YWP: ‘Mama, Look Up’

[Y]oung Writers Project, an independent nonprofit based in Burlington, engages young people to write and use digital media to express themselves with clarity and power, and to gain confidence and skills for school, the workplace and life.

Each week, VTDigger features a writing submission – an essay, poem, fiction or nonfiction – accompanied by a photo or illustration from Young Writers Project.

YWP publishes about 1,000 students’ work each year here, in newspapers across Vermont, on Vermont Public Radio and in YWP’s monthly digital magazine, The Voice. Since 2006, it has offered young people a place to write, share their photos, art, audio and video, and to explore and connect online at youngwritersproject.org. For more information, please contact Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org.

The communication technology of today has improved our lives, undoubtedly – for the most part. Constant, readily-available distractions may be considered a major pitfall, especially in regards to the health of our relationships or our personal safety. This week, Montpelier-based writer Jalila Nazerali-Ruddy pens a modern tragedy centered around the bond between a young child, its mother and a cellphone.

Mama, Look Up

By Jalila Nazerali-Ruddy, 16

[S]eptember 2016
My eyes were wide-open to the world, blinded by its beauty.
But I didn’t turn away – I could not. Trees whispered secrets in my small ears.
I giggled, reaching my fat fingers to the sky, and felt the sun trickle between them.
I cooed at the butterfly floating by me. “Mama, look!”
I tugged at your hand, gesturing to the surroundings.
But you did not see.

October 2016
I cried and wailed, flailing around in my cot. My stomach grumbled and moaned to be fed.
My hunger-filled screeches pierced the quiet chirp-less night.
You walked in, head down, with your face reflecting the glow of your screen.
I heard you stumble and swear, without looking,
as you tripped over the pink pig I’d sent flying to catch your eye.
You thrust my bottle in the approximate direction of my mouth.
I blew a bubble and giggled, batting at it as it floated.
“Mama, look,” I cried, clapping my hands together with joy.
But you had already left the room.

November 2016
There was a cold wind in the air.
But I didn’t mind, all bundled up in my winter hat, coat and mittens.
I swung high, higher than ever before, my boots swinging high above my head.
I squealed with delight. I spotted the pigeons on the ground below, as small as ants.
The fresh air filled my lungs as my thoughts flew in different directions.
Creak. Creak. CREAK. I tilted my head. “Mama, I think the swing is going to break,” I called down.
You replied, without taking a glance, “Mmmhm… uhhh.” Screen-fixed. Mama knew best.
I swung and swung and felt myself flying. I let out an ear-piercing scream as I hit the ground.
Above me the broken chain dangled, the crack clear to see.
Mama, why didn’t you look up?

December 2016
I stood in my big red boots, looking up at the sky. The leafless trees swayed with the wind.
The sky was nothing but grey – not even a glimpse of blue.
Sitting at the table near the fire, your head was bent over a glowing screen. A smile played on your lips.
The cat rubbing against your leg tried to get your attention. (He would soon learn, as I had.)
I turned my head back to the open world. Ah! White powder falling from the sky!
Ungloved, my fingers reached to feel. Cold, cold, but soft… amazing! “Mama, Mama loo” I stopped.
“Snow,” I said to the deaf world.

January 2017
I sat in my baby seat, legs swinging as I pressed my nose against the glass.
Big buildings turned to small buildings; busy streets turned to quiet streets.
Paved land became grassy, rolling hills. I slowly dozed off to the land of dreams: puppies, kittens…
flowers, daisies… and happy people, their shining faces lifted up, taking in the world. They smiled and talked.
I jolted awake as the car came to a stop. I lifted my head and glanced around. A red light.
A tap-tap, tap-tap, click-click noise came from the front – a noise I was very familiar with.
Peeking around the front, sure enough your head was tilted down – screen-fixed.
I sighed and leaned back. The car started moving forward. I started to panic. Who was driving?
It couldn’t have been you, you with your gaze lost to the glow. But it was.
“Mama, look up!” I wailed.

February 2017
Sirens had sounded, but you didn’t hear. Lights had flashed, but you didn’t see.
A smell like burnt toast rose up. But you couldn’t smell – not anymore.
At last, you’re looking up, your unblinking eyes fixed to the night sky.
What do you see now, Mama?