or just great kill mom me. and dad, You must Julie. have a HAIKU Oh, |! almost forgot!'’ she added. ‘Karen's having a party Friday night. Bring Don and come.” ‘Sounds fun,"’ Julie said, trying to sound Silhouetted confident. Just then the bell rang and the class was dismissed. Julie really didn't have studies and she.wondered what to do for lunch. “I'll just walk home and get.a sandwich,'' she thought and headed toward the parking lot where she always cut through. As she opened the heavy, glass door, she tried to keep herself from looking for Don's car, but she couldn't help it. She scanned the first row of cars slowly — dark blue, black, white, red . . . no light blue cars on the front row. Her eyes caught the back fender of a light blue chev. Walking rushing as she hugged by Colleen branch Meandering into Stretch ing, black sky, spider. JAPANESE TRANSLATION by Masayasu Noguchi RO RE ‘2A a4 DILL 5 slowly, out further, she saw the whole car and Don sitting behind the wheel. He was looking her way and when _ their eyes met, Julie ran to the car and slid into the leather seat. They both sat quietly for a moment until finally Don reached over and pulled her toward him. They kissed softly, and Julie felt Don's strong arms around her, shutting out the rest of the world and her thoughts of the consequences of disobeying her father's order. In the weeks after their wedding, Julie couldn't remember much of the night when they had told their parents they wanted to get married, but she knew she'd never forget the hurt, blank stares in her father's eyes as he shook Don's hand. Her mother cried a little, but hugged them both and tried to seem happy. Don's parents were very polite and welcomed Julie into their family, but she could feel the same violent current .of emotion, THE PRESENT Emily Fowers just beneath the surface, her new father-in-law. | AM A PERSON NOT A RACE Sherrie Mendoza | am My a person, not a race. skin may be brown, red or yellow, But | am a person, not black, the wall!'’ his teacher, Miss Ross said. ‘I'm almost done, Miss Ross,"’ he an- race. swered. The other children in the class had finished their assignments and were working on their mother's presents. Today was Friday and Mother's Day was this Sunday. Michael thought he'd probably have to stay to finish his present. He hoped not. ‘Michael, get busy. You haven't written anything on that paper yet,’ Miss Ross scolded. Michael bent his head and began to write, slowly, laboring over each letter. Finally, he finished. He got up from his desk and took the papers to Miss Ross. a My name may be different, But | am a person, not a Race. My heritage may be different, But | am a person, not a race. | am tired of being, Of being your puppet on a string. | am tired of being, Of being suppressed by you. | am tired of hearing, Of hearing about the wrongs done to my people. | am tired of hearing, Of hearing about your Freedom. | am tired of being. | am | | | | a person, not a Michael stopped writing and _ stared straight ahead. The papers on his desk were covered with the nearly illegible scrawl of a child just learning to write. His clothes were crumpled, and his navy blue sweater had fragments of ink eraser clinging to it. His fat face looked tired and his mousy colored hair stuck up in unruly wisps. The fluorescent classroom light showed the tiny lines in his face, caused by a day of concentration. ‘‘We would have to learn to write, just when | was getting good at printing,’ he thought. Everybody in class said he was dumb, just because he couldn't write very well, They all said you were supposed to write and never print, and they all laughed when he didn't get done with his work as fast as they did. ‘‘Michael, get busy. You'll have to stay after school until your work is finished and you won't finish if you just stare at Promise of race. am a person, not a minority. am a person, a living thing. am a person, capable of feelings. AM A PERSON, NOT A RACE. “Look, Miss Ross, I'm all done. Does it look okay?,’’ Michael asked, a worried expression on his chubby face. “Why, Mike, that's just fine, and you finished before the bell. You have 10 minutes to work on your project."’ ‘I'm almost through with that, too,” the boy answered. ‘Fine. Now go back to your seat." Bryan Michael turned away and_ headed toward his desk, with a pleased smile on his face. He was proud of himself. Why, Miss Ross even said his papers looked good. He didn't notice Terry's leg stuck out in the aisle. He forgot to watch for it. Terry ‘tried to trip everybody. He clumsily fell over the outstretched leg and fell heavily. Slowly and awkwardly, he got to his feet and turned to Terry. He reached out to hit the skinny blond boy, but before he could, Terry hit him in the stomach, hard. As Michael doubled over in .pain, Terry's thin face’ contracted into a devil-like mask of pleasure. His thin frame shook with laughter and the room was full of his high piched screeching laugh. Miss Ross grabbed him by the back of the neck and made him put his head down. Michael forgot his pain for an instant, and hit him on the arm. ‘MISS ROSSSSSSS,"’ Terry screamed, ‘he hit mell!!’’ His thin face, once again was devilish and his blue eyes flashed. ‘‘Michael, go to your seat.” Michael turned again and went to his chair. He bent down and peered into his messy desk. to hide his red face. He pulled out a small plaster plaque. As he put it on his desk, the 4:15 bell that dismissed school rang. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes and began to run down his fat, freckled cheeks. The class noisily gathered their things and hurried out of the room, glad that it was: Friday. ‘Michael, arent you leaving,’’ Miss Ross asked. ‘Miss Ross, he’s so dumb he hasn't even finished his mother's present,'’ Gina, one of the smartest children in class, lau- ghed. “Gina that will be quite enough from you,'' Miss Ross answered. Gina left the room and Michael looked up at Miss Ross. “| don't have it done yet, Miss Ross, what’m | goin’ to do,"’ Michael cried His