Jenny stands, lawnmower still whipping, grass stained palms folded over her mouth. I can see her bright green eyes fixed on the ground through her plastic safety glasses. I follow them to the grass, to a slowly rotating hind leg, barely attached to a slowly dying adolescent bunny bleeding, fading out. The leg turns slower as I walk closer; like a dog running in a dream gradually returning to reality. I kneel down and follow the curve of the disemboweled intestine over its back, disappearing into the grass. I can almost see the swift mower blade take a swipe and separate flesh from baby bone in my mind.

My eyes follow the circling rabbits foot like the blade of a ceiling fan that has just been clicked off. Winding down, round and around until suddenly it stops, stiffening in mid circle.
Frozen in terror, it seemed as though the baby bunny had prematurely expired of the power to move. As if he was trying to say, “I meant to run,” after the fact, with his hauntingly mechanical rotating phantom of a leg.

Luciana, 23

Winter, 2007

The drive to the beach is different in the winter. There was not a single grain of sand in sight, only an endless blanket of heavy snow melting into the water. I hopped out of the car in my tennis shoes, instantly burying them in the snow drift as I ran towards the swing set. Mitch followed. No snow had accumulated on the seats, as if someone had just been sitting there. I squeezed my adult bottom into a child-sized swing and swung my legs back and forth. It  felt awkward with my long legs that dragged on the icy ground trying to get a rhythm going. Mitch sat on the swing next to me, facing in the opposite direction. Slowly, our swings became synchronized and we swung on in silence, the only sound was the creaking of the chains that held them.
“Who does this? Goes on the swings like an idiot in the middle of winter in the dark? This is so sweet!” Mitch smiled.
I froze, legs askew and limp over the edge of the swing seat like a rag doll. I looked over at my friend.
“One of Sam’s many phrases.”
“So sweet?”
“Mmm hm.”
Mitch paused, looking out into the sheets of thick snowflakes that continued to fall.
“When we do weird stuff like this, I feel like he’s here with us.”
“I know.”
“Like he would have been totally up for this strangeness.”
I smiled, swinging slightly.
“Do you want to go see what the lake looks like?”
“Absolutely.” I could barely see anything through the snow shower. I slowed the swing down with my left leg, dragging it through the ice underneath me. When I had stopped completely, I sat for a moment, staring out into the white nothingness. A big, lone snowflake separated from the masses and kissed my cheek. I smiled, squeezed the chains of the swing one last time, and followed Mitch towards the lake.

Luciana, 20

Joey needed bedding. Hamster bedding, blue this time. I chose Chow Hound over Petco because they have adoptable cats there to pet. They had a little black cat on the tether that day who got to roam semi free for awhile whilst all the other cats in their little cubicles look on in jealousy, until it’s their time on the tether. I tried to pick her up but when I held her she reached back towards her bed with her little paws, and I let her down. Two little girls started walking in my direction, towards the cats. Kids freak me out, so I made my way towards the hamster supply aisle which was my main reason for the trip. Sorry, Joey, they were all out of blue. I picked out a pretty light yellow, although I can’t imagine that he cared; I’m pretty sure hamsters are colorblind. I walked up to the checkout. There was a woman ahead of me buying dog food, and another ahead of her buying a bag of crickets and a 50 pack of mealworms. She was the mother of the two girls that came in to see the cats. I can’t imagine what kind of pet they had at home. A lizard of some kind? A snake? It just seemed odd for that little peaceful family. I looked at the bag of crickets. They were jumping around the bubble bag like popping corn. What a terrible way to go, I thought. Live your life in a bag and then get put in a cage for a death match you’re not going to win. Awful. Finally it was my turn at the checkout.

“Did you find everything ok?”
“Mmmhm, thanks.”
“Do you have a couple of hamsters?”
“Just the one.” I smiled at the thought of my little buddy and his chubby white cheeks.
“Yeah, one of ours ate the other last night.”
“Umm…what?”
“Yeah, Violeta ate Seeds last night.”
Violeta what? Seeds who? Since when are hamsters cannibalistic? “That’s terrible!”
“Yeah, but it’s fair. Seeds ate Pookie before Violeta ate him.”
I stared blankly at the cashier as eternity passed by.
“Yup well ok have a good day.”
“Yeah…you too,” she quickly handed me the bag of bedding and awkwardness.

“Joe-Joe!” Back at home, I smiled and stuck my hand in the dwarf hamster’s cage. He poked his little head out from underneath his new yellow bedding. “Hey bud bud! You miss me?” He sniffed my vulnerable fingertip with his tiny pink nose, then bit me full force, with his pointy buck teeth.  I withdrew my hand in horror, wondering whether he was just irritable…or tasting me.

Luciana, 20 (April 23, 2008)

One
Six
Seven
Zero
Eighty
Fourth
Avenue

We moved out into the country when I was five, and that was the first thing I was expected to learn. It took my brother mere minutes to lock our address and phone number into his photographic vault of a memory. Something I will never have. My mom would ask me every day if I knew what our address was. I was busy being present at said address. Racing around the barns, chasing cats, playing in the woods behind the farm. I remembered nothing.

She then thought a safety video might be a good idea. This tutorial was a stranger-danger video, and suddenly it wasn’t just about an address. Those numbers were the key to safety. The world was rife with strangers. Fires. Guns.

NINE
ONE
ONE
(That much I knew)

There was a song in the video that kept repeating; “Know-Your In-side Information.” I don’t know if it was the tone in which they sang it, the loud, early 90’s graphics or the scenarios where kids died by fire, kidnapping or violent intruder because they didn’t know how to call 911 and tell the operator where they needed help…but I became terrified of this “inside information.” I felt that if I never learned it, I would never need it.

If the song had been more along the lines of, “Trust your gut,” I would have understood. One day some time later, when I was patiently watching for frogs to pop up in the small creek at the end of our driveway, I looked up to see an old car drive creep past, circle around the dead end of the road I lived on, and slow to a stop across the creek from me. The window was down, and the driver was an older, scruffy man. He spoke to me, asking directions to a place I can’t remember.

What kind of adult needs directions from a child?

“I don’t know.”
“I have a map. Can you come over here and show me?”
I was standing now, wondering if he would dare enter the driveway.
“I don’t know,” I repeated.
“Just come over here.” He grinned at me, and his teeth were the last straw. I pictured him throwing me into the back of his car. The knot in my stomach was on fire, and I turned to run. There was a back door to the house but I wasn’t sure if it was unlocked. I ran all the way through the grass to the front, up the cement stairs and through the front door, locking it behind me. When I looked out the window, the car had disappeared. No video had ever taught me to do that.

You can be book smart, and know your ‘inside information,’ or you can be street smart, and trust your gut, knowing that bad things are going to happen no matter what.

Luciana, 23