Why Won't He Leave My Front Porch?

By Michelle Lirazan

It was a sunny and breezy Thursday morning in July. I was ready to go to my friend's house and spend the day there. But as I opened the front door, I saw a man on the front porch sitting quietly. I asked him to leave but he didn't. He was dressed in old clothes that looked unwashed. He was also wearing a weird blue hat on his head. I asked him why he was there, but he didn't answer. I thought he just needed food, and that was all it would take to get him to leave.

I rushed into the house and into the kitchen, and grabbed a P.B. and J. sandwich lying on the dining room table, and a Capri Sun from the refrigerator. Then I rushed back out and handed it to the man. He ate the sandwich and drank the juice but didn't leave.

Maybe money would get him to leave, I thought to myself. I reached into my wallet and took out $50. He accepted it but wouldn't leave.

"Hey, I want that back," I said.

Maybe the police could get him to leave, I thought.

"Um, sir, Dude, whoever you are," I began. "You need to leave my porch before I call the police."

"Go ahead," he replied. "I don't care."

Wow, I thought, this guy's crazy. Normally, a person would have left if you threatened to call the cops. But that threat didn't scare this dude.

"Hey, why don't you go over to the neighbor's house?" I said. "It's bigger and comfier."

"I like this one better," he said.

"Why?"

"This is the only place were I haven't gotten yelled at, and this is where I got served food. I think I'm gonna stay here for a while."

I was about to curse the dude. But then I decided to leave for my friend's house. When I got home at 10 p.m., he was still there.

"Man, you need to leave or else," I yelled.

"Or else what?"

"Or else I'll throw my furniture at you!" I said.

"When you do that," he replied, "could you throw the TV at me first? I wanna watch wrestling!"

"Unbelievable," I said.

"Could you throw the microwave at me, and popcorn too?"

I couldn't believe this guy. But I had a plan. I sneaked into my older brother's room, and grabbed some clothes from his closet. The next day, I gave it to the man, and told him to clean up and get dressed quickly. I showed him to the bathroom and he showered and changed.

"Thanks for the clothes," he said.

"No problem. Come on. I want to take you somewhere."

We got into my silver Mercedes convertible and I headed to the mall. I showed him to a store for men. I told him to look for clothes he wanted. I told him I'd be back for him in half an hour.

I lied. I headed out of the mall and went to the movie with my friends.

At 9 p.m., I arrived home. I had had a long day, and it was enjoyable. I was so happy thinking I'd gotten rid of the man on my porch. But as I got out of my car, I saw him. The man was STILL on my porch!

How had he known the way back to my house?

"Hey," he said, "thanks for taking me to the mall. I had a good day."

I didn't say anything. I went inside the house.

The next day I ordered my Golden Retriever to chase the man off my porch. At first i heard her barking, but then everythign was quiet. I went out to the porch.

My dog was sitting with the man. He was petting the dog.

I give up!

High school student Michelle Lirazan lives in Washington, DC. This is her first published writing. The photo to the right shows Michelle (in pink, smiling) working on a painting at ARISING, which is being held at Fourth Street Friendship Seventh Day Adventist Church.

James and the Drug Run

It is so early in the morning that the first rays of the sun are just peeking over James’ window.

When he opens his eyes the first thing James sees is his dad holding a suitcase under one arm. His dad is smoking weed. The smoke curls up in front of his face and his eyes look red and watery.

His father throws the suitcase on James’ bed. “Wake up, it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time for you to go to work.”

James rubs his eyes. He’s so tired he doesn’t know if he’s really awake. Maybe this is a bad dream.

“Open the suitcase, brat.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever the %#@ I wanna call you. Open the suitcase, you got work to do.”

James’ heart pounds, and his stomach starts to hurt. He starts to unzip the suitcase but he has trouble with the zipper.

"Gimme that." His father grabs the suitcase back and yanks the zipper open.

James hopes that this is just a nightmare. He prays that God will wake him up, fast.

Inside the suitcase, he sees plastic bags filled with white powder. There are cigarettes, and bags of weed and pills. So many pills.

“I’m not gonna do it,” James mutters. “I’m sicka doin it and I'm not gonna do it ever again.”

“Look boy, I feed you, I give you clothes, I buy you those $#&@ Nikes you wear, I buy you stuff, I give you a bed to sleep in….now it’s time for you to pay up.”

James sinks back onto his pillow. He thinks about how many days he doesn’t have any food. He thinks about the rats running through the kitchen sometimes at night.

“This crappy house ain’t worth sh()*)(*(*,” he mutters.

His father slaps his face hard. “Watch you mouth boy, “ he says. “You don’t speak that way to me. Now get that butt outta bed and get dressed.”

“I gotta go to school.”

“No you don’t, I given you a day offa school. You got work to do. Now get your butt dressed before I hurt you worse.”

His father leaves the room. James stares at the door. The wooden frame around the door is busted and splintered.

James gets out of bed and carries the suitcase to the open window. He holds it for a second against his chest. Then he tosses it out the window. He grabs his jeans and his black and white T shirt and Nikes and in seconds, he is dressed. Slipping his bookbag on his shoulder, he heads into the hall. His father is watching TV, draped over a ragged chair, the only chair in the room.

“Where’s the suitcase?”

“I got it all here in my bag, like I always do. You think I'm stupid?"

His father inhales more weed.

"Just come back with the money, you hear? I need every bit of it. You spend a penny and you be one sorry ____, you hear?"

"Yeah, I hear alright. Loud and clear."

And that’s how James left home.

"Sad Street Corner," By Robert Roland

Robert Roland looked across the street and said, "I want to photograph that building. It has emotion."

"What emotion does it have?"

"Sadness," he said.

And then he got to work photographing the blue trash bin, and turning it into abstract ART.

Then he stood back with his buddy, Gary Anderson, to admire his work.
















Here is a shot of Robert.