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non•fic•tion 08 School for the Blind by Paola Arteaga, Los Angeles, CA For as long as I can remember, I have not been very independent. In a way, it’s not too surprising, considering I can’t see. The first time I really did feel independent was at the California School for the Blind last summer at a three-week camp called the Student Transition Education Program, or STEP for short. The first day, I was very scared. I had never been away from home before. I mean, I’d been to camp, but that was only an hour away and my parents visited. This was six hours from home in a place I had never been. Luckily I knew some of the kids, including my friend Louise, who became my roommate. Our apartment had a small kitchen with pots and pans and a stove and everything. It was like a little house. We got food at the cafe teria, but we could buy groceries too. Louise and I just had juice and snacks like cookies. They even gave us keys to our door, which was strange and new to me. Until this point my life had always been controlled. I hadn’t had to decide when to go to bed or get up, and I’d never had to clean up after myself. I had never felt more scared and abandoned than when my parents left me that day. I was suddenly out in the big, bad world with no one for protection. I think the hardest thing was walking on my own. Sure, I walked at school, but someone was always next to me, reassuring me. If I went the wrong way, my teacher would say, “Watch out for the stairs!” At STEP, it was different. There were people to look out for us, but we were eventually expected to Guavas by Rewa Bush, Mountain View, CA My aunt is here. She is two hundred or three hundred or four. I’ll never ask so I’ll never know, but she is older than my dad, and my dad is as old as the house, and the house is edging on ancient. She is wearing a loud yellow skirt, bright like the day and the sun and the stars that are so light they are washed away by the sky. I think she is smiling, but my hair is in my eyes so I can’t see clearly. She tells me I should cut it, but her own cascades down her back in long orange ringlets. She’s an oxymoron, my aunt. She is as old as the hills, and probably as wise, yet whimsical like a child. She always does exactly what she wants, explores and reaches and teaches. The day is golden, and it’s glittering off everything: our hair, the leaves, the clouds. My aunt leads me through the brambly passage to the side garden, a secret garden hidden if you’ve lost the child’s knack for finding lost wonders, like that red sock that never made it out of last week’s laundry but somehow flew under your brother’s bed. Dried pomegranates lie on the ground, round and wrinkly. Past the olive tree – an epiphyllum with magenta flowers stapled into the fork – is a wall of Teen Ink • APRIL ’09 I think the hardest thing was walking on my own She is an oxymoron, my aunt learn our way around. I dreaded the day I would have to know the routes. The staff was patient with me. They let me learn one route at my own pace. Gradually, I realized that I knew how to get to various places. With just that one route, I could connect to other destinations. I started to understand that if I really paid attention, I could do it, but I was scared to try because I didn’t want to get hurt. The best day of my whole life was when I realized I could walk on my own. We were leaving the computer lab and there were no counselors available, so the computer teacher walked with us. Since I am slower than everyone else, I quickly fell behind. At first I was concentrating so hard on the route that I didn’t notice. I just took it for granted that somebody was there, since someone had always been there. But suddenly I noticed how quiet it was. I stopped, realizing that I was alone, and started to panic. What if there were stairs? What if I fell? What if I got lost? Then I thought, Am I lost? That’s when I realized that I knew where I was. And so I started walking, slowly at first because I was still scared. But I kept telling myself that I knew where I was going and little by little, I started speeding up until I got back to the apartments. I was shaking, but I had managed on my own. And that’s when I knew that if I tried, I could do it. Another challenge was going out in public. We went on a lot of field trips. We had to talk to store clerks and do price comparisons before we bought anything. We learned how to handle silvery leaves with silvery fruits like frozen raindrops. We pluck bunches of guavas and eat them, feeling the cold happiness smearing on our cheeks, as sticky and sweet as the sunshine. Flecks of pink juice sprinkle my shirt. My aunt tells me the flowers are edible too. I don’t believe her until she places one in my mouth. It’s smooth and perfumy, but it doesn’t want to go down my throat, so I spit it on the ground. Down the gravel path lined with yellow bamboo we arrive at the cactus garden, a circle of centennials melting in a Dalí-like world where time drips in the heat. The white labels at the foot of each giant are curled and blurred, their names long lost though their bodies still cast shadows on the dirt. The soft rush of speeding cars weaves around a row of bending eucalyptus trees, tall