District 145 Public Schools TeacherWeb | Kristi Bowker: Writings from 2004-2005

      I walk slowly toward the starting block as the announcer calls my name. I hear my friends and family cheer for me as I look up and wave. It makes me feel proud to see them holding up the American flag for me.
    Then the announcer comes on and says, “Swimmers, step up.” I climb up the block and stretch my long legs and move my arms in little circles to stay warm. I tuck my long blonde hair under my swimming cap. I stare down into the deep, dark water and think, I am ready to win. I become totally focused and the crowd disappears and it is silent. I hear nothing and all I can feel are the butterflies going crazy in my stomach.
    “Take your mark!” And with the sound of the gun, I am off. Smoothly into the ice cold water as I glide one stroke closer to my dream. I am out in front as I quickly move through the water. Breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe. I get into my rhythm and everything comes without thinking. When my head rises out of the water, I hear the roar of the crowd and it keeps me going.
    I can see my opponent out of the corner of my eye and I try hard to stay out in front of her, just barely out of her reach. As I approach the last turn, I speed up and flip. I got a good push off the wall. She has no chance of catching me now! I hope.
    The final stretch is usually my strongest because I can see the clock out ahead. I get a good look every time I come up to breathe. It makes me go harder. It’s the last ten meters, and I push myself harder than ever as I get my last look at the clock and hear the crowd. They give me one last hard push forward. I stroke harder than ever before and… I touch first, I hope.
    I come up out of the water and look straight up to the clock. I did it. Yes! I finally won a gold medal. The crowd is going wild and I can hardly hear the announcer as I look up to my friends and family and wave.
    Then I hear my dad yelling, “ Megan get out of the pool and dry off! Dinner is almost ready and your mom is home.”
    I slowly open my eyes and drift back into reality as I look up to the door and yell back, “ Okay, Dad! Be there in a minute.”
    And for now my dream of an Olympic gold is over, until tomorrow.

Elizabeth Porath, sophomore
11/1/04
Handi-Camp
Non-Fiction
Draft #3

    What a week! Our motto, “ I am slowly but surely going insane,” definitely fit what the whole week was about for us. We had known it would be hard work physically, but the mental exhaustion was what had really gotten to us.
    Our youth group was in Wisconsin at camp LuWiSoMo and it was Friday night. We were working at a handi-camp that was for mentally disabled adults and we were their “helpers” for the week. It had been a pretty nervous car ride coming up here, not knowing what to expect. And when we had gotten here on Saturday night, they pretty much just reiterated everything we already knew was going to happen and then sent us to our rooms. I don’t have to tell you that this did nothing to help our nerves.
    The campers had come on Sunday and each of us had been paired with one of them. My camper was Josephine. She is a very big lady who has the funniest smile I have ever seen. When she smiles, her eyes scrunch up and one side of her mouth goes up. I soon found out that Josephine has a problem with mood-swings. One minute she would be happy, flirting with the guys, and the next she would be sobbing her eyes out because she, “doesn’t want to go home!” or, “I like you, don’t you like me?” One time she heard someone tell a joke about a drowning blond and started crying right in the middle of lunch because she didn’t want us to die.
    There had been many highs and lows that week. The hardest part for me personally was the small amount of sleep and downtime we got every day. We were supposed to wake up our campers at 6:30 every morning, meaning, that if you didn’t want to smell like bug spray, you’d get up and start getting ready at 5:30.
    We spent the whole day with our campers. We’d take them to breakfast and all the activities we did every day. My favorite part of the day was when we were just hanging out with the campers or doing things with them. We took them swimming, on boat rides, played sports, and even did some archery. One man named Michael was about 45 years old, about 6’ 1”, and had a very high-pitched voice. You’d just be walking along and you’d hear in a high squeak, “What you doing today, all day Tuesday?” He’d start to laugh and you’d answer him back and his response to everything was, “Oh, go jump in the lake!”
    Another one of the girls was named Katie. She was twenty-five and very high functioning-she was able to do most things on her own- and she was exactly like all of us teenage girls at the camp. We’d look at magazines and talk about the new movies that had just come out. Whenever she said something stupid, she’d just go, “Oh, just had another Jessica Simpson moment!”
    Now, it was Friday night, the last day, and all of the problems that we were having earlier in the day were pretty much gone. Even though we were dead tired from four hours of sleep every night, we weren’t going to go to bed any earlier than we had to. It was our last night together, and we’d become really close in the last five days. We had needed to become close. We were like a family for a week, and we didn’t want to leave.
    Looking around the room there was a group of girls sitting over in the corner making anklets like they’d been doing all week whenever they had a spare minute. There was a group of us sitting at a table in the center, eating M&M’s and listening as a couple of guys played their guitars while making up stupid songs about Wisconsin and their cheese. We were telling stories about campers and about how we couldn’t believe how fast the week had gone. At the beginning of the week we didn’t think we’d make it to the end, now we didn’t want to leave.
    The next day we all balled, the campers and counselors together, when it was time for them to leave. We exchanged addresses with the rest of the kids and took lots of pictures. When it was time, we all stood around, not wanting to leave. As we pulled out of the driveway, we all agreed that we had way too much fun for the work that we’d done.

