What was once a beautiful spirited appendix quarter horse mare that was my beloved companion was now a rapidly cooling half-ton of meat.

I thought of hauling the body up to the ranch for the coyotes but then realized that all the drugs she had pumped into her in the last week and a half made her toxic. So I sat, dazed.

Hours later, Tim and Hasley came home, they had stopped by the clinic to visit Rosie on their way home from town, only to find her stall empty, stripped, and disinfected. What a shock for them! They hugged me and talked to me but I couldn’t really hear.

I rolled a big fat joint, poured a glass of wine and took my sleeping bag out to the barn to sleep with the Rio and Tara, the labs, and Rocky and Jack, the horses we kept at home.

This nightmare started with a routine vaccination in the right hip, which developed into an abscess. Unfortunately, by the time the abscess was discovered, the mare was down, and paralyzed in her right hind leg.

My friend Carol happened to be across the street with her horse trailer when I found Rosie and with the help of Dr. Jim Noone and the tech, we got her up and into the trailer, tied her tail up to keep her up, and rode down in the trailer to keep her up until we got to the vet clinic. Unloading was horrible, Rosie fell down in the snow, we had to get her up again and into the warm clinic, into the stocks, tied her tail up again, while Jim worked furiously to get her stabilized and pump some antibiotics into her.

I couldn’t believe this was happening! I knew Lara, the stable owner, and Karrie, her sidekick, who cleaned stalls and fed, should have been all over this developing situation. You just don’t have a stable full of horses vaccinated and not be checking for exactly this scenario happening. Where were they? The main house was just a hundred yards from the pasture where Rosie lived, and loomed dark and empty. I ran up there to call the vet, and had to bust a window out to get in.

Jim said he would call the vet school at CSU, and get some advice and get back to me, but in the meantime, he thought her chances of making it were about 50/50.

Carol gave me a ride back to the barn and I stared hunting for Lara or Karrie. I found Karrie in the back shed row, smoking.

I launched right in “What the fuck were you thinking this morning when that mare was down and did not come up when you fed? When it’s still 10 below in the morning and those horses are not right there nosing you for their hay any fool would know something was wrong!”

Karrie’s pale, thin face twisted into a smirk, “which mare?”

“You clueless bitch!” I screamed “My mare Rosie!” I was hot. “Where’s Lara?”

Karrie picked up her pitchfork “Oh, she went to Denver for the weekend.”

“Tell her she needs to call me when she’s back, she might want to call her lawyer as well” I glared at Karrie, knowing full well she hated me, and did not give a shit about my horse. A month or so before I caught her feeding my alfalfa to her horse, and also corrected her about the amount and timing of how I wanted my horse fed, and she didn’t like it one bit. But she was Lara’s friend, so she kept her job, but I never trusted her after that. I made the trip down to the barn every other day to ride, and as it was starting to turn out, guard my hay, make sure the fence was fixed, and that there was water for the horses.

I paid pretty good money to board Rosie at this stable, where there was an indoor arena I could continue training through the winter. I lived 30 miles up the valley at 9,000’ and we had snow on the ground from October to May. We were schooling first level dressage and I was shooting for being ready for some of the spring shows around Denver. Rosie was coming along nicely, I was clear on our training program, and life was good.

I headed home to get some clothes and a sleeping bag and take care of the dogs, Tim, my husband was home with Hasley making a fire and getting dinner going. “Rosie is really sick, honey, and I have to stay with her tonight at the vet clinic.” Daddy is going to take you to school tomorrow, and I will get you after school and we’ll go see Rosie then.” Hasley was 5, and loved Rosie too. Horses are so good for kids; they just know they should be quiet and steady and take care of them.

Tim waved me on, knowing it was pointless to suggest anything other than what I had already decided was going to happen, “I’ll take care of the rest of the critters, and Hasley, call me when you know more.”

Rosie had stabilized, fortunately, Jim had lanced the abscess, and decided we needed to give her a day or 2 of big doses of the antibiotics, then, make some big cuts in her skin around the abscess, now about the size of a soccer ball, so we could flush the necrotic tissue with a garden hose out of the hip. It was starting to smell bad, really bad.

At this point I had a choice to make, emotional, financial, what was the best for the horse? Rosie was not insured, I was looking at her like burn patient now, if she recovered, she would have a big hole in her hip, she wouldn’t be able to compete, but, she was so sweet, we loved her, she could live in the pasture next to the house, and carry kids around. ‘Jim, I need your advice, how much pain is she in? What would you do?”
Jim and I have known each other for many years and have been through many animal deaths together. There is definitely a spark of attraction between us, but the timing was never right. Either he was married, when I was single, or I was married, when he wasn’t. Now we were both happily hooked up, but it’s always just under the surface.

“Let’s just take this a day at a time, she’s comfortable now, and my buddies at CSU were fairly optimistic. If she makes it 10 days, she will probably recover fully. She will tell us when it’s time to go, if the time comes.”

I was relieved to hear that! “I’ll take the night watch and make sure she stays up” No one stayed at the clinic overnight, and I knew this was going to cost me thousands even with the good buddy discount. I was totally prepared to do the gross grunt work.

The next few days were a blur. Rosie seemed to hold her own, eating & drinking a little, I brushed her for hours at night, told her she was a great horse, very brave, She could have all the carrots and apples from the kids she could eat if she would just get better. All that…

My friends thought I was nuts, of course, and avoided me, except for Carol, who sat up with Rose and I a couple of nights at the clinic. Those nights were surreal at times.

