Student Work: "Return Home"

Return Home

by

Eva Bey, age  8

            I open the door and it is dark outside. My dog Baily barks like an opera singer and runs, her ears flapping like a bird’s wings. I yell, “Baily!”

            I run as fast as I can in slippers, but I can’t run very fast in them. The gravel feels crumbly under my feet. I hear cars on the highway. It sounds loud and fast like the shushing of a big fan.

            I can’t see the glow of the flood light on my house anymore. All I can see are the lights on the passing cars.

            I imagine Baily whimpering, tires squealing against the road, and the honking of a car horn, and I shudder.

            Then I hear a wolf howling and I think that if I don’t find Baily, the wolves might get her.

            I remember when I got lost in the woods while exploring last year. I had gone to look for arrowheads. I like to collect them because American Indians used them. That day I found three: one I found after my shoe fell off and I stepped on the sharp tip; another one I found on top of the leaves; and the last I found when I fell down and it was there beside me in the dirt. After I began walking home and felt as if I were going in circles, I realized I was lost. I walked and walked until I could no longer search for home anymore. I looked at the arrowheads in my hand and sat down. I wondered what the American Indians would have done to find their way home. I just wanted to be home.

            Suddenly, I hear Baily whimpering from the direction of the road. I yell, “Baily!” I can see Baily when the headlights on a car shine on her. I see that she is crouching in the middle of the road on the yellow line. In the instant, I feel that if the car hits Baily, I will never feel at home again. It’s as if I will be lost in the woods forever, lost the way the American Indians must have been when they could not return home.

            I wave my arms like tree limbs in the wind, but the car doesn’t slow down. Baily freezes as the headlights reflect on her fur. I run and pick her up and run back to the grass as the car honks, tires squealing. The car whizzes by, going so fast that it is gone from sight in a few seconds.

            I hold Baily like a baby. She is shaking, but I know she feels at home. I am home.

The End

This story first appeared in The Story Hatchery anthology last year.