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Seven and poor, Alene Leitenstein lay on the dirt floor of her two-room house. Her eyes were fixed on a far off place where imagination and fantasy collided with reality of an unknown kind. Russia was as poor as they come and hunger and disease ravaged the silhouettes of starving people. Alene loved to daydream. Only when she was in her nonexistent world did the fear and hopelessness of everyday life flee like darkness in a lit room.
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But the happy daydream ended as Alene was startled awake by cries from her empty tummy. Alene had not eaten a decent meal in a week. Momma had died and her Poppa had been unemployed for two years. Hunger pangs thrashed at her tummy like an unforgiving storm on the dark never-ending ocean. She got off the floor, dusted herself off and headed toward the front door.
The early summer sun shocked her eyes as she peered through a crack in the old door. When her eyes grew accustomed to the light, they fixed on a tall, well-built man standing in the yard. Alene hopped outside, her long hair trailing playfully behind her in the breeze.
“Poppa,” she cried.
“Good morning, my little Monkey,” came the reply.
Poppa had called her little Monkey ever since she was five and climbed to the top of a pine tree and hung upside down. Poppa gave Alene a monster hug that only he could give, and Alene felt safe in his arms. She looked into his eyes. They sparkled with life and yet they were, in a way, overcome with sadness.
“What’s wrong?” questioned Alene.
“Oh, nothing.” Poppa was always so strong around Alene, but she knew he still hurt. She saw the tears he couldn’t hide. “Now, let’s go inside. I’ve got a surprise for you.” Poppa’s eyes danced with excitement as he stroked the bushy brown beard that widened his narrow chin. Alene sat down at the old wooden table and anxiously watched Poppa unwrap a brown paper bag to reveal four slices of smoked turkey and two loaves of bread. Alene gasped.
“Poppa, where. . .? How. . .?”
“Hush, darling, and eat.” Poppa laughed a booming laugh that seemed to shake the world.
After Alene’s tummy was full, Poppa came into the room holding an old green jacket and mittens, “Come, Monkey. I want to show you something.” Alene put her coat and mittens on and followed Poppa out the door. His giant hand clutched her tiny one as they walked together to a little shop called Kazberouk’s at the end of Main Street. Poppa led Alene into the back of the store. Alene could hear voices of an announcer and a screaming crowd and saw a box holding a moving picture.
“It’s like magic!” whispered Alene. As they walked closer, Alene stared at the box containing an image of a padded floor and a horizontal beam. There were young girls doing flips and cartwheels and all kinds of stunts.
“It’s called a television set. They are very popular in America and very expensive,” said Poppa.
But Alene barely heard, for the people in the box captured her mind.
“Poppa, what is this?” asked Alene.
“I just said it’s a television set.”
“No, what are the people doing?”
“That, little Monkey, is the Olympics. People from every country in the world compete for gold medals in every sport imaginable. That sport is called gymnastics.”
“They’re monkeys just like me,” added Alene.
“Yes, indeed, they are,” laughed Poppa and Alene was swept away into a daydream.
“Monkey, we must go home now.” Poppa had to drag Alene from the television.
On the way home Alene asked. “Poppa, can I be in gymnastics? I want to go to the Olympics.”
“Maybe someday, darling, but it takes lots of practice, hard work. . . and money.”
They were silent for they both knew they had no money to spare.
Every day that week Alene watched gymnastics. She took in everything. She dreamed gymnastics, talked gymnastics, and it didn’t take long before she set up a board as a balance beam. But Poppa didn’t mind. He loved to see her hope and he believed in her.
The years passed and the Olympics came again. Now eleven, Alene was old enough to walk downtown by herself. She watched all the gymnastics and practiced them at home. Every day she practiced and every day the rich girls showed up at her door and made wicked remarks. “You will never become anything,” yelled Katia. “You’ll be just like your father, a nobody,” Alyce taunted. “Why don’t you just give it up now!”
These thoughts lingered in her mind. But Alene pressed on, determined to someday reach for gold. Alene’s twelfth birthday came and she did not expect more than a kiss and a cookie from Poppa. To her surprise, she found a note. It read:
You’ll go on a hunt
To find a treasure
So follow the clue--
Go smell the leather.
