Remember Us

Informationen zum Autor Jacqueline Woodson Klappentext It seems like Sage's whole world is on fire - literally. Her neighborhood is burning down, and she feels more and more distant from her childhood friends. National Book Award winner Jacqueline Woodson brings readers a powerful story that delves into life's big questions about time, memory, and what we take with us into the future. Leseprobe After the year of fire vines rise up through the rest of our lives of smoke of flame of memory. As if to say We're still here. As if to say Remember us. 1 The moon is bright tonight. And full. Hanging low above the house across the street where an orange curtain blows in and out of my neighbors' window. Out and in. And past the curtain there's the golden light of their living room lamps. Beyond that, there is the pulsing blue of their tele­vision screen. I see this all now. I see a world continuing. And in the orange and gold and blue I'm reminded again of the year when sirens screamed through my old neighborhood and smoke always seemed to be billowing. Somewhere. That year, from the moment we stepped out of our houses in the morning till late into the night, we heard the sirens. Down Knickerbocker. Up Madison. Across Cornelia. Both ways on Gates Avenue. Down Ridgewood Place. Rounding the corners of Putnam, Wilson, Evergreen . . . Evergreen. Sometimes a word comes to you after time has passed. And it catches you off guard. Evergreen. The name of a family of trees. And the name of a block in Brooklyn. Evergreen. Another way of saying forever . That year, nothing felt evergreen. Palmetto. A word that has never left me. A word that in my mind is evergreen. Palmetto. The name for both a stunning tree and an oversize cockroach. Palmetto was also the name of a street in my old neighborhood. And that year, Palmetto Street was burning. 2 That was the year when, one by one, the buildings on Palmetto melted into a mass of rock and ash and crumbled plaster until just a few walls were left standing. Walls that we threw our balls against and chased each other around. And at the end of the day, when we were too tired to play anymore, they were the walls we simply sat down by and pressed our backs into, staring out over a block that was already, even as we stared at it with our lips slightly parted and our hands shielding the last of the sun from our eyes, almost gone. We said Well, nothing lasts for always, right? We said One day even the whole earth will disappear. We were just some kids making believe we understood. But we didn't. Not yet. We didn't understand the fires. Or life. Or the world. But we knew that neighborhood was our world. And we knew . . . our world was burning. 3 That was the year of Freddy too. 4 Freddy moved into the corner building on Palmetto Street right where it was sliced through by a small block called Ridgewood Place. The brick houses on Ridgewood Place felt like they came from another time. Each house was just as perfect as the one beside it. The cars parked out in front of the houses were undented and shining. We didn't understand how the people who lived on Ridgewood Place got such nice houses and fancy cars. But we understood why their brick houses remained standing long after the wooden houses of Palmetto Street had burned to the ground. So we slitted our eyes as we walked past the houses on Ridgewood Place, jealous because the kids who lived inside that brick didn't have to worry about how quickly flames flew. And we slitted our eyes because we knew they didn't have to sleep with their robes and shoes at the foot of their beds. We knew if those kids woke up in the middle of the night, it was only to go to the bathr...

Autorentext

Jacqueline Woodson

Klappentext

National Book Award winner Jacqueline Woodson brings readers a powerful story that delves deeply into life’s burning questions about time and memory and what we take with us into the future.

It seems like Sage’s whole world is on fire the summer before she starts seventh grade. As house after house burns down, her Bushwick neighborhood gets referred to as “The Matchbox” in the local newspaper. And while Sage prefers to spend her time shooting hoops with the guys, she’s also still trying to figure out her place inside the circle of girls she’s known since childhood. A group that each day, feels further and further away from her. But it’s also the summer of Freddy, a new kid who truly gets Sage. Together, they reckon with the pain of missing the things that get left behind as time moves on, savor what’s good in the present, and buoy each other up in the face of destruction. And when the future comes, it is Sage’s memories of the past that show her the way forward. Remember Us speaks to the power of both letting go . . . and holding on.

Leseprobe
After the year of fire
vines rise up
through the rest of our lives
of smoke
of flame
of memory.
As if to say
We re still here.
As if to say
*Remember us.

• 1

  The moon is bright tonight. And full. Hanging low above the house across the street where an orange curtain blows in and out of my neighbors window. Out and in. And past the curtain there s the golden light of their living room lamps. Beyond that, there is the pulsing blue of their tele­vision screen. I see this all now. I see a world continuing.

  And in the orange and gold and blue I m reminded again of the year when sirens screamed through my old neighborhood and smoke always seemed to be billowing. Somewhere.

  That year, from the moment we stepped out of our houses in the morning till late into the night, we heard the sirens. Down Knickerbocker. Up Madison. Across Cornelia. Both ways on Gates Avenue. Down Ridgewood Place. Rounding the corners of Putnam, Wilson, Evergreen . . .

  Evergreen. Sometimes a word comes to you after time has passed. And it catches you off guard. Evergreen. The name of a family of trees. And the name of a block in Brooklyn. Evergreen. Another way of saying forever.

  That year, nothing felt evergreen.

  Palmetto. A word that has never left me. A word that in my mind is evergreen. Palmetto. The name for both a stunning tree and an oversize cockroach. Palmetto was also the name of a street in my old neighborhood. And that year, Palmetto Street was burning.

  2

  That was the year when, one by one, the buildings on Palmetto melted into a mass of rock and ash and crumbled plaster until just a few walls were left standing. Walls that we threw our balls against and chased each other around. And at the end of the day, when we were too tired to play anymore, they were the walls we simply sat down by and pressed our backs into, staring out over a block that was already, even as we stared at it with our lips slightly parted and our hands shielding the last of the sun from our eyes, almost gone.

  We said Well, nothing lasts for always, right?

  We said *One day even the whole earth will disappear.

• We were just some kids making believe we understood.

  But we didn t. Not yet.

  We didn t understand the fires. Or life. Or the world.

  But we knew that neighborhood was our world.

  And we knew . . . our world was burning.

  3

  That was the year of Freddy too.

  4

  Freddy moved into the corner building on Palmetto Street right where it was sliced through by a small block called Ridgewood Place. The brick houses on Ridgewood Place felt like they came from another time. Each house was just as perfect as the one beside it. The cars parked out in front of the houses were undented and shining. We didn t understand how the people who lived on Ridgewood Place got such nice houses and fancy cars. But we understood why their brick houses remained standing long after the wooden houses of Palmetto Street had burned to the ground. So we slitted our eye…