The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Snow White and the Screaming Meemies

Episode Date: May 5, 2021

A 5-year-old girl is caught stealing by her mother, a shy writer gives her first ever interview on national TV, a child gets caught in the shelter shuffle of the foster system, and a wilderness search and rescue teacher goes out on a ledge to help a young man. This episode is hosted by The Moth’s Senior Director, Meg Bowles. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Storytellers: Alana Kinarsky, Maile Meloy, Samuel James, and Cheryl Hamilton.

Attention Houston! You have listened to our podcast and our radio hour, but did you know the Moth has live storytelling events at Wearhouse Live? The Moth has opened Mike's storytelling competitions called Story Slams that are open to anyone with a five-minute story to share on the night's theme. Upcoming themes include love hurts, stakes, clean, and pride. GoodLamoth.org forward slash Houston to experience a live show near you. That's theMoth.org forward slash Houston. From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Meg Bulls, and in this hour, we'll hear four stories recorded live on stage. Stories of nerves under pressure, survival, and one family's amazing generosity.

Our first story from Alana Kynarski was told that our slam series in Chicago, the theme of the evening was busted. Thank you. I was born in the former Soviet Union in a country that is known as the last dictatorship in Europe. I was about five years old when the Soviet Union crumbled and my parents filed for the paperwork to move to America. And so in December, we packed up all the very few things we had

into two suitcases. It was my mom, my dad, my grandmother, and my 20 year old sister and I. And we were leaving behind this place that was empty. The stores were empty, the streets were empty, the hearts of the people oftentimes were empty because it was pretty sad. It was a pretty sad place to live at that time. So we make this long journey with two suitcases in hand for four people, five people, and we end up in the suburbs of Detroit, Michigan. And so it's December in Detroit, and the five of us pile into a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor where lots of other immigrants live, and we all displace ourselves in different rooms and pockets of the living room, and we unpack

our two suitcases and realize there's a whole bunch of stuff that we need. And so we put on the fur coats, that yes, my parents brought in the two suitcases that we had, and the hat, and we don't have a car or anyone to drive us or knowledge of how to navigate the bus system so we walk. So December 1991 my grandmother, my mom, my dad, my 20-year-old pissed off sister that she has to live in Detroit and five-year-old me are walking down the side of the street in Detroit towards a cameart. And it was miserable but we walk up to it and these magical doors just part open and this cold air breezes past us and there's shelves of

things that are full. There are clothes hanging everywhere and shoes piled up and people happy and boisterous and screaming and announcements over the intercom and we start walking and my sisters drawn towards the clothes and my grandmother's fascinated by the $1.99 jewelry and my dad's trying to figure out what kind of toilet paper we need and I turn the corner and I see this magical display of toys. Now in Belarus, the toys that I had seen were like bouncy balls.

Like there were shelves and shelves of bouncy balls. There were somewhat deflated, but you know, bouncy balls. And I didn't have any toys at that time, but there were shelves of toys. There were like nerve balls and guns and barbies and board games. And I'm standing there shocked. It's like, as if like heaven just sort of descended upon me. And my mom goes away to find my dad, and I look up on the second shelf,

and I see this little tiny character of Snow White. She was wearing this like pale blue dress with this little white apron on and a little basket. It's tiny, and I reach up on my tippy toes and I pull her down and I put her in my pocket and I go to find my mom and we find my grandma and we find my sister and we walk out of the store with our toilet paper and nothing else and we put our hats back on and we walk through the streets of Detroit back to our dingy two-bedroom apartment

And I take out snow white and I put her on my dresser and my mom turns to me and she goes what is that? I was like It's my it's my new friend. She's like no It's my new friend. She's like, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. And we put the hat back on, and we put the coat back on. And my mom is dragging me down the streets of Detroit. The door is part open, and she is looking around, and she's dragging me to customer service.

And meanwhile, in Russian, she's telling me that I have stolen, and I tell her, Mom, God doesn't understand English, He only understands Russian and he thinks it's fine. Square, Mom. And my mom in very broken English, we had only been in America about a week and she didn't really know English before that, is trying to tell the customer service representative that her five-year-old daughter who's like dressed in a fur coat and Detroit in the 90s stole this little snow white.

And this customer service representative is looking down on me and I'm looking up at him and I'm just saying, Mom, God doesn't understand this. He thinks it's fine. And so the customer service representative terrified and unsure what to do. Takes a little snow white, sticks it back into my little pocket, and says, it's OK. And until my parents moved to Florida

in September of last year, that little snow white was on a bookshelf in my bedroom, and my mom would occasionally turn to me and say, this reminds you of that you are thief and can steal. That was Alana Kenarski. Alana won the story slam that evening and went on to compete at the Chicago Grand Slam. Our next story is from Miley Maloy. Miley told the story at a special event we produced in New York to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Riverhead Books.

The evening featured a bunch of different authors published by Riverhead, all telling stories about being in foreign and sometimes awkward situations. Here's Miley Maloy, live at the mall. I was in the fifth grade in Montana in the final round of the Lewis and Clark County spelling bee. And I just spelled the word Mimis as in screaming Mimis. And I was waiting for the bell to ding that tells you that you've spelled the word wrong and releases a flood of adrenaline

and makes your legs shake and your stomach drop. And a photographer took my picture. And the bell didn't ding, so I won. And the local newspaper ran a story, describing me as extremely shy, peering out from behind red hair. And I had this double response. I was indignant because I wasn't shy.