One night a rancher brought in nice paint mare with a foal about 1 week old. The mare had been a championship halter and performance horse at the Quarter Horse Congress the year before. Vader bought her to add a little “color” to his ranch horse remuda. Bred to the ranch stud, the foal was chestnut, with 3 legs white to the knee. This was enough to register as a paint, but not exactly the pretty paint horse baby he had been hoping for. It was also calving time, exhausting and cold work. The baby got ignored in the corral, developed scours, and dehydrated, they finally brought him in. Jim came in to start him on an IV and meds. I held the mare. The little guy seemed to rally the next day, but when I came in about 9 the next night, he was quiet and listless. Vader didn’t really care. He was more concerned about getting the mare bred back on the foal heat.

I sat with that little baby in my lap and held him as he breathed his last. Vader had waited too long to bring him in. The mare was whickering her worry and concern for her foal. We left the foal in with her till morning, and then drug him out back. The mare walked right behind. She put up a fight when we loaded her in Vader’s stock trailer, and whinnied goodbye as she bumped down the driveway. That would have been heartbreaking for me if I weren’t already in the process of having my heart broken.

Another night, Jim showed up to meet an elk hunter and his horse that had ripped his chest open on the tailgate of a truck. The horse was in shock but still ornery. Trying to get him anesthetized was an ordeal. Jim started to clean the wound and the big gelding went up, struck out with his front left, and hurled Jim into the block wall. Jim was knocked out, the gelding was pissed, plunging and bucking, the hunter was hanging on to the lead rope, Rosie was in her stall, wide-eyed, I was standing in front of Jim and waving off the gelding. Finally, Jim rolled over and sat up groggily, I got him over to the office and got the vet tech to come over to doctor everyone.

Lara’s dad, who happen to be the county attorney, came by to let me know Lara accepted no responsibility for anything, substandard care, lapse of car, no liability, no offer to help with the vet bills, I didn’t even get a “I’m sorry”. She was so freaked out by the thought of me suing her she totally hid out. I found out later she didn’t even have insurance.

I would get home about 6 am in time to have breakfast with Hasley and get her off to kindergarten. She was so sad about Rosie and wanted to stay with us at the clinic too. On the 8th morning she looked up at me with tears sparkling in her green eyes and said, “Mommy, who do you love more? Me or Rosie?’ I was floored. Was I really losing touch with reality? Where were my priorities? My own sweet little girl wasn’t sure where she stood with me. I felt like throwing up.

“Sweetheart! OF COURSE I love you more than Rosie! You are my daughter, you are part of me!” I realized then and there that all that energy I had been sending to Rose, supporting her, trying to keep her alive with the power of thought, was at a cost.

After that, I started to disengage from Rosie, she started sliding downhill, stopped eating, she would just drink a little, her respirations were shallow. Her gut was silent, she wasn’t listening to me, and she was shutting down. That last night I talked to her, told her I loved her and was a great horse, she didn’t need to stay here for me, I knew it would be over soon.

On the morning of the 10th day, after that last night at the clinic, I walked in the door to a ringing phone, it was Jim, “ Rose is down, it’s time,”

I knew he was right, but I couldn’t make the words come out, finally croaking, “OK, do her”

“Do you want me to wait for you to get back down here?”

“No, I ‘m done, please just do it and don’t let her suffer any longer.”

All this happened a few years ago. The wild rose bush Jim gave me after Rosie died is thriving. I planted it by the gate Rose would hang her head over, waiting for me. The ranch is Tim’s now. Rocky and Jack are gone, the dogs are buried in the yard. Hasley is a teenager. I am almost single again. Jim is too. I have had some horses since. Rosie was one in a million. I was lucky to have her when I did. She set the standard. People I thought were my friends turned out to be spineless assholes; people I didn’t even know heard my story and offered me support and encouragement. I think I finally have my priorities straight.

Scott Thaler
EVA

The greatest moments of my life have been spent with my mother. Eva had a wonderful personality. She also had the most bizarre techniques of negotiating. I cannot say my mother and I were one person, but sometimes we acted as if we were. It was devastating for me to see my mother pass away from cancer in November of 2000. However, I will never forget the experiences that we shared. She had blue eyes, blonde hair, and stood at five feet, five inches tall. She was also very talkative.

My mother's first job in Arizona after moving from New York in 1988 was a realtor. This was the job that suited her well. I witnessed my mother negotiate and sell houses. Her clients became her friends. She was not in the business to make money. She was a realtor because she enjoyed selling houses as well as she enjoyed people. She was determined to sell any house she listed. I think she did a pretty good job selling every house she listed.

A realtor has to be a good negotiator. There are people in this world that will refuse to negotiate. My mother would do her very best to get the best price. Here is an example I witnessed at a swap meet:

"Eh, how much is this?" my mom asked.

"Twenty-five dollar," said the Chinese lady with her accent.

"Okay, eh, I'll give you ten."

"Can't negotiate. Make very little profit."

"But you want to sell the luggage, right?" my mother laughed.

"Yes," says the lady.

"Okay, eh, maybe, I offered too low of an amount. How about twelve dollars."

"I cannot negotiate. I'm making very little money on this."

"I thought you wanted to sell the luggage," my mom said.

"I do, but need to make profit."

"Okay, then, eh, I'll give you fifteen."

"How about twenty-four dollars, I can't go lower, make very little profit." said the Chinese lady who was very frustrated by this point.

"Seventeen dollars" my mother said.

"Twenty-four dollar. Can't negotiate anymore."

"Okay, eh, eh, twenty dollars is my final offer."

"Okay, how about I sell you this for twenty-three dollar."

"Well, since you are a nice lady, fine, twenty-three dollars."