Danielle Neuhalfen, sophomore
12/22/04
Poem
Final
Autumn

A whirlwind of color
Red
Orange
Yellow
Brown
They all fall to the ground
Crunching under my feet
Gusts of wind
Crisp and cool
Nip at my nose
Cherry my cheeks
And swirl the fallen leaves
Children help their fathers rake the leaves
They wait patiently for their work to be done
And to start their fun
The piles grow higher and higher
When the last fallen leaf has found its pile
They are ready
Jumping into the leaves
Tumbling
Rolling
Laughing
Such simple fun
I go into the warm house filled with glorious smells
The kitchen is filled with the wafting smells of mom’s pumpkin pie
And hot chocolate
I grab a slice and mug
And settle in my favorite plush chair in front of the crackling fire
It won’t be here much longer
So I enjoy it while it’s here
‘Cause when the last leaf falls
And the first snow blankets the land
It’s over
It comes and goes so fast.

Becca Luber, sophomore
10/18/04
A Whisper on the Wind
Fiction
Draft #2

    This is a fictional story that pretty much came from my imagination. This is just one chapter in the book I am writing. I got the idea from various other books that I have read based on the mid-1700’s. There are several authors that have inspired me to write—Janette Oke, Stephanie Grace Whitson, Lori Wick, and Lawana Blackwell are just a few. Abigail Lawrence has lived a very sheltered life. She has never even left the island she was born on. So this journey she now finds herself on will be an interesting and exciting one.