What did they have that was leather? “Poppa’s belt!” shrieked Alene. She ran to Poppa’s bed and sure enough, by his belt, another note.
You’ve found the second note.
What will come third?
You may find a clue
Where once was a bird.
Alene stood puzzled for a minute. Then it came to her: the birdcage. She ran outside to the junk pile. There lay the birdcage and inside another note.
The final and very last clue;
Stop and think for a minute of two.
Monkey loves to swing on branches and climbing.
This thing’s very tall; if you fell you’d be crying.
This one was easy! Alene ran around back to behold Poppa under the tree-and he was standing next to a brand new balance beam! Millions of questions raced through her mind, but now, as always, he would say, “Hush and go play.” Poppa’s eyes sparkled with joy and his embrace grew tighter as he kissed Alene softly.
“This is the best gift ever, thank you.” And she hugged him again.
“Anything for my little Monkey!” Poppa’s voice sang like the birds in the trees.
Alene and Poppa set up the balance beam in the front yard and she went right to work. She did cartwheels, back walkovers, hand stands, and she never fell off. But then Katia showed up, surprised and appalled at such a poor girl having such a fine thing. “Look at that. Where in the world did you get money to buy that? I bet your Poppa stole it,” fumed Katia.
Alene replied slyly, “Well, seeing as it’s such a fine thing, perhaps you would like to try it.”
Katie growled fiercely in reply and panted off home. All Alene could do was laugh and work more.
Alene’s skills improved and she was feeling quite hopeful that maybe the Olympics would soon be within reach. One night Poppa tucked her in and kissed her good night. Her dreams were full of flips and turns. She awoke early the next morning to practice. Out to the front lawn she raced and hopped on the balance beam. A cartwheel, a back flip and for the first time ever, a back double reverse, a scream and then darkness was all Alene knew.
Poppa ran outside at the sound of the scream and there lay his beloved Alene silent and face down under the beam. “Wake up. Talk to me, please.” Tears ran down his cheeks. No, it couldn’t be! There still had to be hope.
As fast as his strong legs could carry him, he ran downtown to phone for help.
Flashing lights, sterile rooms and his daughter’s still face haunted his dreams for months as Alene slipped in and out of a coma. On the fifth of January as he lay tired but faithful beside her bed, she opened one eye, then the other. “She’s back, nurse, she’s back!”
Alene was definitely awake. But the trouble had just begun. “Your daughter is blind in both eyes and there is a chance she’ll never see again,” the doctor whispered so Alene wouldn’t hear. But Alene knew and had not given up hope.
Back at home Alene learned to walk again. Day and night she practiced getting around on her own. Poppa found work to pay the hospital bills. He left every night at seven and didn’t return until seven the next morning. And every night from seven to seven Alene would practice her movements on the floor. Soon, she advanced to flips. Seven months after the accident, Alene sneaked out to the junk pile where the balance beam lay. Slowly, but surely, she progressed until one day she found herself standing alone on the bean in the darkness of her life, in the same position she had placed her feet in one year earlier, ready to try a back double reverse. One, two, three slow breaths, jumping almost as if she was in slow motion, she flew through the air. This time there was no scream, no darkness except for the one she faced everyday. There was only a sturdy bar under her feet. She had done it! She had to tell Poppa.
After breakfast the next morning, she grabbed Poppa’s hand. “Come with me,” Alene said softly. Poppa followed her out back to the beam that had caused him so much pain. To add to Poppa’s fears, up hopped Alene.
“Please, no Alene, don’t . . .”
“Hush, Poppa, you’ll see. I never give up.”
Poppa’s silent tears of fear began to fall. But, tears or no tears, darkness or no darkness, Alene was going to overcome. Hands high . . . pretty pointed toes. . . a perfect cartwheel. . . an overwhelming back flip. . . much more and then a back double reverse. Poppa gasped but, this time, Alene was not lifeless on the ground. She was smiling on the balance beam. Poppa burst into audible tears as they embraced.
Summer passed and Alene’s birthday came. That morning not a kiss or a cookie was given, just a soft voice of Poppa. “Alene, I want you to meet Kirsten Littenbur, the manager and coach of the Russian Olympic Gymnastic Team.”
