the kitchen getting snacks and juice all of the time. We began to give her fruit to snack on and water to drink. We even bought a tricycle for her to ride and a stroller to push her dolls around in. It took just a few months for her to lose her baby fat. Soon, she was running up and down the street like everyone else.

  Now she follows me everywhere I go—even when I don’t want her to. At five years old, Faith is a very smart and talented little girl. After only two weeks of kindergarten, she was skipped to the first grade. While the new kindergarteners were learning to write their names, Faith was already spelling, reading and doing math. Now she has spelling tests and is learning more about addition and subtraction. I always try to help her with her homework and be a good example. Sometimes she gets a little lazy when it comes to reading and spelling, but once she gets the hang of it, I know that she will be okay.

  We are also taking ballet and acting classes. It is so much more fun to go with my sister. I always thought that she would be successful in acting because she is so full of drama. Faith repeats what she hears on television and pretends to do commercials in front of the mirror. She and our nine-year-old brother, Darius, even put on shows for us in the garage. Maybe one day she will be rich and famous.

  It’s funny. I can’t even remember Faith not being here. When I wake up, the first thing I see is my sister, and when I go to sleep, the last thing I see is my sister. Faith is a nice little girl whose favorite color is purple and who loves to skate. She hates getting her hair combed, dressing up and having to help clean our room. Most of all, she hates brushing her teeth!

  I’m glad I have Faith as a sister because she is fun and she makes me laugh. I don’t think that the people who had Faith before us gave her a chance to get settled in with them. Besides, they could not have loved her as much as we do. One day, I bet that they will be sitting at home on their couch watching television and will see Faith when she is a star.

  No matter what she does in the future, Faith will always be a star in my heart. How lucky I am to have the gift of Faith.

  Nydja K. Minor, 12

  Best Friend

  Anger makes you smaller, while forgiveness forces you to grow beyond what you were.

  Cherie Carter-Scott

  During sixth grade, the world seemed to be far from my fingertips. I was under the rule of my “evil” parents—my mom and my stepdad. Somehow, I felt like they thought I could never do anything right. I struggled with my grades in history class, and kids at my school thought I was a little bit of a nerd. Overall, I was lonely, disgusted with myself and felt like life had dealt me the worst hand of cards! Then, as if God had heard my cry of despair, I was sent some company—however, it was not exactly what I had in mind.

  At Christmas, my stepsister, Courtney, moved in—my new so-called best friend. My mom and her dad had gotten married after my parent’s divorce. Although I had known her for five years, I had only seen her a few times— but even on those rare occasions, each time, there had always been tension between us, and we had never gotten along.

  For the first month after she came to live with us, I ignored her as much as I could and almost completely avoided getting to know her. I had made up my mind that I hated her from the second that she had walked through the door. I did not know how to live with another person my age. Frankly, I wasn’t up for the competition. I had been an only child for eleven years, and I wasn’t about to let some prissy blond thirteen-year-old girl move in and take away all of my hard-earned attention! Oh no, not me.

  Of course, my parents forced me to talk to her, which didn’t change how I felt at all. Without a thought about how she might have felt about having to move in with us, I went about becoming the most mean-spirited sibling in the history of mankind. I plotted and schemed about how I could make her life miserable and drive her away. I stole her possessions, ate her “secret” stash of chocolate and even framed her, so that my older sister would end up having to do more chores than me. I became her worst nightmare.

  One day after school, we started fighting as we walked home. We entered the house and began our homework while we still argued over a topic I can’t even remember now. Then she did it! She called me a name that I will not mention. Anger rose up into my chest, and I looked around for something to throw at her. I found a pile of my school textbooks nearby. I picked them up and threw them at her, one at a time, with a force that amazed even me. After I ran out of textbooks, I was still in a rage, so I searched for something else to throw at her that could cause damage. I saw our new telephone out of the corner of my eye. I ran to it, ripped it out of the wall and chucked it at her without even a thought of what could come later.

  My parents were horrified to find two extremely upset girls when they arrived home, not to mention the debris of their brand-new phone scattered on the floor along with my textbooks. That afternoon’s occurrences were explained, and then Courtney and I were both sent to our rooms while they thought up a punishment.

  Once I was able to calm down, I sat in my room and remembered all of the other times that I had lost control and injured Courtney physically and emotionally since she had come to live with us. I could not think of any legitimate excuse for me to treat her the way that I had, and I become conscious that I had acted out all of these heinous crimes for ridiculous, selfish reasons. I started to search my heart and recognized all of the wonderful qualities she possessed. With a shock, I realized that not only was I not lonely anymore, Courtney had actually brought a lot of fun into my life.

