Pieces of My Life
A Collection of Personal Vignettes

The Black Shirt
I saw her. Just sitting there. Sitting there on the sidewalk. With a paper coffee cup in her hands, shaking it up and down, up and down. You could hear coins jumping around in there like the midnight rain tapping on your window. Why was this woman on the floor? Didn’t she know it was dirty? Why were there coins in her cup and not a drink? I did not understand. I did not understand this strange woman on the sidewalk with holes in her shoes and matted, tangled hair. For a second I meet her gaze with mine. Her eyes are like crumpled up paper, trying, trying to unfold and see clearly, crinkled with sadness and depression. And then I understand. I understand why she is sitting on the dirty concrete floor. Why there are coins in the cup. I understand, and my eyes flicker away from hers, I cannot meet her gaze anymore. But I know she is still staring at me, after a hand pulls me away and takes me farther and farther away from the woman with the black shirt.
Waiting
Every morning I see you. Walking up and down our sidewalk. Sky blue jacket and white hair the texture of a cloud. Hobbling at a snail’s pace, your wooden cane barely keeping your frail body from tumbling toward the hard concrete. How do you do it, how do you make yourself gather the strength to lift your body up every morning and step foot outside? Nobody is ever with you. Are you alone in the world? Is there anyone there for you? I wonder what you think about when no one else is around. Are you waiting, waiting for someone to come and take you, take you away from here up and up and up? I think you were waiting, because finally someone did come and take you away. I never even knew your name. I wish I did. I wish I had the courage to talk to you, say hello to you. But I didn’t, and now you are gone.
Sofia
It started with a little girl; she must have been three or four years old. In her hand was a small, stuffed, white bunny with a light pink nose and ears, she had pigtails that stuck out on the top of her head like little cream puff pastries, and her eyes looked like dark soil. She is sitting across from me in the train and her mother is yelling at her. She is holding the girl’s arm and shaking it up and down. It’s your fault she cries. It’s your fault David left us. The girl looks confused and scared, like she doesn’t understand what her mom is saying and tries to hug her. And just like that her mother’s hand comes flying towards her face and hits the soft tender skin of the girl. She lets out a shriek and tears start flowing freely down her face. Stop crying, Sofia, her mother yells and hits her again. She yelps and an avalanche of tears barrel down her face which only infuriates her mother more and again and again she hits her. Her screams fill the train car. The sound tortures me; I cannot bear to hear it one more second. Please stop, I say in my head. Please, please stop. I cover my ears. Trying desperately to block out the horrible sound of Sofia’s screams. But I shouldn’t have tried to block you out, Sofia, I should have done something, anything but I didn’t. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t try and help you, even if that would have been impossible. I’m sorry I walked away, trying to forget about you and what just happened. But I will never forget you Sofia. Never. I’m so, so sorry.
You Knew
I will always remember the last time I looked into her eyes. Dark and cloudy with flecks of sun. But a storm was coming and you knew it. You always knew. You always knew, didn’t you Chelsea. You knew when tears were rolling down my mother’s face. You knew when the man with the white jacket came to our house. And you knew when the clear syringe went into your body and your eyes got all heavy, like tiny little fairies were pulling, pulling, pulling your eyelids down. And you knew when you saw the last glimpse of your life, of my parents softly stroking your thick, midnight fur. And you knew when the light came streaming through the windows, its tendrils quietly grabbing at the last wisps of life. Swallowing everything, everything until there is nothing left but you. And then it stops, you stop. And disappear from the world.

Nightmares
The warm sheets encase me as I wind them around my body and throw them over my head. I am in a soft cave of darkness with no sound but my quiet breathing. My chest rising and falling, like small waves in the ocean slowly swaying up and down, up and down. I am a turtle, in the warm protection of my shell, unaware of my surroundings. My consciousness starts to dissolve and I feel my body being pulled into the deep abyss of sleep.
Falling. Falling, falling, falling. My tangled, twisted body plummets through the black hole. I am screaming. Shrieking. Shrieking through the black hole. The blood rushes up to my head and I feel it explode. Pain. Searing pain pierces my whole body. Sharp knives stab. Stab me. Again. Again. Again. Blood clogs my vision and I am blind. The pressure is too much. It crushes my body and I am gasping for air, gasping, gasping, gasping.
I hit rock bottom. I scream but nothing comes out. The air is knocked out of me and I cannot breath. Is it over, is it over? No, I become confined in a box that just barely fits me. Intricate designs are carved in the wood of the box. I look down at myself I am wearing an elegant, pretty white dress and my hair is brushed to perfection. Suddenly I hear a bump, bump, bump on the top of the box. I hear muffled voices for a moment, and I realize what is happening. The dress, the box I am in, the perfect hair, the sound. I am being buried alive. Panic shoots through my body and I thrust my hand on the box, banging on it again and again. I scream. I scream and scream and scream but no one hears me. Then the tears come. Down and Down, I cannot stop. The voice is the last one I hear. The voice of my mom. Goodbye Jesse, goodbye.
My Little Paradise
The small yellow house. The color of sunshine streaming through your window as you wake up. White shutters peeking out the sides. A surrounding garden with a small pond of fish and clean cut wet grass the smell of the forest. A red rose bush and high sunflowers that seem to touch the sky. Blueberries that you can pick and eat right of the bush, their fresh flavor exploding in bright colors in your mouth. The house off of Commercial Street. Provincetown, Massachusetts. My little paradise. The place where I can forget about everything and just live. The place where I feel secure and happy. The place I belong.
Every morning, getting up early, before anyone else is awake and going to the beach across the street. Just me, sitting on the sand, listening to the peaceful song of the waves. The sweet wind, blowing my hair as goose bumps crawl up my body and then disappear. Digging my feet into the cool sand. Burying my body away from the universe. Just sitting there, for hours or just a few minutes, I can never tell. Just sitting there waiting for the first voice of the day to take me away from the beach. This is my place. This is my happiness. This is my little paradise.

Jesse Bermudez-Deane, Age 13, Grade 8, Berkeley Carroll School, Gold Key