Interview with Mrs Murrow

Yes, I was on the train quite late, on my way to New York I was. Going to visit my sister she’s not very well at the moment, and this was the only ticket I was able to lay my hands on. The train was quite empty except for this one dear young man. You mentioned it was, well, Holden Caulfield? Sorry, I don’t recall anyone by that name. But on the train, the only person I did meet was Rudolf Schmidt—a bit strange to my liking, though he went to Pencey Prep, I thought that was nice anyway. Well dear, that sounds like that could have been him, did he really have a brain tumour removed, poor thing. Yes, well, he was a bit touched in the head, anyway. I mean… he offered me a cigarette; he must smoke a lot because the case was almost empty. Yes yes, he was a strange boy, he also asked me if I wanted to get a cocktail with him in the club car—I don’t even think he was old enough and it was about 3 in the morning, it would be closed for goodness sake. He was saying that he would be able to get in on account of his “grey hair”, really. (Disappointed face). Tut tut . (shakeshead).
One funny thing about him was he started to talk about my boy, Ernest, but Rudolf...um I mean ,what was it …Holden, started to talk about this nonsense that he was running for class president, but surely my boy Ernest, would have told me about it, he writes me every Sunday, yes that’s him. Mmm.(nodding head)
Bit cheeky though…ermm Holden he was, mind you, my son can be as well sometimes probably picked it up from some of those kids at Pencey, though the boy couldn’t have made up all those stories he told to me about Ernest…could he?
He told me he lots of pretend things (shakes head) I’m mean there was so many of them. About my Ernie being shy n’ modest and all, he’s not that shy, is he? Well then, poor dear (looks into space)
If you ask me the boy Holden, could have been a total nutcase, if you ask me, he kept looking at me as if I was 16 again, boy, he was strange. Now I come to think of it, I don’t think he had a brain tumour after all, on account he was most surely lying about everything else. Thank goodness. Then what was he doing out of school before they let you out for the Christmas holidays. Oh! He didn’t get thrown out did he, poor thing. I feel terrible for him, his parents too. I wonder what they’ll have t’ do. I wonder what I’d do if my Ernie got the ax.
D’y’know what I remember that his nose was bleeding, I don’t know why but it makes me feel a bit funny so I told him in the end. I guess that anyone would have anyway. Bit peculiar if you ask me though.

An Old Student of Mine Again

I decided to embark my daily walk around two. It was a serene stroll down all that hustle and bustle by the train station. It was pretty gloomy outside and I always had an inkling that it would rain, but I went out anyway. Soon enough it did, then it started to rain profusely, throwing down buckets at a time. I rushed over to the nearest place I could see—the train station café. I waited just inside the door for a few long minutes by then decided to sit down because the rain wasn’t going to stop any time soon. So, I lackadaisically stalked over to an empty table near the back and ordered some water, I felt quite dehydrated for some reason. I sat back and a look around and saw not many people: a dark woman in a beige coat, two nuns clad in their uniforms, and… oh, it was Holden Caulfield—wearing a funny read hat of some sort with a grimace on his face. I hadn’t seen him since he was in my class a few years ago; I could remember him from anywhere, always doing the most unusual things. I gingerly walked over to him and said in a very nervous yet affable voice,”Hey, Holden, is that you boy?” he spun around and said, “Oh…uhh yea it’s me, nice to see you again miss…” I quickly interrupted him—though I’m sure he still didn’t remember my name anyway—and said, “Yes, it’s nice to see you again, how have you been?” He replied as I endeavoured to shake his hand, “quite well actually, been moving around a lot to lots of places, one where there was quite a few ducks. Oh well, I best be of then, I wouldn’t want to be late.“ He smiled and nodded and quietly walked away. Now that evoked memories from when he was always making excuses in my class, they pervaded my mind for a few seconds. I thought that was quite a cursory encounter but it didn’t really matter, he wasn’t my best student anyway. Then I shook those thoughts away and went to sit down.

The story of That Girl

If I ever met…
Such a serene little girl.
With blond curls and blue eyes,
Her soft hands lingered in her mothers.
Her smooth pink cheeks
Holding that perfect smile.
If she ever had an inkling
That this Sunday,
Was the Sunday that her most beloved family member
Would be lost.
Her mother-- looks pretty,
With her long blond curls and blue eyes, always smelt sweet.
The white dress draped her back as she crossed the road,
She was audacious.
Her mother was the only ne that the little girl was close to.