    Abigail paused halfway through folding a skirt and closed her eyes as the haunting memory that she had tried to escape by coming here flowed back:
    “Abbey, marry me.”
    “What?!”
    “I love you, marry me.”
    Abbey pushed Will away as he tried to kiss her and turned away from him.
    “Will, I’m too young. I’m only sixteen. You are almost twenty.”
    “It doesn’t matter to me. I have never felt this way before.”
    “You just think that you love me.”
    “I have loved you for as long as I can remember,” he took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. “Please say ‘yes.’”
    “I can’t,” she swallowed hard, as tears began to fall down her cheeks.
    “Will, I’m so desperately sorry.”
    The gentle rocking of the ship stirred Abbey from her thoughts. She sighed deeply and placed the folded skirt into her trunk. She shook her head as if to shake the thoughts from her mind. She would never finish repacking at this rate. But her mind kept wandering back to that night. Will I never escape these feelings? William Harrow’s proposal was only one of the many events that clouded her mind. But his proposal was the main reason she had chosen to leave her beautiful home on the island of Barbados, where her father, Edward Lawrence, was governor, to visit her bedridden aunt that she had never met who lived all the way in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
    The day after Will’s proposal, a letter had arrived addressed to her father from a Mrs. Elspeth LaCroix. What puzzled Abigail was the name. Elspeth was certainly an English name, but LaCroix was French. Her father hated the French, and she wondered why a French woman with an English name would be sending him a letter.
    When she gave the letter to her father, Governor Lawrence looked at the name with a frown. He tossed the letter aside, saying that he wanted nothing to do with that woman. Abigail softly inquired who she was. Her father said that her name used to be Elspeth Martin.
    Abigail was shocked to discover that her late mother had a sister. She asked if she might read the letter. Her father granted permission and Abbey hastily tore it open. As it turned out, Aunt Elspeth was great with child and at her age, was having difficulty through the pregnancy. She requested that Abbey come and assist her. Abbey had been confused by this request. Why couldn’t she have hired a girl that lived near them? Unless her aunt specifically needed her for something, and she would ask her to leave her home and go to a place that she had barely heard of. Abbey couldn’t have described it, but she felt herself being drawn to go.
    Something that had perplexed Abbey was that her father had given her permission to leave. It didn’t really surprise her, because he had never really taken much interest in her life. He had always remained distant and seemed uncaring. She had been told by numerous servants that it was because of her mother. Catherine Lawrence had died in childbirth. They said that Edward had never forgiven her for dying and leaving him alone with an infant.
    Abbey had left three days later, leaving Will a short note that explained her intentions.
    Dearest Will, I am sorry for hurting you, but I can not marry you. Not now, at least. I am leaving Barbados to visit my aunt, by her request, in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I have no idea as to when I am to return, but while I am away, I hope that you will be thinking and praying as I will be. Once again, I deeply apologize for hurting you, although this hurts me far more than it hurts you. I remain yours, respectfully, Abigail Lawrence

* * * * *
    Abigail took a deep breath before closing the door to her cabin. She had given up packing and decided to take a walk around the main deck. She was so eager to get off this ship. She had not gotten seasick, but the endless days, the horrid storms, and the feeling of being trapped had taken its toll on her. She wanted nothing more than to stand on dry ground. She held her skirts up a little as she began to climb the stairs up the main deck. Immediately, a chill wind greeted her, making her glad that she had put on her shawl. She missed the warm, inviting wind from Barbados that smelled of the salty ocean and sweet flowers.
    The captain of the ship turned from the nearby railing and approached her. He was polite and made sure that everything was to her liking, but she was not comfortable around him, nor anyone else on the ship, given the fact that she was the only woman on the vessel. Although the captain had given her the fanciest cabin and made sure the lock on the door worked, she still felt uneasy aboard the ship. She smiled politely and acknowledged his presence.
    “Miss Abigail, it sure is a shame to see you go,” he said kindly. “I’m sure that you have made arrangements for yourself here in Halifax?”
    “Yes, of course. I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality and kindness,” Abbey shifted her weight impatiently as she looked out at the fog hiding the city in front of them.
    “It was nothing, Miss.”
    “When will we be docking?”
    “Tomorrow morning, weather permitting,” the captain turned to go, but then faced her. “Would you mind joining me for dinner this evening, as a farewell meal? You have been eating in your cabin this entire voyage and I feel that I am to blame. I have not been the best host and I would like to make up for it. It would mean very much to me if you were to come.”
    Abigail inwardly cringed. She had wanted to spend her last night alone, like she had for the rest of the voyage. The solitude had not bothered her, rather she enjoyed it. But she could not be rude and refuse the captain. “Yes, that would be very nice, thank you.”

