The "Editor's Corner" features work created by the Morning Glory's editorial staff.
Featured here: "Will You Miss Me?" by Amelia Tracey, and "The Dreamer" "Absolem" and "The Creature" by Aubrey Zambrano
Will you Miss me?
by Ameila Tracey
by Ameila Tracey
“Hi.”
You turn around to see a small girl with a shirt that was so bright you thought about needing to grab a pair of sunglasses. Her teeth were unfortunately large. You were sure some people found it endearing, but you certainly were not one of them.
“Hi.” You respond.
“Where are you going?” Her head tilts inquisitively, hazel eyes looking over at the overstuffed boxes behind you.
“School.”
She nods to herself and shuffles her feet. “I haven't started yet. I start on the 18th.”
You nod. Not quite sure why you are still hearing her voice. It's high and loud and slightly piercing. But for some reason, you find her presence soothing (but mostly aggravating). All you want is to load the car and leave.
“It's one day before my birthday.”
Oh. Even you can acknowledge that's an awful time to start school because nobody will wish you a-
“Happy birthday because nobody will even KNOW it's my birthday.” The girl finished your thought as she dramatically fell onto your bed. Her stringy brown hair falls around her in a halo of tangles as her next words are muffled through the sheets she lies face down in. “And I can't tell people it’s my birthday because that's soooo weird.”
Her energy is contagious and irritating but you can't help but smile to yourself. “Why don't you mention it in passing?” It's evident this girl craves attention. Not because she didn't seem to get any, but simply because she seemed desperate to appease and be approved of.
Her face turns up from the sheets. “In passing?”
“Ya, casually.” You respond. “You can just mention it.” The girl abruptly sat up on the bed and nodded to herself.
“That's a good idea.” She was now looking at your books behind you. “Are you taking those to school?”
“No, I have read them already.” The girl nodded again and scratched her elbow. “Could I have them? Wait! When do you start school?”
“The 22nd.” You were getting used to her boisterous presence.
The girl's jaw dropped. “That's an almost worse time to start. Because then your birthday is right before school, so you can't have a party and who cares.”
You look at her and can't help but chuckle to yourself. She is familiar to you. “Well I had a get together with some friends, but most of them couldn't show up. So that's true.”
“Did you invite a boy?” She dragged out the word boy and giggled.
Your face hardens and you turn away, trying to find something to do with your hands. You settle on stacking the boxes filled with clothes. You will be unstacking them in a few minutes.
“We broke up.”
The girl gasps and throws herself back into lying down on the bed. Her hands cup her face as if she is posing for stock images. She kicks her feet excitedly. “Tell me everything.”
“I broke up with him yesterday because he liked another girl and didn't tell me.”
The gleam in the girl's eyes brightened. It suddenly became very clear to you that she was going to tell everybody. This bit of news was a treat she couldn't wait to share. And as an oldest sister, sharing didn't come easily to her. “What?! Did you hit him?!” She clearly wanted you to say you had.
You had not. You shook your head. “Did you cry?” Her face twisted into a new expression. She seemed genuine and concerned for you.
“No.” (Only a little.) You turn around with a small smile on your face and wink at her. “But he did.”
The girl's jaw is on the floor. She stares at you with awe and whispers. “Really?”
You nod. She laughs. “Good job. That's really cool. I've never seen a boy cry, except for one time I accidentally hit Marcus in the face with a tetherball, and he started crying because his nose was bleeding, and it was so awkward because he's kind of cute even though his face looks like an oval, and his hair is the same color as dead dirt.”
“Well, did you say sorry?”
She stares at you as if that is the stupidest question she has ever been asked. “Of course not! Then he would know that I was the one who did it.”
“But you were.”
“But I LIKE him.” Very solid argument for not wanting to admit to hitting a boy in the face with a tetherball.
The two of you are quiet for a moment. You begin to move your boxes closer to the door. She watches you as if the words she wants to ask simply cannot be held back for a second longer.
“Will you miss me?”
