Gia Morris and Mazzy Stark placed in the top 15% of over 12,000 received memoirs in the annual 100-Word Personal Narrative Contest for teenagers held by the “New York Times.”
Morris and Stark are students in the Bard Early College Hudson Valley program at Dutchess BOCES’ Career & Technical Institute and are in Professor Jeff Roda’s The Art and Craft of Memoir class.
Both are seniors at Roy C. Ketcham High School in Wappingers Falls.
Morris’ short piece, “Butt Dial,” focused on her grandmother who had passed away from breast cancer. Morris shared the grief of not keeping contact regularly with her grandmother due to her working nonstop in her first job to keep money in her pockets.
“When I found out about her death, all I wanted to do was call her,” said Morris. “I wanted for her to pick up the phone and tell me everything was going to be okay, but alas reality hit. Writing this memory in particular was meant to give me closure. Closure in the fact that sometimes life happens and you can do nothing but learn from your mistakes.”
Stark wrote “Atrocity Exhibition,” where he recalls his regrets for squashing a sand flea between his fingers on the beach about eight years ago.
“When brainstorming different ideas, the memory of killing this sand flea popped into my head. I was never one to do things without reason, especially not hurting something living,” he said.
“I remember so strongly the regret that I felt for killing that bug. But, that moment in my life was also a joyous one, I used to love running on the beach with my dad. I think the combination of a moment of glee mixed with the realization of mortality that I faced when I killed that flea, comes across to create a really lovely, heartbreaking, and human moment.”
Read the memoirs below:
“Butt Dial” by Gia Morris
My phone rang from the table. My Grandmother’s name lit the screen. I picked it up.
“Hello?” Shuffles came from the opposite side of the phone. Her muffled voice coming through, directed at someone else. “Butt dial again,” I muttered, hanging up and going back to my homework.
Two weeks later we were driving to her funeral. Guilt flowed through my body the entire car ride. Questioning how long ago our last conversation was. Wondering if she died knowing I loved her.
Looking at her in her casket I wished for nothing more than one more butt dial.
“Atrocity Exhibition” by Mazzy Stark
The wind bit our skin as we ran along the coast. I abandoned my dad in the storm as I ducked for cover, hunkering down into the sand dunes. Small, bouncing flecks scoured the landscape. Sand fleas. How can such little bugs survive in this desolate place? I spotted a plus-sized flea, captured it, and squashed it between my fingers.
“Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know.”
Tears rushed from my eyes.
Why would I take that flea’s life?
I thought about that flea for months after.
I don’t kill bugs anymore.