The little girl cried over
Her mothers now pale skin.
Dripping a profuse amount
Of perfect tears of love
Over her mothers cracked lips and stretched cheek bones.
Crying the waves of the pacific,
Now she had no one to share laughter with, to share her love with.
This lasted days.
Until her abhorrent father
Confiscated her traces of her mother.
Beloved photos soaked in tears,
White linen that she slept in scented with sugar.

She was ruled by her mean father,
Shouting out orders like daggers.
Punishing her for half of what she never did.
She was always "that girl" to him.

For years until she was set free
Into the big world,
At first she was clueless.
Not little any more she figured it out.
The only place she had was a little apartment
With two rooms and a leaky sink.
The only money she made was
From working for a string factory.
But she soon realized that it was better living there,
Far from her father.

She soon made a friend,
A dark skinned girl,
As quiet as a mouse.
She taught her how to laugh.
She made another friend,
He had olive skin,
Taught her how to love.
She mad more friends.
How to live again.
She was happy, with the leaky sink, and the low pay.
She had friends,
All types.
And shared the rest of the life with them.
She was happy.
She figured life out.
To live it with happiness,
And share it with the ones you love most.


(made it up.)

The Catcher in the Rye

"All this madman stuff,
happened to me
around Christmas.
Just before I got pretty run down.
Had to come here to take it easy".
Pency.
My room--
The heat was on for a change,
Made it feel kind of cosy.
There is two armchairs in my room,
There is two goddam armchairs in every room.
All the arms were in sad shape--
Everyone always sits on them.
'cus they looked soft I guess.
Oh yea,
I got kicked out too.
I don't think I was supposed to come back,
After Christmas i mean.
On account,
I was flunking everything,
except English.
Now I think I'm gonna hang around
For some kind of goodbye sign.
I don't care if its a sad goodbye,
A bad goodbye.
But,
When I leave a place
I like to know I'm leaving it,
If you don't,
You feel worse.
Then,
All of a sudden,
I thought of something.
"Made me know I was getting the heel out".

The Secret Life of Bees By Sue Monk Kidd

Reviewed by Eleanor A.


Sue Monk Kidd has created a wonderful world in just one book, The Secret Life of Bees. It is the story of Lily Owens, living with her harsh father-- T.Ray--on his peach farm in South Carolina, 1964. Her life is circled around the fuzzy image of the day her mother died. Lily has a big, black kind-hearted “stand in mother” for since she can remember-Rosaleen.

When Rosaleen insults three of the most bigotry people in town they muster up the gust to escape from the police, T.Ray and his peaches, to Tiburon, South Carolina where they’re introduced to a trio of black sisters—Agust, June and May—make Black Madonna honey for a living. They happily take them both in for a while, with a condition—Lily has to help make the honey and Rosaleen has to help with the house work. I think Lily is a lovely girl that decided on her own that she wanted to know as much as she could about the traces and memories of her mother.

This book is a great Realistic fiction novel; it is a New York Times Bestseller. I enjoyed The Secret Life of Bees because it is written so sweetly. I think that this book will touch your heart with various emotions, as it did mine. A great book to read, The Secret Life of Bees.

Late Homewok

Don't you hate it when you get home from school and you say you'll start you're homework, but you go off thinking you have better things to do and don't get round to it until it's too late. Or when it’s a weekend, you know you have spare time, and know you have to do homework, but you go and do something else anyway. When you leave homework until the last possible minutes.
Well something like that happened to me last weekend. I left my school bag at a friend's house with all my books and work in it, and the only time I could retrieve it was Sunday afternoon. So I went and got it. As soon as I got home we ate dinner, as soon as we ate dinner I took a shower. I only had a few minutes to do my homework before my mom started on a long tirade about should have done it earlier. So I ran to the computer (still wet), sat down and dried my hands and typed faster than the worlds fastest. I finished my writing, Spanish and science work in recorded time.
So I think I should start my homework earlier next time.

You Got to Love Her

The soft flow of her hair flows with the scent of apple blossom,
The sweet look in her eyes as they open into wide blue pools of happiness.
We sit on the berry colored bean bags,
And jabber on for short hours about anything we can think of.
We drink sugary drinks together,
And laugh ourselves silly.
We take in one balloon worth of helium between us,
And scare our mother with the squeak of our voices.
We lie on the hammock and nudge each other,
Until 'Crash', one of us falls.
We fight sometimes too.
All the way to slaps and shouts,
But I still love her, not just because she's my sister,
Because she's a friend and you got to love her.
She's like a pet; they get annoying, and are hard to get rid of.
But you still love them anyway.