    Abbey awoke to the soft knocking at her door, “Miss Lawrence? We will be docking soon! The captain requests that you get your things ready.”
    “Thank you!” Abbey called. She rose and dressed quickly.
    The dinner the previous evening with the captain had been nothing short of a bore. When he had told her stories of when he was a young lieutenant, she tried to appear interested, but she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering. She was relieved that she was leaving the ship.
    Abbey had finished repacking the night before and she called a younger sailor to help her with her trunk. When she had ascended the stairs to the main deck, she was astonished to see the usually orderly deck full of disarray. Sailors were bustling about and carrying parcels and packages around. The ship had docked earlier that morning and the sailors were unloading much of the cargo. She saw her trunk being taken off the ship and quickly followed it. The moment she stepped onto the dock, a feeling of disappointment washed over her and she wished she were at home. The harbor’s stench of dust, animals, and rotten food immediately filled her nostrils. She was pushed out of the way by a couple of grisly men carrying a heavy crate. She desperately looked around for even a trace of something familiar. Then she realized that she had no idea what to look for. She was alone in this scary city and had no idea what to do. The thought about brought her to tears.
    “Excuse me, Miss?” she turned at the gentle voice. “You wouldn’t happen to be a Miss Abigail Lawrence, would you?”
    “Why yes, I am,” she felt a deep sense of relief.
    “I am Jacob, head of the household of Dr. and Mrs. LaCroix. I am to take you to their home. Where is your trunk?”
    “Over there,” she directed to the burly sailor setting down her dark brown trunk. The middle-aged man went over and hoisted it up onto his shoulder and made his way back to her.
    “The buggy’s over here,” he ambled down the street and weaved through the crowd easily.
    Abbey found it hard to keep up with him. When he stopped at an uncovered farm wagon, she thought he wasn’t serious. How could she ride in a thing like that? The man shoved the trunk into the back and came over to help her up into the wagon seat. She took his offered hand and climbed into the seat. She pulled her bonnet closer over her face and hoped no one would recognize her. She almost laughed at her own vanity then. Someone recognizing her? In this place?
    The wagon ride to the house was very unpleasant. The road was very bumpy, which prevented them from talking at all. Not that Abbey felt like talking anyway. She was content to be left to her own thoughts. She was nervous about meeting this new family. What were they like? Would her aunt be able to tell her about her mother?
    The man turned sharply onto a smaller road. The sudden movement almost threw Abbey from her seat. She realized that they were now driving up the lane to the LaCroix home. When they stopped in front of the house, Abbey felt disappointment seep through her. She had been expecting the house to be much larger. It was a small two-story gray cottage that looked like it had been whitewashed at one time. Now it looked dark and foreboding. Vines climbed almost to the roof. Trees and shrubs stood limply in the yard and looked as if they hadn’t been tended to in months. She didn’t notice the man extending his hand to her until he cleared his throat.
    “Forgive me,” she said as he helped her down.
    “Quite all right, Miss,” the man smiled.
    He got her trunk out of the back and went to the door and opened it for her. When she stepped inside, the warmth of the house made her feel welcome. Jacob came in after her and set the trunk down on the wood floor, making a small thud that echoed throughout the quaint house. Abbey removed her bonnet and gloves.
    “Dr. LaCroix?” Jacob called loudly.
    “Jacob! Be quiet!” Abbey turned to see a woman that appeared to be in her late forties coming down the stairs. “Mrs. LaCroix just went to sleep!”
    “Forgive me, Betsy! Miss Lawrence, this is my wife, Betsy. Betsy this is--”
    “Abigail Lawrence! It is so nice to meet you! Was your journey horrible? Oh, you poor soul! I’m sure you must be exhausted! Dr. LaCroix is at his office and usually isn’t home ‘til late, and Mrs. LaCroix just went to sleep and who knows when she will wake. So I might as well take you to your room. Jacob, bring the trunk.”
    Abigail followed the talkative woman up the winding stairs and left through a hallway. Betsy opened a door at the end of the hallway. Abbey looked around the small room. The furniture took up almost all of the floor space. The double bed had a beautiful quilt covering it. A cherry dresser stood in the corner. A matching desk and nightstand were also in the room.
    Jacob set the trunk at the foot of the bed and left the room. Betsy straightened the pillows and sighed contentedly, “Well, I think I’ll leave you alone for awhile. Dr. and Mrs. LaCroix will be available in the morning. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, or just make yourself at home.”
    “Thank you,” Abbey said softly.
    Betsy closed the door quietly. Abbey flopped down on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