This was tough negotiating for my mother. Most of her negotiating was done at garage sales. I have witnessed her negotiating from two dollars down to a nickel. It was quite amazing.

Every summer my mother and I would take a trip out to New York where we would walk all over Manhattan every day, just like we did when we lived there. My last trip with my mother was in 2000 when we saw our first Broadway shows together. My first Broadway show was Beauty and the Beast. At that show my mother paid twenty dollars per ticket for standing room.

She told the salesman and the office, "I'll bet you the value of these tickets that I'll be sitting in the expensive seats during the show."

"Oh no you're not!" said the ticket salesman.

"Okay, we'll see about that. Come on Scott," my mother said. So where were my mother and I sitting five minutes into the show? In the orchestra section with a great view of the show, of course. My mother and I also saw Late Night with Conan O'Brien, at Rockefeller Center on that trip.

However, that would be the final trip I would take with my mother. She developed cancer in many places of her body. It grew so fast that no doctor or specialist could identify the starting point. During the first semester of my senior year in high school I was at the doctor almost everyday for my mother. My grandfather and grandmother, on my dad's side, would help out in the morning taking her to the doctor. After the presidential election, the last eleven days of her life were horrible. However, I now think, at least it wasn't eleven months, or even worse, eleven years of suffering.

On the day she passed away, my grandmother and I were too afraid to go into the room. My mother's blood pressure went from normal in the morning to deathly low in the afternoon. The last check of her blood pressure was 39 over 16. A lady who volunteered her time at the hospital came over to me about an hour and a half before my mother passed away.

I asked her, "Do you think my mother with pass away today?"

"More than likely, yes," she told me, "but let me tell you a fact that occurs so frequently around here. It seems when somebody is dying, their loved ones try to stay for the final seconds. However, when they go and get a cup of coffee, get a snack, or lunch, the person seems to take that moment to pass on."

Just before four-thirty P.M., my grandparents were hungry so we went to dinner. While we were at dinner, my dad got a page to call the hospital. My mother had passed away. We went back to the hospital and I saw my mother's body one last time. This time though, her body might have been there, but my mother was not. This was definitely the most painful three seconds of my life. I was in shock, I was dizzy, and I did not know where I was for a moment. The nurses gave me a drink of water. I went home that night. I was on the phone for many hours telling my family members and my friends the terrible news.

The next day when I woke up, the world seemed different. From that day forward, my life has taken on a new role. I am very independent, whereas before I was not. I can now do things myself with confidence. Before I could not. I may not have the negotiating skills my mother had or the strong personality she had, but she stands in my heart everyday. I think of her all the time, but I only think of the good events. I do not think about November 18th, 2000 or the dates surrounding it. I try to do what would make her happy and proud of me. I am Scott Thaler and I am proud of who I am. 

Out of all the things that I have done stupid in my life this would top them all off. I am so fortunate to no be permanently harmed from this.

It was a typical hot summer day in July. I was a normal stupid thirteen-year-old male who thought that he was indestructible and that nothing could possibly ruin his summer. But I was soon to be proven wrong. It all started when Rhonda, which is my friend Ryan's mom, came and picked up Ryan, Jason, and myself and took us to Ryan's house. We already had it planned out that it would be a better idea to make the bomb at Ryan's instead of at Jason's. Ryan and myself had made shock bombs at his house at numerous occasions in the past.

"If you boys do not stop making those bombs your both going to be in for it," Rhonda yelled with her eyes turning red.

So after arriving at his house we all scurried off inside to get our materials for making the bomb. Jason went into the kitchen and found some sugar. Ryan found a 20-oz empty sprite bottle but could not locate any pool shock. I found a half-gallon of water.

"We are going to Taco Bell," Ryan told his mom as a lame excuse for us to go and get pool shock.

Instead we went to Walgreens.

"You guys just wait out here I will go inside and get it," Ryan said.

Ryan returned two minutes later with the shock so we all the headed back two his house. After arriving back we had to go to his back yard to get the other materials. While bringing them from his back yard to his front driveway his mom saw what we were doing.

"You three had better put all that shit away and not even think about blowing something up," Rhonda said with a stern look in face.

We all really did not care what she said so we sent Ryan in the house to reassure her that we were not going to make it here.

"Hurry up and we will wait for you to make it," Jason and I said as Ryan was walking inside.

After waiting for him for about ten minutes or so Jason and myself were starting to get a bit anxious.

"Just wheel the garbage can over here and make the bomb and toss it in there," Jason said to me.

So I went and wheeled the garbage can into place. Next I mixed the right constancy of shock and sugar together. The last thing to do was add the water. When adding it I noticed that it was bubbling faster than it normally does. Instead of stopping I screwed the cap on and heaved it towards the trash can. While the bomb was in the air it blew. I was completely covered in the chemicals. My face was and neck took it the worse. Standing there whipping it off my face I looked up and I could not see five feet in front of me. My vision was completely blurred.

"Holy shit are you alright," Jason yelled out to me.

"Take me inside I can not see a thing," I said frantically.

"What happened," Ryan asked.

Jason frantically explained to him and they took me into the kitchen to flush out my eyes. At this time Rhonda heard all the commotion and joined us in the kitchen.

"You two are so stupid and maybe this will finally teach you guys a lesson," Rhonda whaled at Jason and I.

"Shut the hell up Rhonda," yelled Jason.

"Is your vision was getting any better Brandon," Ryan asked.

"No, and my eyes are starting to burn really bad," I said in a panic.

Jason took the phone an called 911. A couple of minutes later a fire truck and ambulance arrived. Jason and Ryan walked me out side to them. The both explained to the paramedics what had happened. The paramedics began flushing my eyes out while I was laying on the pavement on the driveway. About at this time my father showed up because Rhonda called to bitch my stupidity to him.