  That night, my parents lectured me for hours. My sentence was that I had to pay for another phone, in addition to having lots of extra chores added to my normal duties. As I walked back to my room, I could hear Courtney crying in hers. For the first time in my life, I was sincerely sorry for the pain I had caused her. I stood in front of her door, trying to think of ways to apologize. Even though I was afraid I might be too late, I went in anyway. I found her in the dark, weeping on her bed. Because of her brokenhearted crying, she didn’t hear me enter her room or my whispered apology. But when I lay down and wrapped my arms around her to comfort her, she knew how truly sorry I was.

  After that night, she and I called a truce. Eventually, we began to get along better and even started hanging out together. Somewhere along the line, we discovered that we could get up on the roof of our apartment complex through a window in the laundry room. Having our own little private place to share secrets or just to talk, as we lay up on the roof looking at the stars or getting some sun, has been a special thing that we have shared for the past few years.

  Over time, I have realized that it’s really pretty nice having a sister and a friend to go through life with. Courtney and I have shared many triumphs and tragedies together, and she has been my rock through it all. Now, I can’t imagine my life without her. She and I rarely argue anymore, and when we do, the disagreements are short-lived for we have learned that it is better to be happy and loved than it is to win the argument.

  I can truly say that after all we’ve been through, my stepsister Courtney is my very best friend.

  Bethany Gail Hicks, 16

  6

  TOUGH

  STUFF

  Ever watched someone step on a butterfly’s wing Or have someone take one of your things Thought you saw the truth in someone’s eyes Then you find out later it was all just a lie Ever had someone change from friend to foe As the world around you is stuck on “go”

  You want to keep on dreaming a wonderful

  dream

  To realize later it’s not what it seems

  You wanted to run, but found you can’t hide

  In a room where there’s no one there by

  your side

  I’ve been where you’ve
been . . .

  I’ve seen what you’ve seen

  So my word of advice—for your life please

  take care

  What you have now might not always be there.

  Katelyn Krieger, 13

  For Michelle

  My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves sharers in the guilt.

  Anna Sewell

  Every day, five 12-year-old girls waited together for the school bus to take them home. I was one of them. Jessica was the bully. She picked on everyone. Emily and Clarissa were Jessica’s sidekicks because they were afraid if they weren’t on her side, they would become targets of her cruelty. Then there was Sarah, a nice girl who didn’t like Jessica but was friends with Clarissa. I didn’t like anyone except Sarah. Occasionally, a sixth girl named Brittany waited with us too. She despised Jessica but was liked by everyone else.

  One day a new girl, Michelle, started waiting with us. She was shy and plain looking, but very nice to anyone who would talk to her. Although she was a year older, she was in a class with Brittany and me. Nobody else knew her. I sometimes sat with her on the bus and noticed she stuttered and had trouble saying a sentence clearly. She always spoke very highly of Brittany and considered her to be a good friend. She didn’t have any friends besides Brittany and me. Most people didn’t notice she was even there, but if they did, they made comments about her stuttering.

  I was generally accepted in our little group, so when I brought Michelle with me, nobody objected. Things were okay until Jessica suddenly decided she didn’t like Michelle and didn’t want her to sit with us. Jessica started laughing at Michelle’s stuttering. Then the “jokes” got more and more vicious. Emily and Clarissa would laugh along, but Sarah and I did not. We told them to stop. Then Jessica started to make fun of us too, so we backed down.

  Meanwhile, I was privately becoming closer friends with Michelle, who confided in me how hurt she felt when everyone picked on her and how it had happened all her life. But whenever I got the nerve to stand up for her, I was always outnumbered, so I stopped trying.

  One day Brittany overheard Jessica, Emily and Clarissa talking about wanting to ditch Michelle. Brittany took it upon herself to be the leader, and so the next day Brittany announced that we all didn’t want Michelle to sit with us anymore because we thought she was a freak. Even though I didn’t feel that way at all, I didn’t say anything. I just sat there, stunned that Brittany had said what she said.

  I’ll never forget Michelle’s expression. Despair, pain and anger were all mixed together on her face. Brittany, one of the girls she had trusted the most in her world, had told her she was a freak and didn’t want to see her again. She silently picked up her backpack and moved to a nearby table with her back to us. I knew she was crying. One of my biggest regrets was that at that moment I didn’t say out loud that I didn’t want her to go. I should have called her back—but I was a coward.

  So Sarah and I sat there without saying a word, while the others laughed at the thought of Michelle crying in front of us.

  Though I was still friendly to Michelle in private, it wasn’t the same. Michelle stopped showing the same eagerness to me when I spoke to her. She started taking the bus less and less frequently until she finally stopped altogether. Her mother drove her home. Then I lost touch with her, because the class we had had together finished, and she no longer rode the bus. She moved away later that semester.

  One year later, Sarah ran up to me at school and blurted, “Michelle died . . . she committed suicide.”

  “What?” I asked, not believing what I just heard.

  “Her mother put an obituary in the local paper,” said Sarah, as shaken as me.