trunks reaching up and up. Strings of strong-smelling leaves dangle down to the earth like taffy being pulled in two directions at once. I wonder, if we stopped pulling at the skies, would they let go and fly away? I stretch up, but it’s far out of reach. My aunt reaches up and plucks a pink flower from the tree, like a star from the sky, and places it in my hair. It’s not going anywhere for now. ✎ money and write checks, although I still need practice. We even asked pedestrians for directions. That was hard for me because some people don’t think that blind people should be in public without help. One clerk wanted to call security because Louise and I were on our own. But I realized that we have to deal with those who have never interacted with the blind. I don’t want to say that they’re ignorant, but in a way they are. But we learned from them too – we’re not always going to be with those who know about us and our needs. Another completely new activity for me was cleaning. Occasionally I had helped Mom with the dishes, but that was only when I felt like it, which was rare. At STEP, I had to clean up after myself or nobody would. I couldn’t just drop clothes on the floor and expect someone to pick them up. Believe me, I tried and I only had a bigger mess to clean up later. Mom had always hung up my clothes and put the outfit I would wear to school on the bed. She still does, but now I know how. I still need practice with eating. I Peep-Rex can’t really use a knife and fork properly. At home, Mom gives me a spoon for everything, and she even cuts up my spaghetti. You can imagine what happened when they served spaghetti at STEP. I got tomato sauce all over my hands, face, and hair (not to mention the table). Don’t even get me started on pouring; that was worse. I tried getting myself some juice at home and ended up spilling the whole pitcher. When I got to STEP, they had to help me pour, but I got the idea. I did put milk on my own cereal, even though it was a small carton. We also had fun trips. When we went sailing, I loved how the boat went really fast and rocked back and forth. We even got to drive and the captain told us which way to steer. We also went on a kayaking trip. My time at STEP taught me skills that I will use forever. I’m not always going to have someone to hold my hand. Someday I’ll be alone, and I’m scared of that day. But still, when that challenge comes, I’ll be more ready to face it, and I hope that I’ll be able to do so with confidence. ✎ Art by Brian McGuffog, Fishers, IN by Hannah Fronzak, Oak Ridge, TN Ithink most of us would agree that the Peeps the Easter Bunny brings us are pretty nasty. So why do we get them year after year? It is a question that has plagued children for generations, and we now have an answer, proven by intense scientific study: the sole purpose of the Peeps is your parents’ enjoyment. Take this case: my father is a very funny man. One lovely Easter morning, while the rest of my family was sitting around the kitchen table devouring the mountains of candy we had gotten, my dad sauntered up. A lone Peep was sitting on the edge of the table, forlorn and abandoned. Once my dad caught sight of it, his demeanor changed completely. His body stiffened as he folded his arms up, bringing his hands to his shoulders in an odd, predatory manner. His strides became tiny, mincing steps as he approached the table where the oblivious Peep rested. Now he had the attention of the whole family, and from seemingly nowhere, we heard a cute but desperate “peep, peep, peep.” At this noise, my father’s pupils dilated while his steady breathing turned to feral growls. He crept up to the Peep and dove at it, grabbing it with his teeth and tossing it into the gaping cavern of his mouth. We remained speechless for a few seconds as we observed him devouring the poor chick. Then, with a frightened face, my little sister turned to her candy basket and pulled out an entire package of Peeps, offering them to him wordlessly. ✎ COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH
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Page 1 and 2: APRIL 2009 O U R 20 T H Y E A R T E
Page 3 and 4: A PRIL 2009 COVER FEATURES The Coll
Page 6 and 7: non•fic•tion 06 Boot Camp Adven
Page 10 and 11: non•fic•tion 10 The Hospital Vi
Page 12 and 13: artgallery 12 Teen Ink • APRIL
Page 14 and 15: opin!on 14 Facebook Snoop by Kristi
Page 16 and 17: heroes 16 Grandmother Anna Purvianc
Page 18 and 19: FOCUS COLLEGE FOCUS 18 My Childhood
Page 20 and 21: FOCUS COLLEGE FOCUS 20 Is the SAT U
Page 22 and 23: FOCUS COLLEGE FOCUS 22 Parting Ways
Page 24 and 25: FOCUS COLLEGE FOCUS 24 How Public S
Page 26 and 27: college essays 26 Failing Successfu
Page 28 and 29: educatorof year the Kathy Nelson LA
Page 30 and 31: UA has a rich tradition of excellen
Page 32 and 33: Suffolk University, located in vibr
Page 34 and 35: Poetry 34 I Got the Joy! I got the
Page 36 and 37: you&your health 36 Pipe Dreams by D
Page 38 and 39: Travel&Culture 38 A Summer of Exces
Page 40 and 41: Video Game reviews Read more video
Page 42 and 43: Movie &TV reviews 42 DRAMA Revoluti
Page 44 and 45: fic•tion 44 Her, Him and the Rece
Page 46 and 47: fic•tion 46 Improvising by Onjuli

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