"It will be alright you will make it through this," my dad said in a calm voice.

After the pain was persisting in my eyes the paramedics put me in the back of the ambulance and rushed me to the hospital. They continued flushing my eyes on the way to the hospital. My dad followed the ambulance to the hospital in his Tahoe.

At the hospital they rushed me into a room and I remember a doctor putting some special solution in my eyes and the pain would go away for about ten minutes.

"We need to continue to flush his eyes out out," the doctor said to the nurses.

The nurses and the doctor continued to flush my eyes for about another four hours. Then the doctor gave my dad a prescription for some special eye drops. Before I left the doctor bandaged up my face. My dad had to help me walk to the car because my eyes were completely covered with bandages.

When arriving at home I could remember hearing my mom crying.

"Is he going to be alright," She asked my father.

"We will see the next couple days are going to be crucial," my dad said to my mom.

The next couple of days were very rough for two reasons. First, I had to get the special eye drops put into my eyes every four hours. The problem with that was when lights hit my eyes it felt like a blow torch was being held on them. My eyes felt burning because the pool shock burned and ate away at my eyes. The second reason for a rough couple days being if I could not have light hit my eyes that meant I had to where eye patches. I never thought it would be as hard as it was trying to find the way around my own house for a week. Later that week my family took me to an eye specialist and he checked out my eyes.

"It looks like in a couple of days you should have you vision back and you could remove those patches," the eye doctor said.

"There seems to be no visible scaring taking place so you should have twenty-twenty vision again," the doctor said acting surprised on how lucky I was.

I remember feeling so lucky being able to take the eye patches off. My vision was back and as clear as ever. Needless to say though that was the last bomb that my friend and I made. I also caught a bunch of teasing at school the following year but I deserved it. I was just thankful to be able to see again.

Tamaraingsey In

My first job

The seconds ran down the clock and the bells rang dismissing students from another day of school. I took a deep breath, rechecked my choice of clothes, and started the engine. I was sixteen years old going on my first job interview. With the brief moments I had to myself prior to the interview, I examined all the reasons why I wanted a job. I wanted a job for several reasons. First, I wanted to show my family I could handle more responsibilities. I also wanted a job to get more money. I thought to myself, how hard could sitting down and doing secretarial work be? I was about to find out. The time was upon me; I turned off the engine, shut the door and awaited a new experience. I opened the door to the office. To my left was the receptionist area. A small area crammed with three chairs for the receptionists. On one side of this area was an old computer and in front were three telephones. On my right side there was a waiting area; and to my front, there were several cubicles occupied by realtors. Carefully, I sat down making sure I didn’t wrinkle any clothes.
 

The phone rang, and someone answered, “Century 21 San Tan. How may I direct your call?” My new statement, I thought to myself.
 

I began to look for my sister. Her short height proved difficult but her oddly dyed red hair helped me spot her. Her Napoleonic stature stood up and commanded, “Come here and let me prep you for what’s going to happen.”
 

We discussed briefly, while a back round of fax machines, phone ringing, and agents yelling, filled the air.
 

“What will the interview be like?” I asked twitchingly as I do when I get nervous.
 

“She’ll [Jill] ask you about your abilities and interest in this job,” she responded without taking her eyes off her computer.
 

Suddenly, the sound of loud heels and stench of designer perfume alerted my sister to that Jill was approaching.
 

“Get ready, and tuck your shirt in,” she said. I quickly complied.
 

I sat frantically as an elderly woman dressed in a designer suit appeared. Jill peered through the door, and with a strong high-pitched voice she said, “Tam, I’ll just have you sit in front with the girls.”
 

With a tremor in my voice I replied, “Okay. Sounds good.”
 

And boy did it sound good. No interview. The stress was off and so was I to the front desk. When I got there, one receptionist remained, my future sister-in-law, Maria. In a brief summation she described the various buttons of the phone, and then it hit me as she turned around and her manicured nails pointed to the wall.
 

“That’s where we put the messages for the agents.” She replied, as it was not a big deal.
 

I looked up and down, left and right. There were approximately sixty spots.
“How could I remember all these names?” I asked myself.
 

With the frantic look on my face, Maria figured out my predicament. “Don’t worry”, she explained. “Most agents aren’t that active because they don’t get many listings. You’ll only have to be concerned with about twenty five of those names.” I took a sigh of relief.
 

Minutes passed, and another receptionist, who was casually dressed and seemed skinny, appeared M&M’s and coke in hand. Munching away she introduced herself, “Hey, I’m Cristina. You’re Tamarom’s brother right.”
 

Maria responded for me and turned her head in my direction saying, “Yes, that’s Cristina. If you smell food or feel sticky soda up here, that’s Cristina.”
 

“Shut up” Cristina said jokingly. “I’m not a pig.”
 

After awhile listening to the other receptionists joke with each other and eating, I thought for sure my preconception that this job would be easy was right. Then the truth revealed itself. Another receptionist Hazel, who is always attired in Nike apparel, appeared with several papers and magazines in hand. She offered to give me further explanations of the job duties as well as a tour of the office. Walking through we saw several agents working on the computer and several agents meeting with their clients. Our first stop was the filing cabinet. In the cabinet sixty types of documents were present with wordings, I have never seen, on them.
 

Hazel put her documents aside and explained, “One job we have is making sales and listing packets for the agents.” She continued, “And let me give you some insight. Since you’re the newest everyone else will delegate their responsibilities to you.”
 

“That sucks,” I said as I realized that my preconceptions were beginning to be false.
 

