In A Grove 2011

In a Grove 2011 A Celebration of Writing and Art at Lakefield College School

Featuring the winners of LCS Writes!

Sponsored by The Grove Society

LCS Writes! Winners Poetry Section Grades 11/12 1st Anna Heffernan, “Mother Earth” 2nd Joanna Potts, “18” 3rd Michael Casson, “Haiku iii from the Hood River, Nunavut July 2010” Grades 9/10 1st Ritchie Lee, “Untitled”

Prose Section Grades 11/12 1st Christine Learmonth, “Azreal” 2nd Samier Kamar, “Power of Apathy” 3rd Anna Heffernan, “Scissor Sisters” (Excerpt*)

*Excerpt of prose selection published due to space restrictions.

Visit lcs.on.ca and click Beyond the Class > Co-curricular Arts to read prose pieces in full. Please see page 32 for artists’ names.

Mother Earth

By Anna Heffernan a mother rises at the dawn to the song of the thunderbird and the bringing of the rain. she rises at the dawn to see a world she never knew, innocent like the fawn before the first flag flew. she was born on the back of a turtle and knew well hurt and pain she’s seen many hurdles since before the white man came. war and peace she could not stop the battles won nor lost, the red man’s holocaust, the beauty they forgot. she rises at the dawn as dewy petals open. the shield of night, gone an elder’s blessing, broken.

1st place, Grades 11/12 poetry

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18

By Joanna Potts I lay with my troop 'neath the sand, We all breathed as one.

A well oiled machine, Underneath the sun.

We fought to prevent a fight, The irony was ignored.

We thought there'd be pride,

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As the dead washed ashore.

We separated their families, Be it to above or below.

That's all there is to it, That's all there is to know.

I only joined four months ago, My birthday was last July.

I really thought I would make a difference, I'm 18 and legal to die.

2nd place, Grades 11/12 poetry

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Haiku iii from the Hood River, Nunavut - July 2010

By Michael Casson iii) The receding sky, Cannot outpace the red sun, Ever in chase of time.

3rd place, Grades 11/12 poetry

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UNTITLED

By Ritchie Lee A cratered surface With the luminance of the moon Trying to escape its dark past Without heeding any attention to the future Continuing to aimlessly wander through space It is unwanted It is beyond anyone’s control The final destination is a planet A planet with an atmosphere, moving water, warmth, and life The only planet with life known to man

1st place, Grades 9/10 poetry

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AZREAL

By Christine Learmonth The wind whipped across her face as she sat on the road, shaking in a mix of rage, sadness and grief. She wondered how things could have ever gone this far. He had always been there, a bright smile, encouraging words, and a warm voice. He had been a light not only in her life, but in her family’s and friends’ lives. The frozen gravel beneath her legs and the occasional flurry of snow burned against the heat of her body. Although it was the middle of winter, and the sun had been gone for hours, it seemed as though she would never feel the cold. His life fuelled a fire within her, as if he had never really gone anywhere.

As another harsh gust hit her, she was startled, and she looked up to see a figment of her imagination walking off into the distance in the field to her right.

Distraught, she believed everything she thought she saw was real, all the while knowing she could truly believe in nothing at all. The air whispered into her ears and she imagined it was his voice speaking gentle verses. This kind of thing is easy to imagine when you’re looking for something you can’t find. She wondered, just for a moment, if he would ever completely leave her behind.

Her cries were drowned out by the skies’ own howls, and it occurred to her that they shared the same pain; forever feeling the same things, but forced to keep going, going, going. She pictured a train, like the ones from her dreams, and was devoured. The car rocked back and forth as the tracks creaked and moaned, carrying the weight of the train. The stones trickled down the side of the ballast hill as the wheels pulled rhythmically by, yanking car after car behind it. With thick black forest lining both sides of the tracks, the trees melted into the night sky, where not a single shining star could be found.

One particular car held nothing of importance; a wooden crate, dust, and darkness. However, a man sat in the corner, whose dark hat felt as if it was made of hessian. This and his dark, scruffy beard merged into each other in the dark,

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and made his eyes appear like black onyx, sunken into his skull. As he looked over to her, they shared a look of understanding and he looked away, as if the unlikely pair knew just where they were headed.

As the train pulled farther and farther away from where it had started, the figure of a boy showed up on the tracks in the distance. The girl pleaded with the man to stop the train, and he did, though it was hard to tell whether he stopped time, or the train itself. She climbed out of the cold, smooth, metal box, and landed precariously between one rotten board, and one rusted metal track. The rocks crunched under her bare toes as she avoided stepping on the cross ties as she walked towards the boy. Growing closer and closer, his face became clearer. His face remained the same from the last time she had seen him, but his eyes had grown dark, like those of the man on the train. The girl led him back towards the train and tried to pull herself back into the car when the man stopped her with a rough hand on a soft shoulder. The boy could not come on this train. She turned,

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and the boy nodded, understanding reasons the girl had not heard. She wrapped her arms around the boy’s small frame, before crawling back into her steel refuge. The boy followed the train on foot, travelling at a much slower pace than the cars ahead of him were disappearing.

