The grassy hillside hid the beach from view, thank God. Leni couldn’t see the curl of pebbled stone and crushed shells, or the blanket Matthew had carried over. Nor could she see Matthew. He was well below the crest of the hill between the cabin and the beach.
She clasped the bone heart around her neck, felt its sharp point burrow into her palm.
“Don’t do that again, Red. You know better. The bears are dangerous this time of year. I almost grabbed my gun and came looking for you.”
PERSONAL STATEMENT
by Lenora Allbright
“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”
If you knew me, you wouldn’t be surprised at all that I start my college essay off with a quote from Tolkien. Books are the mile markers of my life. Some people have family photos or home movies to record their past. I’ve got books. Characters. For as long as I can remember, books have been my safe place. I read about places I can barely imagine and lose myself in journeys to foreign lands to save girls who didn’t know they were really princesses.
Only recently have I learned why I needed those faraway worlds.
I was taught by my father to be afraid of the world, and some of the lessons stuck. I read about Patty Hearst and the Zodiac Killer and the massacre at the Munich Olympics and Charles Manson, and I knew the world was a terrifying place. He said it all of the time, reminded me that mountains could blow up and kill people in their sleep. Governments were corrupt. A flu could come out of nowhere and kill millions. A nuclear bomb could fall at any second, obliterating everything.
I learned to shoot the head off of a paper target while on the run. I have a bug-out bag full of survival supplies by my front door. I can start a fire with flint and put a gun together blindfolded. I know how to adjust a gas mask for the perfect fit. I have grown up preparing for a war or anarchy or worldwide tragedy.
But none of it is true. Or it’s true but not the truth, which is the kind of distinction adults make.
My parents left Washington State when I was thirteen. We came to Alaska and forged a subsistence life in the bush. I love it. I do. I love the harsh, uncompromising beauty of Alaska. I love the women most of all, women like my neighbor, Large Marge, who used to be a lawyer and now runs a grocery store. I love how tough she is and how compassionate. I love how my mom, who is as fragile as a fern frond, has still managed to survive out here in a climate designed to destroy her.
I love all of it, and I love this state that has given me a place to belong, a home, but it’s time for me to leave the homestead and make my own way, to learn about the real world.
That’s why I want to go to college.
*
IN THE DAYS AFTER that night on the beach, Leni became a thief, invisible when she wanted to be. It was an illusion she’d practiced all of her life, and now, as she became a stealer of time, it served her well.
She also became a liar. Straight-faced, even smiling, she lied to her father to steal the time she needed. There was a test to be taken early—at least an hour—a field trip that would keep her at school late. A research project that required her to take the skiff to the library in Seldovia. She met Matthew in the woods, in the shadowy stacks at Large Marge’s store, or in the abandoned cannery. In class, they were always touching under the desk. They celebrated his birthday together after school, sitting on the dock behind an aging metal boat.
It was wonderful, exhilarating. She learned things no book had ever taught her—how falling in love felt like an adventure, how her body seemed to change at his touch, the way her armpits ached after an hour of holding him tightly, how her lips puffed and chapped from his kisses, and how his rough beard-growth could burn her skin.
Stolen time became the engine that powered her world; on weekends, when hours without Matthew stretched out before her, she felt an almost unbearable need to leave the homestead, run to him, find a way to steal just ten more minutes.
The specter of school’s end cast a long shadow. Today, when Leni slid into her desk at school, she looked at Matthew and almost started to cry.
He reached across the desk, took her hand in his. “Are you okay?”
Leni couldn’t help thinking how small they were in this big dangerous world, just kids who wanted to be in love.
Ms. Rhodes clapped her hands at the front of the room, demanded attention. “There’s only a week of school left, and I thought it would be a good day for a boat ride and a hike. So, everyone, grab your coats and let’s go.”