“Yeah, I know,” Hazel said empathically. “I’ll try not to do that to you often”.
 

After Hazel’s tour, I realized how much work and tasks are really involved and I was ready for whatever they dish out. Work, as I soon will learn, is difficult and comes with consequences. I received more money but a part of my day now goes to something else; and with what Hazel had said about the delegation of responsibilities, I soon realized she was right.
 

The hours were winding down and the day was coming to an end. I sat in front with Maria and Cristina and I told them I was determined to answer a call. The office closed at 5:00 and it was now 4:50. I was sure I had to wait until tomorrow, until the phone finally rang.
 

I took a deep breath, picked up the phone and answered, “Century 21 San Tan. How may I direct your call?” I did it.
 

The day has come to an end. We shut the blinds, closed the lights, and forwarded the phones to the answering service. My first day on my first job was over.
 

Two weeks later I received my first paycheck. Prior to this I was going over everything I did. I spent several hours inputting listings onto the computer, dealing with agent complaints, and making countless listing and sales packets. Also, I counted the number of hours I worked, 36, and multiplied it with my wage, $6.50. I knew about taxes, but when I saw my first check I was surprised. Out of shock I asked myself, “What’s FICA?” I then learned that making money isn’t easy. Making money takes lots of time and work. This time was taken out of the time I watch television and spend with my friends; the work was piled on to my regular schoolwork. I also realized I have been taking my parents for granted in the previous years of I’ve been asking for money.

---

Chris Harris
"Bobby"

 As I walked down Jefferson Street, like I had done for the past two weeks, it seemed like any other day. I was on my way to class, the sun was shining and I felt good. three days of hard work had finally paid off. In the back pocket of my baggy pants was the final draft of script. USC film school had been going well, it was hard, but I felt like I was in control. As I approached the George Lucas Building, I felt a hand on my shoulder. As I turned around they're stood a short, black man who was poorly dressed, nothing but a dirty tank top and faded jeans. His backwards cap was covered in dirt and and a sudden odor of vomit seemed to sneak up upon us. Now USC so is in South Central Los Angeles, so to see this was not uncommon.  Normally, I would have been upset, but I felt good that day.
   " Hey man, let me ask you a question." he said. "Why do you have two earrings, man, don't you know you're only supposed to have one?"he asked with a smile, revealing yellow an and black teeth.
"I didn't know that, I guess I'm just cool like that." I replied.
" Well that's cool man ,hey man my name is Bobby look, now let me ask a question, are you a student here?"
" I sure am."
I knew this small talk would eventually lead to him asking me for money.
"Well that's great, no listen you don't think you could spare a couple of bucks, so I could eat 'cause I've been real hungry, and you know it's hard to get a bite."
"You're hungry ?"I inquired.
" Yeah, you know, I understand if you're a little short." he said.
"No ,no, you know what? I'll buy you some food."
The truth was that I had the money, his bloodshot eyes told me that my money would go to drugs. If he was really hungry I'd buy him food.
"Awe thanks man I really appreciate this, I know you're busy and all."
"It's no problem I'm glad to help." I kept telling him.
 
I had plenty of time before class, so we sat down and talked while he ate. He ate fast, so I knew he was hungry. We mostly talked about me. I told him about film school, and how I was chosen out of 4,000 applicants for this class. That at 18, I was the youngest person in the class. He congratulated me and told me how lucky I was. All he said about himself was that he was from Las Vegas and he used to play basketball. He seemed happy to listen to me talk, and frankly I was glad to talk about myself. For the last couple of months I had gotten nothing but praise and somehow it felt good to brag to homeless man about how talented I was.
After he finished I told him I had to get to class, and he thanked me over and over again .
" Take care Bobby."
" I will man I sure appreciate your help." He said.
"I'm glad to help." I told him. And I really was. I really got a good feeling from helping Bobby. I had stepped out of my comfort zone and i was proud of myself.

That night at class my professor Jerome praised my script. Jerome was tough and honest, and I his approval meant everything to me. Once again I felt great about myself. As I walked home I couldn't help but smile. But my happiness was brief. I saw Bobby curled up on the side walk fast asleep. It felt like I was hit in the stomach with I baseball bat. I just stood there and stared, and for a moment I contemplated waking him up and letting him stay at my place that night, but I couldn't. As I walked away, I felt like scum. Everything in my life was going great, and there Bobby was sleeping on the sidewalk. For the first time I saw Bobby as a human being, not as bum.
I didn't see Bobby for a few days. I was busy working on my film, so time was a problem.
 
 

It had been two weeks and I was walking to class with my friend Matt. I heard my name being yelled from across the street, and low and behold it was Bobby. He ran across with a smile on his face.
"Hey Chris, how you been man?" He said.
"I'm doing alright, are you taking care of yourself?"
"You know, I'm getting by. Who's this?" He pointed to Matt.
Matt seemed shocked that I would know a man like this.
" Oh this is Matt, you can call him Utah."
The truth is Matt is a 19 year old Mormon from Mapleton, Utah. The thought of touching a homeless man, let alone a black homeless man was unthinkable. He reluctantly shook Bobby's hand.

" Hey man, I hate to bother you guys, but I'm trying to get a bite, you think you could spare some cash?"
"No, No." Matt replied quickly.
"You know what Bobby? We've got some time c'mon I'll buy you lunch." I said.
"Awe thanks man I really appreciate that."
Matt gave me a cold stare. He could not understand why I would give this guy the time of day.
"Look it's only a couple of bucks, and he's a cool guy, you'll see." I told him.
As we ate, Bobby grilled Matt about everything. I think Bobby could tell Matt was uncomfortable, so questioning him was fun. When Matt told Bobby about his family Bobby opened up for the first time.
" I've got a brother, but I haven't seen him in a while, and both of my parents died when I was young. I've been an orphan all my life."
To me this was sad. Both Matt and I came from strong families, and I always considered my family to be my backbone. I couldn't imagine Bobby's situation. I was lucky.
 