As the train pulled away, it seemed she was getting closer, but there was the still the feeling that she was missing the boy more and more. As night faded to dawn, and the train arrived at its destination, the girl started on foot back down the tracks to find the boy. Walking through the mist and cold, with bare shoulders, and bare feet, she became weak and slipped down the hill on which the train tracks were built. She let herself slide, almost ready to give up. Towards the bottom of the ridge, her foot softly connected with a warmer object, and looking down she saw the boy. He slept, or was dead. It was hard to tell, because he breathed but would not wake.

Placing his body in her arms, she climbed the hill back to the tracks and began to walk. Slowly, afraid of waking the boy, she stepped cautiously over each cross

tie, and looked deep into the vacancy of the boy’s eyes. The creases in his face dissipated, and the mess of his hair calmed as the breeze ceased. She stared deep into his closed mind, and waited for it to open. It happened suddenly, as the light that exploded from inside of him consumed the entirety of her being.

The boy screamed, and she almost didn’t return to the halfway real state that she belonged to.

She set the boy down on his uneasy feet, and he took her hand in his, tucking a piece of her soul into his palm. They walked on the rough gravel until they met a road that led to somewhere completely new. The clouds gave in, like pitchers made of newsprint, and sheets of rain poured down and all around them, as they waited for the thunder to arrive. He walked beside her then, as they approached the bridge, the cold water flowing in ribbons beneath them. Stepping up onto the ledge, never letting go of each other’s hand, they let the salted droplets falling from the sky lower them into the water below. Hitting the surface, the new sensation overwhelmed them, as the breathtakingly cold water engulfed them.

Just as she ran out of breath, from below the rushing currents, the sounds of birds chirping came drifting to her, and she opened her eyes.

The feeling of fresh sheets between her feet, and the sunlight forcing its way through the billowing curtains, she sat up. The mattress eased under her weight as she turned to take in the scene. Through the open windows, the bird songs were unmistakable. There was the boy, just as he always had been, lying in bed beside her, hair drifting in the breeze, and she allowed him to dream for a few more minutes as she accepted that he was finally in her reality, until death do they part.

1st place, Grades 11/12 prose

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the power of apathy

By Samier Kamar It disgusts me to see the amount of garbage in the streets of Egypt – a country that is home to my parents, grand-parents and seventy-five million others. I am heartbroken to see ripped-open garbage all over the place as if it has overpowered and over-populated the citizens, and yet the people aren’t cleaning it up.

What does this mean? Are Egyptian citizens a particularly unclean people?

Should they be blamed for all this dirt, corruption and lack of order in the streets? Should we point fingers at them for not being able to deal with their own problems? Is it possible for a country of almost 80 million inhabitants to be all at fault? These questions were ones that were left un-answered for a period of over 30 years. Corruption, injustice, poverty, un-cleanliness, theft, murder and a lack of job opportunities were flowing like the rapid waters of Niagara Falls, until the Egyptian people could no longer withstand it any more.

They broke through the barrier of oppression and unlocked the manacles of fear, weakness and lack of control that has been pulling them down. Egyptians have been living under an autocratic, totalitarian government for 30 years in which a feeling of powerlessness, helplessness and no sense of control had over-burdened the entire nation. It left them with no alternative but to live the rest of their lives in a complete state of apathy.

Thankfully however, here in Canada, we’re not like that – are we? We do have a fully democratic system in which the idea of being apathetic doesn’t even exist in our lives – or does it? Two separate studies, one reported from Maclean’s and the other by The Globe and Mail write that there’s been a growing public concern in the trust and legitimacy of our political institutions. That one person’s vote won’t make a difference in the overall outcome of the elections and so, why bother to vote in the first place? Just to give an example, in October of 2008, the percentage of Canadians that voted was 58.8%. People

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then – and now – believe that voting has little power to it, leaving them with a sense of weakness, hopelessness and a lack of control. Oh wait, isn’t that called voter apathy?

Let’s look at what the Egyptians did. January 25th, 2011 marked the beginning of their stance to re-take control, power and get involved; it marked the day in which fear was no longer a living reality in the minds of Egyptians; and, more importantly, it marked the day that all Egyptians around the world have been waiting for. They fought until they finally got what they wanted: President Mubarak’s resignation, a new government and freedom! But this was only the beginning – the beginning toward a population’s effort to radically reform Egypt in all senses, with this new sense of power and hope to make change. Eighteen days later, on February 11th, Mubarak’s regime which had led to: the unemployment of millions of youth; the under-paid monthly salaries of families with children to feed; the ill-supported and supplied public health care systems and education systems and the mess in the streets was eradicated. The courage to stand in front of high-pressure water being sprayed at the protestors and the courage to

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stand in front of the tear-gas that the government police used against the protestors was enough to refill the hearts of the citizens back with hope, power and control.