  “But . . . didn’t she move to the other side of the country?”

  “Yeah, but it was in our newspaper for some reason. . . .”

  I went home that day, still not thinking clearly. Had I caused her to kill herself? If I had only stood up for her, would she still be alive today? Those questions ran through my mind over and over. When I got home, I told my mother the whole story, from the very beginning when Michelle first entered my life—to the end, where she left.

  Guilt-ridden and miserable, I stayed up that night crying uncontrollably, talking to my mother until 3:00 A.M. When I woke up the next day, my eyes were so swollen and puffy they would hardly open. I felt responsible for her death. I could still picture her face when Brittany told her not to sit with us anymore. It became obvious to me what had happened in her life. She had grown up always being picked on, without any friends to help her. When Brittany and I came into her life, she had clung to us, feeling that we were the only ones besides her family who cared about her. But we both let her down terribly. Moving is difficult for anyone, but for her, it must have been devastating. Not being able to handle it all, without any friends, only enemies, she must have decided she couldn’t live with that kind of misery. Perhaps if I had only been kinder to her, she would still be alive.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Emily and Clarissa both said, with fake sorrow in their voices, when they heard what had happened to Michelle. Jessica just snickered. Their reaction made me sick! How could they act so inhumanely about her, let alone laugh at her, even in death? After a minute, they forgot their would-be sorrow and went on to make fun of a sixth-grade boy with glasses sitting nearby. Sarah was just as shocked as I was at their cold reaction.

  Now, two years after Michelle first entered my life, I’m not the same girl that I was. When I see someone— anyone—being picked on or harassed, I always try to help them, no matter what.

  Michelle’s memory still haunts me, but I will always think of her as a gift . . . a gift to me and to anyone else who has ever experienced bullying—a gift that reminds me to never make that mistake again.

  Satya Pennington, 12

  [EDITORS’ NOTE: If you, or someone you know, is thinking about suicide, call 1-800-suicide or log on to www.kidshealth.org/teen/ (keyword search: “suicide”).]

  The Day My Life Ended

  I had taken my father for granted. Now that I had lost him, I felt an emptiness that could never be filled.

  Benazir Bhutto

  “He only has a few weeks to live.”

  Try having someone tell you this about your own father.

  Try having to watch your father die for two years.

  Try having your father die in December, just before Christmas, just a month after your sister got married.

  Try being me.

  During sixth grade, I loved school. Not because it was fun, but because it was an escape from my home reality— a place where I could forget that back at my house my dad was dying. A place where I could forget that at any time, colon cancer would finally take my dad’s life. Try getting good grades while you think about that 24/7.

  I hated coming home every day after school and seeing my dad hooked up to an oxygen tank. I hated going to the hospital after school to visit him when he was really sick. I can still remember that horrible smell of death when I walked into his hospital room and seeing my dad not even able to lift his head because he was so weak. I hated knowing that my dad was going to die before Christmas day.

  It was a chilly December day, and I woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside as the rays of sunlight poured through my bedroom window. I can still remember the sweet smell of pancakes being cooked, coming from the kitchen. I got up, took a shower, got dressed and went into the kitchen to get some food. As I walked past the front room where my dad was, I stopped and kissed him good morning. It looked like he was sleeping, but he wasn’t. For the past two days, he had been hooked up to oxygen and hadn’t been able to talk or open his eyes. It was Saturday, so I ate my breakfast slowly since there was no reason to rush. After I finished eating, my mom put my dad’s favorite movie on, and I sat down next to him and watched it. After it was over, I decided I needed some fresh air, so I went on a really long walk. Actually, I didn’
t need fresh air, I just needed to get out of that house since the mood was very depressing and sad.

  Later on that evening, my mom, sister, her husband, my aunts and uncles, and my cousins were sitting in the front room with my dad when I heard the phone ring. I picked it up, and it was my friend from down the street. She asked me if I wanted to spend the night with her. I was so happy when my mom said yes. I couldn’t stand being in that sad environment. I packed my stuff, said good-bye to everyone and kissed my dad good-bye. My sister, brother-in-law and cousin walked me down to my friend’s house.

  I hadn’t been there for more than twenty minutes when I heard my brother-in-law’s voice coming from the front door. The minute I went into the hallway and saw his face, I knew. Before I could ask, he said, “He went.” Those were the two words I had been dreading for two years since my father was diagnosed with cancer. At that moment, my life stopped. Nothing made sense anymore. How could my father die? I should have been there when he went. But I wasn’t, and I regret it to this day.

  That night I experienced two of the hardest moments of my life. One, my father died. Two, later on that evening, I kissed my dad good-bye, and as I did I whispered, “I love you,” for I knew that it would be the last time I would see him. I went into my room because the people from the mortuary were there. When I came back out, he was gone and I had to accept the fact that my dad wasn’t coming back.