 

As he ate more we all laughed and joked, and it seemed as if Matt was coming around. Bobby told us how he played college basketball for UNLV, and how drugs got in the way. He even told us he was still struggling with cocaine.
"Now Chris, when you're famous don't do drugs, it'll mess you up. I could of beat Michael Jordan, but I was too high."
I have never done drugs in my life, and after hearing Bobby talk I knew why.
After we were done Matt admitted to me that he was glad that he came with us.
" I wasn't too sure, but Bobby's a good guy." He confessed.
As the weeks went on we saw Bobby every Wednesday. No matter how busy we were, we would meet Bobby a half hour before class. He loved hearing about our films, and about all the movie premieres we were going to. It felt good to talk to Bobby and I really think he liked listening to us. Over and over again he told us how lucky we were, and how he wishes he could be us,. He even bought us lunch one day, even though we begged him not to.
" I really appreciate what you guys are doing for me, and when you get rich, you can remember your friend Bobby!"
He always managed to keep things light-hearted, and that was welcomed. Both Matt and I were under a lot of pressure, so to laugh and joke with Bobby felt good.

The summer was coming to an end and I had just finished editing my film. Matt was visiting his parents back home in Utah. I had gone to pick up a friend for the premiere of Rush Hour 2. As I was waiting outside her apartment, a homeless man approached me.
"Hey man, you know Bobby?" he asked.
" Yeah, yeah I do."
" He died last night."
"What?"
"Yeah someone shot him." he said coldly.
"What are you talking about, why." I replied exasperated.
" I don't know." And he walked away.

I was in total shock. There was no way this guy was telling the truth.
"He's a bum, he's lying." I told myself.
I didn't believe him. I went about my business as if nothing had ever happened. I fully expected to meet Bobby on Wednesday as usual.
But as Matt and I sat outside Burger King for 45 minutes we began to think maybe the man was telling the truth. We called the police, and they told us that he had indeed been murdered. I may only be 18, but I can tell you that that was the worst feeling of my life. I just could not believe it.
" How could I let myself become friends with a bum?" I thought.
"I was asking for this to happen, I deserve this pain." I told myself.
 

But as I lay in bed that night I cried, not for Bobby the bum, but for Clarence Robert Johnson. See the police officer had told me Bobby's real name, and then that same feeling came over as had the night I saw him sleeping on the sidewalk. He was a person, a brother, a son and a friend. The choices he had made in his life, and the situation he was in led him to be homeless. If I had been in his situation I could have been the same way. I realized how lucky I was. To be born into a good family, with strong morals and a steady income. Sure I had worked hard, but in any different circumstances and I might not even be here.
"You guys are so lucky, I wish I was in your shoes." Bobby would say.
And he was right. I have been unbelievably blessed, and because of Bobby I know that know.
 

I feel like I owe it to Bobby to make something of myself .I have been given so much, and I would be a fool to waste this. Thanks to Bobby I treat every day like a new day, and I try every day to live the way Bobby couldn't. Now I know it sounds cheesy, but Bobby changed me forever. No longer do I live for myself, but I live for those who believe in me and for those have helped me get here. Who knows, under different circumstances Bobby could have been better than Michael Jordan.