Fortunately, Canada’s situation is not as bad. In fact, Canadians need to start understanding that going and marking an X on an election ballot is a luxury and not a nuisance. Every single Canadian citizen, youth and adult alike, should look forward to Election Day and take control and advantage of that opportunity to know their vote can be the deciding factor in the outcome of the election results and potentially change the future of our nation.

Only now is Egypt beginning to really feel this luxury of a process called elections and voting – to come to the realization that they can take control of their nation, and steer its course of direction for the future. I am proud to see, that on the day of February 11th, all Egyptian citizens congregated, united, in Tehrir Square, and helped clean the mess that apathy had made over the last 30 years.

2nd place, Grades 11/12 prose.

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SCISSOR SISTERS

By Anna Heffernan SCENE I DANIELLE

Growing up I always knew I was going to be a hairdresser.

DANIELLE

My mom was a hairdresser so I guess I kind of fell into the

& LAURA

trap.

DANIELLE

I just never really cared to know what else was out there.

& LAURA & RACHEL RACHEL

How long ‘til opening?

LAURA

Three minutes.

DANIELLE

Rachel, sweep.

RACHEL

I swept it last night.

DANIELLE So? RACHEL

So nothing’s happened to it all night!

DANIELLE

Well fine then, do nothing.

RACHEL

Fine!

LAURA

Okay, so. We have five appointments today. Danielle has Miss

Emily Fitzpatrick and Rachel has Miss Julie Cross–

RACHEL

Seriously, Laura, we know who they are, we don’t need their

last names and everything every single time.

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DANIELLE

It’s called professionalism, Rachel.

RACHEL

Can it be professionalism when you’ve seen the professional in

diapers?

LAURA

– Then we have Miss Shannon Davis and Miss Sarah Donnelly,

and then there’s Miss Lisa Renfrew –

DANIELLE

Wait – three? At once? We only ever do two at once –

RACHEL

Three – what?

LAURA

Wait –

RACHEL

No way, no –

LAURA

I’m doing it.

DANIELLE What? & RACHEL

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LAURA

I’m going to help with the clients today.

DANIELLE

You’re sure?

RACHEL

Thank God, ‘cause I am just too swamped.

DANIELLE

Hey, Rach?

RACHEL

Yeah?

DANIELLE

Sweep. But really, Laur, you want to cut hair today?

LAURA

Hey, we need the business. We can’t keep operating on only

two hairdressers.

RACHEL

That’s all we have.

DANIELLE

Well, great, I’m sure you’ll do fine. Just relax and remember

what Mom always said.

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LAURA

Be sharp

RACHEL

Sharpen your scissors

DANIELLE

And you’ll get a sharp cut.

DANIELLE

That’s right. So how come your scissors are so dull, Rach?

RACHEL

Relax, spaz.

(ENTER EMILY) LAURA

Hello, welcome –

EMILY

(still smashed from the night before) Ah my Gawd, Laura. Take

the stick out of your ass. Hey, girls!

DANIELLE

Hey, Em… you want some, uh, coffee… or something…?

EMILY

What, I’m fine, just fine I’m great I love you guys.

RACHEL

You got any booze on you, or just the stuff coming out your

pores?

DANIELLE

Here, hon, drink some of this.

LAURA

(seeing JULIE enter the shop) Hello, welcome to Scissor Sisters,

you can take a seat in our reception area. Can I get you a

coffee?

JULIE

No, thanks, Laura, I’m fine. (LAURA exits behind hairdryers)

EMILY

Oh, God, would you look at that. I look like a two dollar

whore.

RACHEL

Oh, I dunno, I’d price you a little higher than that.

EMILY

Well, you’re right there. (pulls a few Benjamins out of her top)

And they think we spend this shit on food.

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DANIELLE

I would’ve thought you could write off haircuts as a business

expense.

EMILY

Don’t kid yourself, honey. We’re all whores; just some of us get

paid. How’s that husband of yours, by the way? Still dumb as a

doornail?

DANIELLE

(Tense room) (drops Emily’s hair. Retreats closer to her station,

wiping combs.)

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EMILY

I’m sorry. You know how I am when I’m drunk. (Lights up a

cigarette) (DANIELLE gets herself together, stands back behind

the chair, begins brushing)

EMILY

You know who I saw last night? Him. Yeah, that guy I was

telling you about. He came around last night. Went back to his

hotel. Couldn’t help myself. You know how I am – those blue

eyes, I just can’t resist them. I know, I know what I said, I said I

wasn’t going to see him anymore but the same thing happens

every time. I always convince myself, hey, I need the money.