You turn around, and when you do, you are surprised to find that she is crying. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Well you forgot me didn't you? I can tell.”
“What makes you say that?”
You spent every day with this girl. You were with her through crush confessions and first kisses. You were with her through bad haircuts and new makeup. You were with her through tears and laughter. You were with her in auditions and final bows. You were with her at parties, and trying peach vodka, and truth or dare. You were with her in breakups and makeups and new friendships. You were with her in libraries, and dance studios, and classrooms, and new houses, and old abandoned attics, and forests, and beaches, and so many schools. And now she was here with you as you packed.
“You do know you are coming with me right?”
She looks up with a small tear staining her face. “Am I?”
“Well of course. Not all of you. But I need you with me.”
She smiled, but you watched another tear fall out of her eyes. Goodness her teeth really were large.
“Why did you ask me if I forgot you?” You are confused. How could you ever forget the root of who you are?
“My name. Nobody calls you by my name anymore.”
You step toward her and put your hands onto your knees. Leaning forward so you are eye level. You see her baby hairs that never even had a chance of staying in her half up hairstyle, her splotchy pink cheeks, her small gap on her bottom row of teeth.
“Amalka. You and I are the same. I want you to come with me, but I want to see who I can be with only the best of you. Do you understand?”
She looks at you and finally sees who she becomes in your face. She smiles. She nods. You wipe her tears. “I know who you are.”
She laughs. And so do you.
You turn away so she can't see you sniffle. You reach for the car keys on your desk and when you turn around, she is gone.
You slowly push all the boxes outside your bedroom door and get ready to carry them down the stairs. You look back to see some half empty shelves, some old books, and dusty pink sheets. The little girl isn't there anymore, but as you look to your side you see the mirror occasionally tucked behind your bedroom door.
You go by a name with three letters, and your teeth fit your face, and you have some blemishes you didn't have before. And yet, you still see her.
In fact, you don't even have to try all that hard to do so.
Your mom calls for you. It's time to leave.
You close your bedroom door.
You turn around to see a small girl with a shirt that was so bright you thought about needing to grab a pair of sunglasses. Her teeth were unfortunately large. You were sure some people found it endearing, but you certainly were not one of them.
“Hi.” You respond.
“Where are you going?” Her head tilts inquisitively, hazel eyes looking over at the overstuffed boxes behind you.
“School.”
She nods to herself and shuffles her feet. “I haven't started yet. I start on the 18th.”
You nod. Not quite sure why you are still hearing her voice. It's high and loud and slightly piercing. But for some reason, you find her presence soothing (but mostly aggravating). All you want is to load the car and leave.
“It's one day before my birthday.”
Oh. Even you can acknowledge that's an awful time to start school because nobody will wish you a-
“Happy birthday because nobody will even KNOW it's my birthday.” The girl finished your thought as she dramatically fell onto your bed. Her stringy brown hair falls around her in a halo of tangles as her next words are muffled through the sheets she lies face down in. “And I can't tell people it’s my birthday because that's soooo weird.”
Her energy is contagious and irritating but you can't help but smile to yourself. “Why don't you mention it in passing?” It's evident this girl craves attention. Not because she didn't seem to get any, but simply because she seemed desperate to appease and be approved of.
Her face turns up from the sheets. “In passing?”
“Ya, casually.” You respond. “You can just mention it.” The girl abruptly sat up on the bed and nodded to herself.
“That's a good idea.” She was now looking at your books behind you. “Are you taking those to school?”
“No, I have read them already.” The girl nodded again and scratched her elbow. “Could I have them? Wait! When do you start school?”
“The 22nd.” You were getting used to her boisterous presence.
The girl's jaw dropped. “That's an almost worse time to start. Because then your birthday is right before school, so you can't have a party and who cares.”
You look at her and can't help but chuckle to yourself. She is familiar to you. “Well I had a get together with some friends, but most of them couldn't show up. So that's true.”
“Did you invite a boy?” She dragged out the word boy and giggled.
