Thoughts From Elliot Bay: Editorial

by Anna Forbes

Pioneer Square stands as one of the oldest districts in Seattle, and it also houses my new favorite bookstore, Elliot Bay Books. This old brick building and I were recently introduced by my best friend Emily. We pulled open the front double doors and stepped onto the creaky hardwood floor, at which point I was already captivated. After looking at stationery and the Staff Favorites section, she brought me to the dimly-lit café in the basement. I studied the posters that hung on the brick walls while a man with dreds and tattoos made my hazelnut Americano. This was Seattle.
I sipped my hot drink and scanned the wooden bookshelves, amazed at the size of the bookstore and the amount of information contained within its walls. Lately I’ve been lingering at the Biography and Religion sections. I suppose it’s because at my age, I’m making decisions that will set a pattern for the rest of my life, and I find some sort of inspiration from knowing how other people lived and how I ought to.
These past few months, I’ve thought a lot about my generation’s reputation. Let’s face it: many of us don’t know how to grow up, and quite frankly, we’re scared to. Sometimes I almost feel frozen in place, knowing I don’t want to go back in time but hesitant to step forward, uncertain of where I’ll land. I’m afraid to make the wrong choice, but I think that not making a decision is nearly the same as making the wrong one.
On the shelves in front of me sat the stories of Winston Churchill, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther and Saint Augustine. Each of these remarkable men was at many points afraid of what the future would hold and wondered what would result from their decisions. Their fear didn’t stop them from doing what they had to. Churchill said this: “Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.” Such optimism in his words!
I stood there for several moments, mulling over these thoughts, and something in me changed. Ironically, I became aware of another choice. I can choose to take responsibility for my actions and take steps toward making things happen in my life, or I can wait on others to pick up the slack for me and straggle through life riding on everyone else’s accomplishments. As I see it now, that is what I’m choosing between. Personally, I would rather chase my dreams as hard as I can and see where God allows me to go with them. The adventure of this is so much greater than living a predictable life where no risks are taken simply for safety’s sake.
The pages of the books I looked at were black and white with words describing the fascinating lives of people who achieved great things with their efforts. They were not afraid to live with fear. They saw fear as the wind at their back; it wasn’t a wall to climb over. These great people embraced maturity and became adults capable of making good decisions. I am almost 22 years old and must do all I can to place myself in that same position.
Right now I’m drifting somewhere between childhood and adulthood, and although it seems like an endless fog right now, it won’t last long. We will all be something, and that will become clear soon enough. So whether you mentor children with special needs, start your own business, clean people’s teeth, or take beautiful pictures, do something that’s worth writing a book about.

Poetry: Issue 2

The Day's End

by Anna Forbes

Stubborn eyelids drop

The rumpled quilt, my magic rug,

Flies me to my dreams.

Shadows

by Allegra Weaver

Regrets, like a flock

Of errant, tawdry blackbirds

Hang over my head.

Letting Go

by Cheryl Hutchison

Tight is my fist

These knuckles are white

Clinging to the dearest things of all

Why must it be so hard

to believe you?

Is it difficult?

I mean your love,

It wraps around me

in a sheet of silk.

Your joy is a

bike ride down hill

in summer dusk with a hint of rain

Surrender is complete

One finger uncurls

Like a rose in the sun

My hand opens to you

A white dove then flies

Away free forever in your sky

Cynicism

by Jared Thornton

The meek and the weak; the big and the strong

Good and Evil; Right and Wrong

Have been debated for so long

The reason why many have gone

Out of control and out of line,

Act just like they've lost their minds

Irrational actions all the time

Never using thoughts divine

Trusting in the heat they pack

And the dividends they stack

The weight of the world is on their back

And true hope is what they lack…

Birthday for Evie: A Short Story

By Anna Forbes

Evie scrambled into her car-seat and reached for the seatbelt, but Dad found it first and winked as he handed it to her. She had been excited for this all week. Dad was taking us to the park for her eighth birthday. This would be the best part of her day. Evie loved to be outside so much more than inside. The indoors made her think of the dreaded school and books. Evie had moved to the first grade this year after two years of kindergarten, lots of testing and special tutors. She was one of the oldest in her class, but by far the smallest.
We arrived at the park, and I hopped out into the cold wind. I zipped up my jacket and waited for Dad to help Evie with hers.
“Look up, Evie. We don’t want your chin to catch in the zipper.”
Evie always got her chin caught in the zipper, and it always left a mark. She ran ahead of us to the playground, but paused several times to make sure we were still coming. Her small, delicate face lit up as she pumped her frail legs to swing. Something in her eyes seemed hollow. Her bobbed hair whipped across her face in the strong wind. Evie was blissful. She didn’t have to think or talk. She could just enjoy the simple moment all by herself. I often wished she would take me with her to the places in her mind.
Dad and I watched her for a minute, and then he suggested we race. He knew how I loved to run and that I loved racing against him. I secretly knew he could win, but I always said I would out-run him one day. I bent over and set my fingers in the cold grass, ready for the signal. Dad crouched next to me, and I prepared myself for his pranks. He said “Go!” and my legs flew, two strides for every one of his. Tears streamed down my cheeks as my eyes reacted to the rush of cold wind. He let me get ahead of him, but I knew what was coming. His fingers gripped my waist, and we fell to the ground in a mound of bulky coats and laughter.
Catching our breath, we sat up to see Evie standing on the edge of the sand, with her hands on her hips and disappointment written across her face. Dad knew she felt left out, so we challenged her to a race. We took off running to the other end of the field. Soon I was leading with no one behind me. I stopped and turned to see where everyone had gone.
A look of horror covered Evie’s face. Those once hollow eyes were now filled with fear and confusion. I quickly understood the situation. Her delicate frame couldn’t run against the wind, and the harder she ran, the more she was blown back. Seeing us fade farther away was more than she could handle. She couldn’t understand why she was being abandoned, and she screamed because she didn’t know what else to do. She wasn’t fast enough to catch us, but to turn around would be going farther away from us.
Dad ran to her and knelt down so his eyes were looking straight into hers. His thumb wiped her tears away, and he scooped her into his strong arms and carried her to the car.
I slowly walked back, wishing Evie was normal. Then everyday things like footraces wouldn’t be turned into disasters. I sat next to her in the car and watched her sad face. Tears clouded her eyes until she went to sleep; then her nap was interrupted only by a hiccup and a sigh. She had looked so helpless and vulnerable out there on the field. I thought about the world from her perspective: cold and unforgiving, with no one to understand.
No one but Dad. He was her rescuer. He had protected her from so much and had never spoken a word of disapproval or frustration. He did that for both of us, and we loved him.