Brennan Minzel, sophomore
12/22/04
Final draft
Poetry
Hockey

Skates a slicing through the ice with ice a flying
Sticks a swinging with brutal force
Fists being thrown with cruel intensions
It’s just a regular day on the ice
Hockey, it’s just a sport
But for most it’s a passion with love and hatred
Day after day waiting for the next game
With the thoughts of victory on your mind
The fans just sound like the roar of a lion as you skate right on by
Dodging right and left, score a goal with the flick of the wrist
Time after time in the penalty box
Spent so much time in there it’s like my new home
Cuts and bruises they are all the same
I just got used to them because that’s part of the game.

A desperate plea
A subtle splash
Bubbles
Bubbles
Bubbles
Listen to the silent scream
Concealed beneath the chilling water
The frightened child sinks
Farther
Farther and
Farther
To the rough bottom
Gulping down
The bitter chlorine water
The horror of death
Dances in front of
Her delicate, pale face
From the bottom
She sees the glistening sun
In a blur
Everyone is oblivious
To the child that needs
Saving

His hair is greasy, his body aches,
His chains softly rattle with every move that he makes.
There is no sun here, No glistening night sky,
The only stars that exist, Are the fading twinkles in his eye,
In efforts for a freedom, he is taken and held fast,
And laid to rest on rigid concrete,
To count seconds that have passed.
But an image burns within,
An unembarrassed love,
Of a daughter and a wife,
His reason for breathing, his whole life.
Focus cascades in and out,
There is not much to ponder here.
Only a glimpse of what comes next.
A bitter salt fills his mouth, There is no stopping this now.
Streams of saline douse his face.
His eyes grow distant and still.
Alas, he has found a better place,
His purpose, now fulfilled.

On
A cool rainy day
I stepped out onto the sidewalk
The rain trickled down my cheek
Into my shirt and soaked the wool
A leaf smacked against my forehead
And I peeled away its pointy corners
As the wind played with my hair
I understood that I sould treasure every moment
For nothing is the same ever again
Little details make life sweeter
Even if they are not delightful
In my memory the day has
Left
A Cool Kiss
Of
October

Amy Catsinas, sophomore
November 18, 2004
Poetry
The Final Step

As I step to the edge of the old
Wooden bridge
Cold,
Wet, and
Unforgiving
I am un-ashamed of this crazed
Plot before me
I am alone but feel no fear
Alone but not lonely
Alone, and smiling.
The wind wraps me in a blanket,
One that no one in their right mind
Could describe
I am willing to take the plunge
I'm swimming,
Drowning,
Floating.
The twinkling stars are my only witness.

