GOLDEN
By Crystal Gallimore
words that looked like complete gibberish. I bit back a shriek of frustration and sat there, hand shaking.
infuriating, paralyzed hand. Cerebral every action, every year. Its hand reach over there and grab that couldn’t do it even though I was ways. It was chronic, something with no door and no key, and I had
In my opinion, nothing could be quite as horrid. I knew that there were some diseases that are worse, but I just couldn’t help myself from feeling self pity. I knew that I wasn’t the only one with it and that it could be more damaging, but I still felt like I was facing Cerebral Palsy alone, and that I was vulnerable.
I was up a creek without a paddle, to coin a phrase. What made it worse was that I didn’t think that I had enough persistence. I didn’t have the gritty determination that was necessary to keep on going. I felt cold, icier than glacial ice.
I stared at the paper, and all that I seemed to be able to see was white, white, white. An unwanted heat started in my chest. A low pounding began in the back of my head. And, of course, I wasn’t paying attention to anything.
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I saw things, I heard things, but mostly, I remembered.
Over time, I’ve built up an arsenal of words that mean angry.
So now I can say that Cerebral Palsy made me: Heated, irate, exasperated, bitter, enraged, furious, antagonized, aggravated, and much, much more.
I looked up as a low humming filled the kitchen behind me. Oh no. Not the medicine.
My book is called Bridge of Starlight. It’s a book about a normal girl, Charlie, a bit paranoid, whose whole world is thrown into a frenzy in one afternoon. As if the people she loves being abducted isn’t enough already, she finds herself in a secret magical organization that reveals hidden information to her. And her whole life changes. Just like that. Soon, she finds herself thrown into a conflict that she didn’t know about until that one fateful afternoon. And the question is: Will she succeed alongside her friends? Or will she suffer the consequences? My book is called Bridge of Starlight. It’s a book about a normal girl, Charlie, a bit paranoid, whose whole world is thrown into a frenzy in one afternoon. As if the people she loves being abducted isn’t enough already, she finds herself in a secret magical organization that reveals hidden information to her. And her whole life changes. Just like that. Soon, she finds herself thrown into a conflict that she didn’t know about until that one fateful afternoon. And the question is: Will she succeed alongside her friends? Or will she suffer the consequences?
The heat in my chest burned hotter and brighter until it smoldered. The pounding in my head really started to become a nuisance. I could hear the steady clicking of my mother’s boots as she came to kneel beside me. Her earnest sky-blue eyes studied my face searchingly, glittering with thousands of layers of blue, overlapping and mingling.
“Gillian, honey, how are you doing on your essay? Remember, it’s due on Wednesday. Your medicine will be ready in a few minutes.”
I groaned and tried to say, “Not now.” My throat convulsed as I tried to force the words out of my mouth. I choked and gurgled. The result sounded like, “Un ah.”
Why am I like this? The world is so unfair. All I could do was sit there, and I could do nothing about the irritating humming and the pain in my hand, and the essay. Actually, I could do something about one of them, I unclasped my hand and my pencil clattered to the table where it promptly rolled off the edge and hit the carpet soundlessly. That was better.
are thrilled to introduce you to our newest published author, Sloka Edara! Sloka recently published her book, Bridge of Starlight, through our Fresh Ink publishing program. In Ink, youth authors with a completed of a novel are mentored through a chapter-by-chapter revision process. At the of the through the ink-and-paper hands and share with other readers!
least my legs functioned correctly, and that was something to be grateful for. I gazed out window and watched small brown finches flitting from branch to branch, or darting nimbly through the sky. I watched tiny insects hovering in midair, freely swerving at their will. I let loose three large, Release. Avoid impossible.
My muscles were too tight and the humming was too loud. I opened my eyes and glared down at my tight, helpless arms and hands and that essay.
The humming in the kitchen stopped. I tensed, at least tenser than I already was. The medicine was ready. Why me? The medicine was horrible even though Mom tried to cloak it in chocolate milk that she heated up in the microwave.
Mom came in holding the cup of lightly steaming disgusting hot chocolate milk. Urgh. I made just a tiny screech. As she lowered the medicine to my lips, I tried to focus on the good things around me, the things that I could enjoy. I watched her mesmerizing locks of brown hair. I smelled the cinnamon scent of the kitchen. I saw the honey-colored light that poured into the kitchen from the windows and tiny filaments of dust that drifted through the air. I felt the cool, smooth surface of the wooden table.
Even though I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly that they watered, I could tell that Mom’s expression was one of pained sympathy. I grimaced and waited, but she paused and placed the cup on the table. She was cleaning a stain on her shirt just long enough that my thoughts began to wander. I wondered how late Mom had gotten up this morning. She looked like she’d hurried out of bed in a rush. Plus, why was she wearing boots on a weekend? She never did that.