---

  Katie Schumer
When My Life Took a Curve
 
        It was Christmas Break when I jumped on my mom’s bed. “Hey Madre! Does my back look any different to you? It has been hurting a lot lately!”  She looked, then she gasped and called the doctor.
        I was diagnosed with scoliosis when I was eleven years old, it was by the school nurse who does the routine screening during the fifth grade.  I had followed up with the doctor every 4-6 months and getting x-rays once a year for the last three years. The
doctor had been saying it looked the same for the past 3 years, so I was not too worried, until my mother’s gasp.
        After a few minutes on hold, the receptionist picked up "Katie is not due to come
in until February."
        "Yeah, I know, but it looks worse. I think she should come in and get x-rays."
        "No.  We can send her some back strengthening exercise."
        "Okay send those to us." My mom hung up the phone frustrated.  She went straight to the phone book to find an orthopedist. The doctors office did send us a sheet of fill-in-the-blank back exercises. They were supposed to fill in how many reps, and how often to do each exercise. It would not of been very difficult for them to do, I would think. However, they sent the page to me with the blanks empty.
        My mom did find an orthopedist and made an appointment.  He wanted to see previous x-rays.  We went and got them.  We checked them out to see what my back looked like. My mom was devastated, I thought she might faint.  It was clear that my curvature had changed drastically over the last three years! It now was an ‘S’ shape,
instead of slightly curved.
        I do not remember going to this orthopedist except him looking at the x-rays and
saying, "Someone messed up, I can't hide that from you. Surgery is your only option."
        When we got to the orthopedist office he took more x-rays to see where the curve was at now.  He then sent us to see a specialist, Dr. Paul Palmer.
        Dr. Palmer is a tall, older gentlemen who looks like he has been a doctor for many years.  He is very experienced and has trained many doctors for scoliosis surgery, he is the best in his field.  During the January appointment, he re-evaluated my previous x-rays, finding the curves were larger than what the orthopedist and my family doctor said they were.  He also noticed that I had developed a rib rotation and that it was getting worse.After looking at the x-rays, he said that bracing should of have been done a long time ago and the only option now would be surgery.
        I was in eighth grade at the time, it was January and the second set of cheerleading tryouts were coming up fast.  I was already on the squad, but I wanted to be on the Core Squad,that was the squad that had the real outfits and looked like cheerleaders and was only for eighth graders.  I also had planned to play softball during that next summer, if I were to have surgery I would have to give it all up.  I was devastated. My surgery was set for March 18, 1997, the second day of spring break.  I still tried out for the core squad and I made it.  We had a full week of basketball games that we cheered for, and I got to
fly.  I was so happy and so sad at the same time, I made it, I got to do what I wanted to do on the squad but I had to give it all up the next week.
        We made another appointment later in January so my dad could talk to Dr. Palmer and understand what was going to happen. At this appointment he proceeded to tell us all that could go wrong.  I was sitting on the brown table with the paper cover, swinging my
legs, looking at the doctor, watching my parents, and looking at the pictures hanging on the wall over and over again.  Doctor Palmer was sitting on his rolling stool, his usual spot for all of my doctor appointments. He was flipping my chart open and closed almost as if
that would help him remember all that he needed to tell us.  My mom was sitting on the brown leather chair, against the wall next to the magazine rack.  My dad stood, propped against the wall, underneath a poster diagramming the spinal cord.
        I do not remember Dr. Palmer telling me that there could be serious complications, that I may need another surgery, or worse, become paralyzed or even die.  I do remember my dad telling my mom to get up because he needed to sit down.  I thought it was strange
how my dad needed to sit down.  He is a very strong person, I have only seen him cry once and that was many years later before I saw that.  I didn’t even ask why my Dad wanted the chair, I thought his legs were getting tired.  I don’t know why I never heard Dr. Palmer, I was in the same room, maybe it was me protecting me from the what ifs, and
the worrying my parents and my family would think of while I was having a 4 hour surgery.
        I was very positive going into surgery. The night before, my aunt braided my hair into two French braids.  I marked on the kitchen wall my height and took pictures. I was kind of excited, I was short and I was going to grow!  My sister and brother spent the night at the neighbors that night.  I had to be at Phoenix Children’s Hospital at 5:30 in the morning, and we did not want them to be up that early.  My  mom, dad, and I drove to the hospital, it was still dark out.  I was watching the headlights from the other cars on the freeway and waiting for the sun to rise.  The sky was starting to turn shades of pink and
purple as the sun crept over the horizon.
        We got to the hospital and waited for a few minutes.  I wasn’t very nervous, I wasn’t scared at all. I knew I would be okay and I would be better after surgery.  I still clutched on to my Cabbage Patch doll, and the bear angel that my aunt had given me the night before.  We went into an office to finish paper work and to get my wrist bands. The nurse was nice and happy, she gave my Cabbage Patch doll a wrist band as well as my bear angel,
        “So they wouldn’t get lost” she said, comforting my worries. Yes, I was more worried about losing my doll and bear then I was about me.
        I got my hospital gown on and laid in the bed.  The movie ‘Fox and Hound’ was on the TV for the boy next to me.  A doctor hooked electronic pads to my head to monitor my spinal cord to make sure there would be no nerve damage during surgery.  I remember him telling me that it was difficult with the braids, I laughed. A nurse was telling
me that she had to put the IV in my hand so I could get the anesthesia.  I was clutching onto my mom’s hand, while she took a picture of me screaming.  I don’t like being stabbed. That one hurt.  I think that was the first time I started to cry.  I do not remember a thing
after that.  According to my mom I started yelling.
        “No, I don’t want surgery.  Don’t do this, I don't want to go!” as they wheeled me into the surgery room.
        When I woke up I saw my mom standing over me, stroking my head, asking how I felt.  I nodded, my back was hurting, my face hurt, it felt swollen.  I could hardly keep my eyes open as I was wheeled down the hallway into my room.
        My surgery lasted for 3 1/2 hours.  I was out of the hospital in 5 days.  The nurses said I was the fastest recovering patient they have seen.  I was ready to go home, I missed my bed, my friends, school, and my family.  Most of my family visited me in the hospital, my brother couldn’t because he was too young, my mom stayed with me every night I was there.  Going home was difficult, driving in our tan mini van, every little bump hurt.  The speed bumps we had to go over were excruciating, I cried almost all the way home.  I made it home though.
        My brother, sister, two cousins and my aunt decorated the house and my room to welcome me home.  On the outside of the house there was a huge banner saying “WELCOME HOME MISS TALL WOMAN”  My brother was very proud of himself. He kept telling me, “I told them what to write on the banner outside, this balloon is from me, are you
OK? How tall are you now? Are you taller than Aunt Debby?”  He was my little brother,bouncing off the walls, excited to see me.
        I had more visitors while I was at home resting.  I did get to go back to school,near the end.  I had to get a back brace after surgery, and could only be out of it for four hours a day.  I planned the time out of my brace so I wouldn’t have to wear it to school.  I
have a 14 inch scar down the center of my back, my first experience of it was at my 8th grade pool party.  Some kids were whispering behind my back,
        “What is that from? Look! Gross!”
I tried not to let it bother me, I turned around and told them
        “I had back surgery in March.”
I deal with having two rods in my back everyday, I can’t slouch, I can’t even sit still for long periods of time without my back hurting.  It hurts to lay on my stomach and if I can, it is for less than five minutes at a time.  My right shoulder blade area hurts almost all of the time.  I have muscle spasms on the left side every once in a while.  My ribs are still rotated even though they fixed most of it.  My left rib sticks out farther than my right,this makes me very self-conscious and probably why having abs is important to me, it takes away the attention from my ribs.  Buying shirts and dresses are a pain, because
everything fits funny, and doesn’t lay right like it would on anybody else.  I wonder what would of have happened if I had wore a brace early on. Would I of been able to play softball and cheered through high school? Would I needed to have the surgery?  Even if I was braced I may still needed to have surgery, I will never know.  It makes me very upset that I never got the chance to find out.
        A few weeks after having surgery, I was watching the news.  One of the stories was about a boy from Colorado who was now paralyzed from the neck down because the doctors over-corrected his spine during the same surgery that I had.  It was then when I realized what Doctor Palmer was telling my parents and me in the room when my dad had
to sit down.  From this experience I learned that I am grateful to be alive and I want to be happy with who I am.  This made me realize how fortunate I am for what I can still do.  Sometimes being happy is difficult, especially when I think about things I can no longer
do. Then I remember the boy from Colorado and I try to look for the positives in everything, and know that it could always be worse.

