Wind swept wildly against the windows, rattling the panes, sending embers shooting through the air–miniature meteors bright and angry. The low, smoky haze cast a gray pall. But even the blanket of smoke couldn’t obscure the mountains, blazing red against the darkening sky. I stood transfixed, watching fire devour the mountain I’d hiked… what was that? A week ago? Shaking off the fire’s spell, I grabbed my notebook and my laptop. My Irish Setter tugged at my shirt, whining. I flung the door open. Smoke rolled in, heavy and acrid. I darted toward the truck, praying it would start.

Photo by Matt Howard on Unsplash

Coraline (the Scientist)

Coraline pressed her hand gently against the rough, wooden door. It looked weathered, like it had absorbed all the brightness of Spring and the darkness of Winter. The wood settled into a deep gray, still splintered in places. Coraline wondered briefly if some sandpaper might restore it to a brighter hue.

The door creaked slowly open to reveal a single room. The wood inside reminded Coraline of wildflower honey. The air felt soft and cool. Damp, maybe. But, if she left the door open, the luminous buzzing of Spring would make its way in eventually. No clouds of dust arose as Coraline slowly walked the length of the room. The dirt remained packed tight, determined to serve its designated purpose. A rug would do nicely in the middle of the room, Coraline thought. She’d need a place to sit and read or to spread out and play solitaire. A rug was just the thing.

On one wall, a low set of shelves provided a space for storage and a countertop of sorts. The perfect space for her books and her makeshift science lab. She would still take dinner with her parents, she supposed. Coraline would be perfectly happy with a steady diet of peanut butter and honey sandwiches, with an apple on the side. Her mother, however, insisted on a wide variety of foods—Pad Thai, grilled eggplant, Tuscan Pizza, tofu and bean burritos. And a salad. Her mother insisted on a salad at every meal.

Coraline felt a tiny tug at her heart when she thought of her mother. Her mother smelled of sandalwood and citrus. She always looked freshly scrubbed, freckles beaming radiantly on her face. Coraline shook her head almost imperceptibly. She loved her mother. Adored her, really. But they had irreconcilable differences that prohibited them from sharing living quarters. And that was that.

Coraline continued to survey the room. She would need a cot to sleep on, and perhaps a bean bag chair to read in. She also vowed to get a few new toys for Cricket. The cat seemed concerned about Coraline taking leave of her parents’ house. She constantly paced back and forth in Coraline’s (current) room, meowing incessantly. Coraline, for her part, packed boxes of her belongings rather nonchalantly. She felt an inkling of surprise that her parents did not seem frantic over her planned departure but rather a bit bemused. Her father offered his camping sleeping bag to keep her warm, as evenings in Spring were known for their briskness. Coraline graciously accepted. And that seemed to mostly settle things between them.

Coraline surveyed the little room once more. It didn’t seem like much right now. But once Haniford, her beloved pink stuffed bunny, took up residence, Corline was sure this would feel much more like home. And no one would ever again be vexed about science experiments gone awry. No, everyone in this residence would be a friend of science—even when science exploded and flung mossy-green residue all about the room.

Photo Credit: Veronika Homchis on Unsplash

Pocket Sized

“Ooff,” I muttered, rubbing my head. I batted away the pink fluff that hung over my face and called for Yelpi. Where was she anyway? “Yelp….” I trailed off mid-yell. I had found Yelpi alright. Except something was up. Either Yelpi was really, really big… or I was really, really small. Either way, our experiment seemed to have gone exponentially wrong.

Maybe I should give you some background, to keep you from being completely lost. Yelpi is my best friend. I met her in second grade. She had braces on her legs to help her walk, and she wore glasses. My family has a rule about being kind to other people—especially people who might be left out or lonely—and this girl looked like she was going to need a friend. So, I introduced myself, “I’m Persephone. But you can call me Persi. Everyone does.”

I don’t know if I expected her to be shy or what. But I definitely didn’t expect her to laugh. At my NAME. I mean, your name’s your mark in the world, you know? I was going to be mad. But there was something amazing about her laugh that made me feel… good. Peaceful. “Persi,” she said, still giggling. “Well, my name’s Yolanda. But, maybe you should call me Yelpi or something.”

If Yelpi had been anyone else, I would have lectured her on how my name marked me as something special. Persephone was the daughter of two Greek gods, after all. And she was the bringer of Spring—new life, rebirth… The way I figured it, my name made me kind of a big deal. But right away I knew two things about Yelpi: 1) she already knew this stuff about the Greek gods without me telling her, and 2) she was going to treat me like I was sort of a big deal no matter what my name was. That’s just the kind of person she is.

Turns out I was right. Yelpi was the smartest kid I’d ever met. She was always reading something. She loved stories about far off places. And she read book after book about science—lightning, grasshoppers, chemistry. Yelpi was unapologetically a nerd. Even in the second grade. And she was also the most amazing person ever. I totally didn’t need to feel sorry for her. The braces on her legs slowed her down a little. And she kind of bounced when she walked. But it didn’t matter. She’d take on any challenge, even if it took her ten times more effort than most of the kids. Like the time we had to run a mile in PE. Coach was gonna give Yelpi a pass on that. But she insisted that she could do it. It took her the whole PE class—45 minutes!—to go the whole mile. But she never gave up. Kids respect that kind of stuff. So, one by one, as kids finished running their mile, they went back to walk with Yelpi. Coach acted like it was a big deal that we all “supported Yelpi”—whatever that means. We were just being her friend. Adults can get so weird about stuff.

Anyway, basically from the day we met, Yelpi & I have been inseparable. My mom says we’re attached at the hip. That’s silly. I mean, how could we even get around to play aliens bodysnatchers or to look for fairies in the backyard if we were attached at the hip? See? Adults = weird. But, if we actually were attached at the hip, we’d probably get in a lot less trouble. And for sure I wouldn’t be three inches tall right now.

Oh, man… I got ahead of myself again. Okay, okay. Remember how I said Yelpi is a total science nerd? Well, she got me into science, too. And our favorite thing to do on a Saturday is to look up experiments and preform them in my room. Usually, we just go to a few science websites for kids and find experiments there. But today Yelpi showed up at my house with a dusty old book that she’d found in a big steamer trunk in her attic. Bet you want to know how she even got up into the attic with those braces on her legs? I knew you were paying attention. She got them off a few months ago. Over the summer. She still bounces when she walks, but she’s gotten a lot faster. And, honestly, I spend so much time with Yelpi that I bounce when I walk, too. It’s kind of just a habit. But it is more fun to walk like that. You should try it.

So, Yelpi has this strange, big book that she’s all excited over. It’s got old, loopy script handwriting in it instead of printed words. It looks like someone spent a lot of time putting together all kinds of potions—potions for love, for curing illnesses, for getting rich. Now, Yelpi and I are in fourth grade. I don’t give a fig about love, at least not the kind of love that makes Aiden Smith always try to kiss me on the playground. And Yelpi and I are real lucky that we don’t know anyone that’s sick. So, we figured we’d try to get rich. Seemed like a reasonable way to spend our Saturday afternoon.

We gathered all kinds of stuff for the potion. Some of the stuff we had to kind of guess on—neither of us could exactly get our hands on an eye of newt or on a fragment of turtle shell stewed in sage. Maybe it was our improvising that was the problem. Because by late Saturday afternoon, we were no richer. But I certainly was smaller. 45 inches smaller, to be exact.