When would Dad come home? It seemed like an eternity since he’d left on a business trip last week. I just hoped he’d be home in time for the holidays. Which brought me thinking about if Timothy, my older brother, would take a break from college to come and visit us.
Then I started thinking about if Mom could afford for me to go to college when I was older. That brought me thinking about what job I’d get when I was older. Maybe I could be a doctor or something. I dismissed that thought because it would require using hands way too much. Okay, maybe a soccer coach? No, I was really bad at sports.
Lost the Ach.
tongue. It reminded me of all the horrible things that I’d ever tasted.
As soon as the cup was drained, I snapped my mouth shut and bit my lip to keep from shrieking. I bit a little too hard. A metallic taste filled my mouth and I spat into the cup, letting loose a yelp that was slightly too loud in the process.
I would NEVER take medicine again. I jerked around so fast, that Mom jumped back a little and blinked, frowning slightly. I stood up and picked up my pencil, glaring at its blunted tip. After a minute I started scribbling awkwardly again. I ignored the aching in my hand and tried to focus.
No day was a normal day, not for me. Why me? Of everyone, why was I the one with Cerebral Palsy? Today just happened to be one of the worst days of all. My luck was just plain rotten. I just had a lucky break of half an hour of relentless writing. I was calming, little by little. It was nice, listening to the wind briskly rustling the leaves of the trees. It was pleasant watching the grass flow in the breeze. A small, soothing voice in the back of my head encouraged me to calm down. CP would not affect me. It wouldn’t, not anymore. I hoped.
I had a moment’s warning. I recognized this feeling, this horrible sudden loss of control. I barely had time to whisper, “Oh,” before my entire upper body began to spasm. Ow. I thought weakly as my shoulder slammed violently into the edge of the table. Oh, dear. Poor Mom. My left arm wreaked havoc on a stack of neatly stacked notebooks and papers.
They tumbled all over most unexpected places. stab of pain as the the table scraped a my forearm. I let out both in mind and
My eyes widened as they tracked it through the air and jerked down and to the right. My essay, no, wait, no! No! Goodbye, essay. There was a sound that pounded deafeningly in my ears. A deep, jagged tear ripped through four papers of work and left a deep indent on the fifth.
All that work… ack. I stilled abruptly and slid down into my seat. Sorry, Mom, I’m so, so sorry. I stared, dumbfounded. I repeat, worst day ever. My breath came shallowly. Mom had watched the whole thing and now she let out her breath, shaking her head slightly. Her forehead was creased with tiredness and exhaustion. Right then I felt guilty. It was worse than any amount of pain or essays.
The guilt mostly came from the fact that I’d made a mess and I lacked the ability to clean it up. I wished that Rashel and Hannah were here, they could help Mom clean up. If only…. I could feel my eyes stinging and my face burning.
Rashel and Hannah were my only friends. They were extremely helpful, thoughtful and nice. They always seemed to know what I was thinking. I blinked back tears. Thea, my tiny sunshine-rose kitten, patted adorably into the room with tiny paws and eyes to drown in. Her eyes were so large, so golden and intelligent….
“Gillian,” Mom murmured, her eyes clouded, “You should answer the phone.”
I blinked, startled, “Wuh fone?” I felt a sudden surge of pride at how well I was able to speak.
I vaguely realized that the phone was ringing. A ghost of a smile brushed Mom’s lips, “That phone.”
I briskly paced over and attempted to pick it up. Failure. I sighed and Mom held it to my ear. “Hey,” That was one of the few sounds that I could make.
“Hi afternoon,” really, really, really, really want us to and if your mom is ok with that.”
We are thrilled to introduce you to our newest published author, Sloka Edara! Sloka recently published her book, Bridge of Starlight, through our Fresh Ink publishing program. In Fresh Ink, youth authors with a completed draft of a novel are mentored through a chapter-by-chapter revision process. At the end of the program, the author is guided through the publication process resulting in an ink-and-paper book they can hold in their hands and share with other readers!
When we heard the door open, we knew that they were here. I’d had a hard time eating lunch and Mom had helped me rewrite a bit of my essay. Hannah, who had ADHD, also had anxious gray eyes that darted around constantly. Her curly blond hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. Rashel had black hair, a calm and controlled expression, and gentle green eyes. They were among the nicest people that I’d ever met.
Mom called from the kitchen in a tired voice, “Rashel, Hannah, Gillian, can you all come in here and help me clean up? There is quite a mess in here.”