“Your Poppa was telling me about your abilities. May I see?”
“Yes, of course,” gasped Alene in disbelief. The three went out back to the balance beam. Alene performed perfectly.
“Miss Lietenstein, how would you like to move to Moscow and try to get ready for the next Olympics?”
Alene’s heart felt as though it would leap out of her chest.
“Well, Alene, what do you think?” asked Poppa.
“Oh, please, Poppa, please!”
“Okay, I guess we’re with you,” said Poppa to Kirsten.
“Oh, thank you, Poppa!”
“Hush and let’s go pack,” interrupted Poppa.
They packed their few belongings and boarded a train for Moscow.
Poppa and Alene were given a nice apartment. For the next three years, Alene worked hard and became friends with other gymnasts. Alene learned uneven bars, floor exercise and vault, but the balance beam remained her favorite.
Soon the time came to leave Poppa and travel to America for the Olympics. America was like nothing she’d ever experienced: big houses, new climates and a restaurant called McDonalds. But the best part was competing. Vault was first, uneven bars were next and in floor exercise she won a silver medal. Then came balance beam.
“Here is 17-year-old Alene Leitenstein,” called the announcer.
She remembered her childhood, her first sight of the Olympics, and her Poppa standing beside the new balance beam. She mounted the beam in a split and from there it seemed a whirl of fantasy. All too soon it was over-perfect tens and a gold medal! Many interviews followed with many questions about her handicap. Did she believe she should be called a super hero? Humbly, she would reply, “A wise man once told me that dreams are never too far away if the dreamer is also a believer. So, no matter what goes wrong in your life, if you believe, your dreams will come true. I’m no super hero, just a stubborn dreamer.”
All too soon it was time to go back to Russia. Alene was anxious to see Poppa. He was waiting to run and embrace her when she got off the plane. His familiar strong arms gave her the same wonderful feeling of safety.
“I love you, Poppa,” whispered Alene.
Poppa whispered back, I love you too, my little Monkey.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This story of triumph won its 13-year-old author Kathryn Poulter First Prize in the senior division short story
competition sponsored by the National
Preteen Corporation. Kathy enjoys writing, singing, acting,
modeling and sports. She has been competing in the Miss
National Pre-Teen since age 10 and has been to Nationals
twice as a Princess. At the Nov. 1999 Nationals she
received a first place in Poetry. She aspires to be a professional model and actress
and to do some writing on the side. Someday she hopes to
get a full length story published.
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EDITOR'S COMMENTS
Highlights:
Kathryn uses a proven formula for a strong plot: a dream and an obstacle to achieving it; followed by a possible
solution; which results in a complication; then another, even greater complication; and finally
an ending solution. Take a look at how this author planned her plot:
1. Alene is poor but dreams of being a gymnast in the Olympics (a dream and an obstacle).
2. Alene gets a balance beam to practice on (a possible solution)
3. But then Alene is taunted by the rich girls (a complication)
4. An accident leaves Alene blind (another, greater complication)
5. But with hard work and fearlessness Alene achieves her dream (final solution)
This is an age-old formula that has won over readers for centuries--and still works today. Nice job, Kathryn.
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READER COMMENTS
Comments from Angola, Indiana:
"Hi Kathy!! I miss you!! Awesome job on the story, youi really deserved to win,
why didn't you smile when you got the award??... just kidding. I really did love the story it makes me wanna
just go out and do something that I've always wanted to do... right now
I can't think of anything, but that's how I feel. When I read your story, I couldn't stop!!
You have ALOT of talent girlfriend!!"
--Stasha Dirrim
Comments from Fort Myers, Florida:
"Kathryn: I loved your story! The young girl's struggle, and her ability to overcome actually brought a tear to my eye!
The details were so realistic, I wondered if it was based on the life of a real athlete...it certainly could have been!
Good luck with your writing in the future, and congratulations on winning during the pageant!"
--Rick Altemeyer (Kendra's Dad)
Comments from Fort Myers, Florida:
Kathy, We are so proud of you. Your story is very good. Congratulations on winning first place.
Never forget we love you always!
--Mom and Dad
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