This is my job, right, who am I to turn down a paying

customer? Sure, there are lots of other capital-L losers lined up

around the block waiting for their turn on the welcome wagon,

but I always convince myself, when he comes around, that

maybe it’s gonna be a slow night. Maybe he’s my only chance

to make a buck that night. He never is, I know there’s always

gonna be some other guy to screw out of his money – but I’m

just telling you, this is the shit that goes on up here. You know

Leah? She works the corner of Johnson and 10th. She told me

that’s the first sign of love; when they keep coming back. She’s

a stupid bitch, but I just couldn’t get that line out of my head

all day. When they keep coming back. Because he does keep

coming back. He could hire any girl he wants, but he keeps

coming back for me. And it’s not like I’m the cheap girl in the

neighbourhood, but every time he comes into town he shells

out enough money to see me. There must be a reason for that,

right? I kept thinking about that all day yesterday and

wondering if he would come back. Hoping he would come

back, really. So when I saw that baby blue trans-am pull up

around the corner I just couldn’t believe my eyes. It was like

something out of a romance novel, the knight in shining

armour coming back for his princess. So of course, I hopped

in. I didn’t even think twice about it. That whole day I just

knew it, there was this awful feeling in my stomach and I knew

it. I’d fallen in love with him. The very thing I said I’d never let

myself do, I fell in love. During the whole thing, you know,

they want you to say you love them. Not the freaky ones, but

most of them do, that’s what they’re looking for. Sure everyone

says they’re just looking for sex, but they’re not. Men might not

want to admit it, some of them might not even realize it, but

it’s something deeper. You ever wonder why they pay for the

whole night? Not ‘cause they can last that long, that’s for damn

sure. It’s ‘cause they want to cuddle. They want someone to

talk to. That’s why I always tell them I love them. The way I see

it, they’re just three stupid words that mean a hell of a lot more

to them than they ever have to me, so why not give them away?

But this time. This time. Oh, this time I meant it, I really did. I

never knew I was capable of meaning anything I said, certainly

nothing that big. I said it once when I kissed him. But I don’t

know, I guess he didn’t recognize what I was really saying, that

I really meant I loved him. It’s like that little boy, what’s his

name, wolf boy or something. Anyway he said there was a wolf

and there wasn’t, so when there really was a wolf no one

believed him, you know that story?

(EMILY moves to sit beneath a hairdryer)

Well the point is, I’ve told this guy I love him so many times

that when I actually mean it he doesn’t even get it. It’s like the

words mean nothing coming from my mouth anymore. When

that happened I’ll never know, but it happened. So after

everything, we were just laying in bed. He was having his

cigarette as usual, and I did it. I looked him right in the eye –

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I never look them right in the eye – and I said it. I told him I

loved him. And I guess there must’ve been something different

in the way I said it, or something in my eyes, ‘cause he looked

scared. He had the exact opposite reaction I expected. Every

other time I tell a man I love him it’s a good reaction. A great

reaction, but he was different. He didn’t know what just hit

him; the cigarette fell out of his mouth and burned a hole in

the bed sheets. It all happened so fast… before I knew it he

was jumping up, pulling on his clothes, and he was gone. He

left the money on the night stand and I was just sitting there. I

never hated picking up the money off the nightstand more than

I did this morning. It’s like it was mocking me. You’re just a

whore, it told me. Nobody loves a whore, nobody wants to see

your face in the light of day, how could you be so stupid to

think otherwise? Nobody wants a whore for a girlfriend, for a

wife! I guess I just… I wanted him to be everything he wasn’t.

He was more like me than I thought. He wasn’t anything.

(Blows a ring of smoke)

3rd place, Grades 11/12 prose. Visit lcs.on.ca and click Beyond the Class > Co-curricular Arts to read "Scissor Sisters" in full.

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Artwork Front Cover: Katie Sullivan Inside Front Cover (left to right): Jessica Song, Nayna Maini, Christine Chan Opposite “LCS Writes! Winners”: Grace Ni Opposite “Mother Earth”: Sabrina Yang p3 (top to bottom): Fanbo Zhou, Millie Yates, Lyndsay Armstrong p4 (top to bottom): Andy Mui, Megn Walker, Cecilia Yang

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p6: Jon Kim p8: Kyusik Chung p12-13: Fanbo Zhou p14: Jordan Ryder p17: Andy Mui p18: Sophia Gabbani p21: Jenna Vander Velden p22: Maria Castello p27: Theresa Spilker Inside Back Cover (left to right): Colleen MacKenzie, Kitty Luo Photography: Simon Spivey