---

Daniel Moody

God and Man on the Mountain
 

We continued up the winding path. In the bright sun, the path was barely visible. The ground was covered in rock and slight depressions of rocks with an occasional pile of rocks, left by a previous hiker, led the way. I heard occasional popping sounds, reminiscent of popping bubble wrap, as large, thorny brush attacked the foam ground pad that was protruding from my bag. After six miles we were exhausted, partly from the mental anguish of trying to stay on the right path, but mostly from the five miles of hiking that took us to an elevation of just above 6000 feet.
 

We were supposed to make it to villager peak that day, but we couldn’t go any farther. Our forty-pound packs grew heavier with each step, and we had found a spot that looked suitable for a campsite. We pitched our tent and collapsed under its shade.
 

Miles from the car and several thousand feet high, we had only each other for company. We provided each other’s strength to continue. And when five o’clock rolled around, we sat and broke bread together.
 

“That has to be Villager Peak, right there,” I said, pointing to a mountain about 500 yards off.
 

“Do you think so?” Tyler asked, examining the map.
 

“Yeah, that’s go to be it.” I walked over behind and looked on the map with him. We both smelled. After a day – a day so hot the rocks were sweating as they rolled toward the shade - hiking up the face of a mountain, our clothes were glued to our bodies with sweat. As I surveyed the map, I saw a series of tightly drawn lines indicated a canyon off to the East. I surveyed the surrounding area, and decided that we couldn’t be at Villager Peak. I was distraught.
 

“No, I’m sure that’s not Villager Peak, Dan. We’re not too far, though. I think that if we get up at 4, we should be able to make it to Rabbit Peak before the sun comes up.” Tyler replied as he stroked his long, unshaven, face. He spoke as if he was still my boss. Tyler had been my boss for several years, and although we had worked our separate jobs for at least a year, there was an air of authority and condescension in his voice.
 

“Do you think we’re going to have enough water? After making our dehydrated dinners, I’ve only got 2 quarts of water left. I don’t think we should have made ‘em.”
 

“If we didn’t make those dinners, now we’d be hungry.”
 

“Yeah, but we’d have water.”
 

“If we don’t have enough water, we’ll just turn around. We don’t have a choice at this point.
 

At four o’clock in the morning, we began our trek to Rabbit Peak. We each had one quart of water with us – half of our remaining water. At around 8 AM, as I took the last sip of water and Tyler finished his water, I could see the end. Rabbit Peak was just ahead, one final descent followed by the ascent to Rabbit Peak. We stopped at the base of Rabbit Peak and evaluated the situation.
 

“Can you make it?” Our feet had been dragging, Tyler had fallen a couple of times, and we were both dehydrated. I had to know if Tyler had the strength to continue.
 

“We’ve come this far, but we’re out of water. If we summit, we may not make it back. If you want to go, I’ll go.”
 

“Tyler, if you don’t want to go, I’ll hike up real quick and let you rest here.”
 

“If you’re going, I’m going.”
 

We had not come to call on the Lord, but we had climbed so close that is seems fitting that we did. As we stumbled back from the summit, both at varying degrees of heat exhaustion, I dropped to my knees. I prayed to God like I had never prayed to him in the past. “Grant me the strength to make it off this mountain alive. I promise that I will forever change my ways and live my life in you.”
 

I got up slowly; my life was in the hands of the Lord. 200 yards later, I heard Tyler: “I can’t believe it. Is that what I think it is?” Tyler began running and I followed.
 

Before us lay a water bottle with twelve ounces of sun-sanitized water. They were the hottest six ounces of water I ever tasted, but they were the six ounces of water that have forever sanitized my soul. Those six ounces of water were payment for the contract I had made with God just moments before.
 

We made it to the campsite, collected our gear, drank half of our remaining water, rested for five minutes, and continued towards the car. As we continued, I turned to Tyler and said, “Can you believe that we found that water? Especially after we had just finished talking with your dad yesterday about sun sanitizing water.”
 

“I know. You never thought a beer can full of water would be worth so much to you, huh? Why don’t you lead on the way down?”
 

And with that, we continued to the car. As I lead on, the trail was made clear and we didn’t waste any time trying to find it. And although there were only two of us, I could almost hear three sets of footsteps and it felt like we had another person with us the entire time – someone who was leading the way and keeping us company. Tyler and I had started with only each other for company and we had relied on ourselves to find the way, but now our lives were in the hands of a higher power.
 

Had enough water been in my body, a tear would have run down my cheek when we finally made it to the Promised Land – a 1997 Toyota 4-runner sitting back at sea level. We had left it only thirty-eight hours earlier at the start of what ended up being a trying journey up a mountain. I couldn’t believe that we had made it.