Cody Claussen, sophomore
2/11/05
Fiction

    All he saw was an endless mass of dark, almost black-blue. He could look down and to his sides and not see anything more than five feet from him. His only visibility came from his tiny dive light and the filtered rays of the moon breaking the shimmering surface. He turned upward and slowly made his ascent to the surface. He broke the water very carefully so as not to be seen by any curious onlookers.
    Just then something started emerging out of the water right next to him. He almost yelled, but that would mean that someone at the complex might hear him. As the figure took on more definition, he realized that it was his partner. As his partner and him came face to face, he motioned with his hands toward the docks. They both slowly and silently waded through the water to the edge of the most vacant dock.
    The agents climbed out of the water and made a quick scan of the dock, but all they could see were piles of boxes, nets, vehicles, and other assorted things one would generally expect at a complex. It was behind one of these piles of boxes that they quickly dove behind when an officer in a vehicle was heard approaching.
    They waited until the officer passed by, then they breathed a sigh of relief; they were happy that they had worn their clothes under their dive equipment as they started to strip the equipment away and put it into piles that they concealed under a net draped over the boxes.
    John got out his satellite phone, and after it clicked to alert him that it was secure said into it, “We’re here, sir.”
    “Both of you?” asked General Hawk. John handed the phone to Jack.
    “Yep, we’re both here, sir,” Jack said into the phone.
     “Put John back on,” the General growled. Jack handed the phone back to John.
    “I’m here, sir,” John answered.
    “Well, since you both decided to go against my orders, we had might as well make use of the fact that you are already inside the complex’s securities. Here’s what I want you to do. Infiltrate the complex and try to set some plastic explosives, enough to render the base useless for everyone except the wild animals,” General Hawk explained.
    “Yes, sir,” John said.
    “And be careful,” General Hawk said with traces of worry in his voice.
    “Don’t worry sir we’ve been through enough of this stuff to know what and what not to do,” John said, and then winked to Jack.
    “All right, call me after you’re done or if you need anything,” General Hawk said and abruptly hung up.
    “Well, it’s nice to know that he cares, huh?” Jack said sarcastically.
    “Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for this,” John said tiredly.
    “You always say that. Let’s go,” Jack said as he rose into a crouching stance.
     John got up and they both made their way to the side of the complex. They moved toward the closest door they could find and tried to stay as much in the dark as possible. They tried the door, and thankfully, it was unlocked.
    John cracked the door and looked in, he didn’t see any body, and so he and Jack discreetly moved into the building. They ran down a long hallway and were about to make a turn when they saw a shadow approaching and heard faint footsteps getting closer every couple of seconds.
    Jack motioned with his finger for both of them to lie flat against the wall. As the shadow started getting closer, John expected Jack to go for his gun or at least his knife because Jack was closer. When he didn’t, John realized what was going to happen and almost felt what the poor guy walking down the hall was unwittingly walking into.
    As the man was about to come onto their position, Jack struck out in the blink of an eye and nailed the man right in his neck. The officer crumpled to the floor immediately. As Jack and John stood over him, he moaned slightly and before John could stop him, Jack kicked him right in the head. Jack turned and looked at John.
    “He isn’t dead, but he’ll have a splitting headache when he wakes up,” Jack said smiling.
    John and Jack continued moving on down the hallway and came to a locked door with an electronic pad in front of it. “Great, just what we needed,” muttered John. Jack got out a small computer of some kind, undid the cord wrapped around it and plugged it into the keypad through a small port on the side. Numbers flashed by on the screen changing almost the second they appeared.
    After a couple seconds, a slight hum was heard; numbers came up on the keypad and the door unlocked.
    "Are you ready?" John asked.
    "As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," Jack answered.
    John then reached out, grabbed the handle, and turned it while pushing the door open.

Away from me
You’ve left for good
No longer will your soft touch brush my shoulders
Your silky gold hair I can never again see atop your head
The smooth roughness of your hand I can never again feel in my own
The warmth of your smile will not reach me from where you are
The ground has turned you cold
The night is now forever
The darkness has enveloped you
I can't understand to where you have gone
Or why you cannot return
The faint smell of ivory soap on your skin has departed
The sonance of the bounce in your step lingers here no
longer
The red cashmere sweater will forever be hanging by the front door
I cannot find the strength to fold it away
Never again will I taste the mayonnaise-peanut
butter sandwiches, your specialty
The giggles echoing in the hall are vacant from these walls
Your skipping only to be seen in my dreams
Hot words bubbling at my lips
Never to be said
Hate for him who took you from me
You, the one who was placed into my arms three short years ago
Now you are gone
The silence of that night reverberates in these walls
Silence only because you are no longer behind that sticker-coated door
The door to your stuffed animal menagerie
You were taken from the person who needed you most
That person is I
I wiped your blue-gray eyes when you cried
I dusted you off when you fell
It was I who walked barefoot through the sand burrs
I searched relentlessly to find you
There is nothing I wouldn’t give to have you bound
into my arms the way you used to
My little Tigger
It was I who slept for days without actually sleeping
I lost my breath every time I thought about the
way you lost yours, so painfully
It was I who drank in the ocean of salty tears
And yet, none of this will bring you back
You are gone and now I have left with you
So away from them we’ve left for good
Dissipated into the wind
Soldiers forced to walk alone
So away from it all
We’ll leave it all behind