My book is called Bridge of Starlight. It’s a book about a normal girl, Charlie, a bit paranoid, whose whole world is thrown into a frenzy in one afternoon. As if the people she loves being abducted isn’t enough already, she finds herself in a secret magical organization that reveals hidden information to her. And her whole life changes. Just like that. Soon, she finds herself thrown into a conflict that she didn’t know about until that one fateful afternoon. And the question is: Will she succeed alongside her friends? Or will she suffer the consequences? My book is called Bridge of Starlight. It’s a book about a normal girl, Charlie, a bit paranoid, whose whole world is thrown into a frenzy in one afternoon. As if the people she loves being abducted isn’t enough already, she finds herself in a secret magical organization that reveals hidden information to her. And her whole life changes. Just like that. Soon, she finds herself thrown into a conflict that she didn’t know about until that one fateful afternoon. And the question is: Will she succeed alongside her friends? Or will she suffer the consequences?
Rashel went instantly, casting one, “come on slowpokes,” glance over her shoulder at us. I rolled my eyes at her and she turned away, but I caught a glimpse of her quizzical smile before it was out of sight. Hannah walked next to me, chatting about the pool party that she was going to have on Sunday. The next few minutes were cleaning up, even though there were a few random notebooks and papers scattered across the floor afterwards.
The mess also wasn’t entirely just my spasm. Mom sometimes knocked things off the table while searching for other things. So did Timothy, Dad, and sometimes my little sister, Bella. I recalled one time when Mom was looking for her notebook with all of her passwords in it. She was really stressed about it. Once she found it, the room looked like it had been hit by a hurricane.
“Whoops, oh, oof.” Hannah had slipped on a bright yellow piece of construction paper- how didn’t she see that? -and had fallen flat on her bottom. Rashel couldn’t help but smile, a smile that showed mostly in her eyes. I laughed out loud, a teasing, friendly little laugh. Hannah scrambled up, blushing a bit, but grinning like a maniac.
When we’d completed cleaning, I had some fun with Hannah and Rashel. We took a walk, bounced on the trampoline, and they talked while I listened. We did a few other things that aren’t worth mentioning, but all of it was full of Hannah’s nervous energy and Rashel’s calm serenity.
are thrilled to introduce you to our newest published author, Sloka Edara! Sloka recently published her book, Bridge of Starlight, through our Fresh Ink publishing program. In Ink, youth authors with a completed of a novel are mentored through a chapter-by-chapter revision process. At the of the through the ink-and-paper hands and share with other readers!
my essay. The wonderful feeling its place. My pencil hovered, motionless, over the page. My brain was completely blank.
expression casual but meaningful. “Try to hold my pencil in a more “lightbulbs” on my paper in the best position to master, it was strange, but it was better than any handwriting that I’d ever used before.
“Thanks, Mom.” I said, then stopped abruptly, my eyes widening in surprise. Did I just say “thanks, Mom”? What? Very little trouble, too. I gasped softly, blinking in wonder. Maybe I should try the medicine more often, if it was the medicine. My relationship with the medicine suddenly changed from sour to almost… bittersweet. I sat back and closed my eyes. I let out a long breath. I could feel myself shivering a little and was just barely aware of Mom stroking my hair.
Relax. Release. And that was all I had to do. I could feel myself get less tight. Oh, wow. Okay, medicine, I forgive you, I thought dazedly. It was suddenly easier to write and soon I sat back and stared at a mostly completed essay. I’d done it in an hour. I was impressed with myself.
Mom tapped me on the shoulder, “Gillian? Sometimes you should just accept help, even if the help is medicine, Rashel and Hannah.” She gestured toward herself. “Or me. Sometimes you just can’t help yourself. At those times, hopefully someone or something can.” She looked me straight in the face with sky blue eyes that you could get lost in. Then she stood up and picked a random folder off the floor with a note of finality.
Well, ok. Maybe today wasn’t the worst day of my life after all. I looked out the window into the sky that shone like sapphires. I saw my reflection in a bowl and studied myself. Fathomless blue eyes that could pass for violet. Fine hair that was the palest shade of gold possible. I was what I was, and that was Gillian. Maybe I couldn’t do everything everyone else could do, but that didn’t matter anymore.
Today wasn’t exactly an extraordinary day, but a normal day for me was usually downright rotten. The feeling in my chest started again, a glowing, golden feeling, it was warm and made me feel like laughing. Thea was curled in my lap, looking up at me with those knowing golden eyes that stared straight into my soul. I looked back at my reflection and realized that my eyes seemed to be burning with an unusual fire. A fire that danced with muted ferocity but was also unreasonably gentle at the same time.
The feeling increased in intensity, warm as desert sand on a sunny day. I saw Mom smiling at me, her eyes shining. I remembered Hannah skipping, her brilliant grin that could illuminate the midnight sky, her laugh that was so warm it could melt a glacier. I remembered Rashel looking on with eyes filled with knowledge that exceeded even the greatest expectations. Thea’s inquiring golden eyes gazed at me, and I felt strangely exhilarated.
I could feel Dad’s firm grip on my shoulder, Timothy’s light, gentle humor. Bella, asking millions of questions about the world, always curious, always understanding. I turned my eyes skyward.
The body feeling of a star.