Your face hardens and you turn away, trying to find something to do with your hands. You settle on stacking the boxes filled with clothes. You will be unstacking them in a few minutes.
“We broke up.”
The girl gasps and throws herself back into lying down on the bed. Her hands cup her face as if she is posing for stock images. She kicks her feet excitedly. “Tell me everything.”
“I broke up with him yesterday because he liked another girl and didn't tell me.”
The gleam in the girl's eyes brightened. It suddenly became very clear to you that she was going to tell everybody. This bit of news was a treat she couldn't wait to share. And as an oldest sister, sharing didn't come easily to her. “What?! Did you hit him?!” She clearly wanted you to say you had.
You had not. You shook your head. “Did you cry?” Her face twisted into a new expression. She seemed genuine and concerned for you.
“No.” (Only a little.) You turn around with a small smile on your face and wink at her. “But he did.”
The girl's jaw is on the floor. She stares at you with awe and whispers. “Really?”
You nod. She laughs. “Good job. That's really cool. I've never seen a boy cry, except for one time I accidentally hit Marcus in the face with a tetherball, and he started crying because his nose was bleeding, and it was so awkward because he's kind of cute even though his face looks like an oval, and his hair is the same color as dead dirt.”
“Well, did you say sorry?”
She stares at you as if that is the stupidest question she has ever been asked. “Of course not! Then he would know that I was the one who did it.”
“But you were.”
“But I LIKE him.” Very solid argument for not wanting to admit to hitting a boy in the face with a tetherball.
The two of you are quiet for a moment. You begin to move your boxes closer to the door. She watches you as if the words she wants to ask simply cannot be held back for a second longer.
“Will you miss me?”
You turn around, and when you do, you are surprised to find that she is crying. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Well you forgot me didn't you? I can tell.”
“What makes you say that?”
You spent every day with this girl. You were with her through crush confessions and first kisses. You were with her through bad haircuts and new makeup. You were with her through tears and laughter. You were with her in auditions and final bows. You were with her at parties, and trying peach vodka, and truth or dare. You were with her in breakups and makeups and new friendships. You were with her in libraries, and dance studios, and classrooms, and new houses, and old abandoned attics, and forests, and beaches, and so many schools. And now she was here with you as you packed.
“You do know you are coming with me right?”
She looks up with a small tear staining her face. “Am I?”
“Well of course. Not all of you. But I need you with me.”
She smiled, but you watched another tear fall out of her eyes. Goodness her teeth really were large.
“Why did you ask me if I forgot you?” You are confused. How could you ever forget the root of who you are?
“My name. Nobody calls you by my name anymore.”
You step toward her and put your hands onto your knees. Leaning forward so you are eye level. You see her baby hairs that never even had a chance of staying in her half up hairstyle, her splotchy pink cheeks, her small gap on her bottom row of teeth.
“Amalka. You and I are the same. I want you to come with me, but I want to see who I can be with only the best of you. Do you understand?”
She looks at you and finally sees who she becomes in your face. She smiles. She nods. You wipe her tears. “I know who you are.”
She laughs. And so do you.
You turn away so she can't see you sniffle. You reach for the car keys on your desk and when you turn around, she is gone.
You slowly push all the boxes outside your bedroom door and get ready to carry them down the stairs. You look back to see some half empty shelves, some old books, and dusty pink sheets. The little girl isn't there anymore, but as you look to your side you see the mirror occasionally tucked behind your bedroom door.
You go by a name with three letters, and your teeth fit your face, and you have some blemishes you didn't have before. And yet, you still see her.
In fact, you don't even have to try all that hard to do so.
Your mom calls for you. It's time to leave.
You close your bedroom door.
The Dreamer
by Aubrey Zambrano
by Aubrey Zambrano
Absolem
by Aubrey Zambrano
by Aubrey Zambrano
The Creature
by Aubrey Zambrano
by Aubrey Zambrano
Header Photo Credit: Aubrey Zambrano and Amelia Tracey