And I was also horrified that entering a spelling be meant that people could publish opinions about your personality in the newspaper. So maybe I was shy. The picture they had of me standing at the microphone looked like I was facing the firing squad. I grew up in a small town where it really felt like you knew everyone and the question of shyness had just never come up. I went under the state spelling bee and I got the word indict and spelled it, I-N-D-I-T-E

and the welding. And people came up to him and said, how could you get in date wrong? Everyone in your family is a lawyer. Which was true. My father and my stepmother and my grandfather and my uncle were all lawyers. I grew up surrounded by them, which might have added to my reserve because lawyers are trained to argue. So whatever you said, someone was going to take the other side,

just out of force of habit. If you'd made the opposite statement, they would have argued with that. So when I started writing fiction, it was a revelation. It was the perfect job. No one argues with short stories. And you can do it alone in a room. And some days the only person I spoke to was the guy at the gym who says, have a nice workout. And then right about the time my first book was coming out, it was a collection of short

stories. I got a call saying that Martha Stewart had chosen it for her book club on her television show. This was a big deal. Martha was at the height of her career. She was really everywhere. It was Oprah and her. And I had never done any kind of interview before. I don't mean I had never done a local television interview or a cable book TV interview. I mean I had never done the

kind of interview where someone emails you five questions for their blog and you email them back the answers. I had done nothing. So now from my room where I sit alone typing, I'm supposed to go on national TV and my first interview ever is going to be with the not unterrifying Martha Stewart. Aaron, the book's publicist, was thrilled. And it didn't occur to her that I didn't know how to do a TV interview. And it didn't occur to me to tell her. Because

honestly, I didn't know. Just as I didn't know, I was shy until the reporter covering the spelling bee told me I was. I didn't know how utterly unprepared I was. I had no nice clothes because I'd been a student forever and because I live in Los Angeles where you can really wear jeans to anything. And I think I was thinking of the row, beware of all enterprises requiring new clothes or something. So I'm on the phone with Erin, who's in New York, and I say, so I guess I'll just wear what I usually wear.

And she says, what do you usually wear? And I said, I don't know, jeans and t-shirts. I said, also, I just cut off all of my hair. And she said, oh, no, why? I've been playing this sport called kayak polo. In an attempt to get out and see other humans. And in kayak polo, there are a lot of paddles flying around and so you wear a helmet with a metal face mask

and my ponytail got in the way of the helmet, and it was annoying, so I cut it off. So I'd always had long hair, and now I have none. And off I go across the country, and I meet Aaron for the first time, and we go together to Martha's television studio in Westport, Connecticut, which is in an old stone office building from the 20s.

And we're on the way down the long driveway. And Erin says, so, did you read the news this morning? And I hadn't. And she said, all of Martha's emails were just subpoenaed. Because there was this insider trading case. She said, all of Martha's emails were just subpoenaed. Because there was this insider trading case. See, and there was talk of an indictment. Which is a word I can now spell.

So we get to the studio and it's clear that everyone there is really stressed out because they all might be out of a job soon and Martha might be going to jail. And someone gives us a tour. The studio has all these stages based on rooms in Martha's houses. And it has a giant warehouse-sized room that's all crafting materials on shelves to the ceiling. Bins and bins of yarn and fabric and buttons and glue. I'm not a crafter. I'm not even an aspirational crafter. But I start getting that intensely inadequate feeling

that Martha gives people. Because she could knit a cable knit sweater while putting on a dinner for 16. And I could not. And after the tour we wait. And we wait. And I imagine Martha in her dressing room scrolling through her emails. And I imagine having to turn over all of my emails to a court for any reason and how embarrassing that would be. And I try doing a breathing exercise

that's supposed to make your breath and your voice come from your diaphragm down low. And it's supposed to make you feel more grounded and more powerful, but it is not working. And someone gives us some beautiful food in a cafeteria, but I can't eat it. And then someone whose hands smell like lunch does my makeup. And she says, your hair's long and your author photo, what happened? And then I'm sent out to the set and someone sits in the seat where Martha will sit under the lights, but Martha doesn't come out. She sends word to ask what I'm wearing because she wants to match the beautiful colors

on the book jacket and coordinate with me. You see, even with the subpoena, she's thinking about nice clothes and I'm wearing a t-shirt. And I hear someone say, it's kind of a green t-shirt and this person who works for her is trying to put me at ease but I am not at ease I am vibrating with nervousness and finally she comes out in a violet silk shirt the exact shade of the violet on the book.

And her hair is perfect. And she's very beautiful. And she has that kind of disorienting familiarity and glow of celebrity. I mean, it's Martha. And she sits in the chair and we chat with the cameras off. And she says how much she loves the book and how much she loves Montana. And she's just been out to Ted Turner's ranch and have I been there?

I haven't. But we agree how gorgeous this state is, so this is going well. And at the table where we're sitting, there are some old, worn, hardcovered books and some flowers. And my book, Propd-Depth. And Martha, you may know this, has a very strong visual sense. And not a great store of patience. And she's very direct.

That's how she got where she is. So she looks at these old books on the table and she says, what are those doing there? And everyone freezes. And the fear in the room is palpable. And this tiny voice from behind the light says, they're set dressing. And she says, do they have anything to do with her book?

And the tiny voice says, no. And she's supposed to get rid of them. And someone scurries forward and takes the books away and resets the table. And there is so much tension in the room, probably more than usual with the threat of the indictment. And my shoulders are up around my ears. And I look like the spelling B photo.

And I don't know if I can speak. And the cameras are rolling. And Martha picks up my book and says, I'm here with Miley Muloid to talk about her wonderful short story collection, Have in Love. So Miley, you're from Montana? And I say, yes. And she gives me kind of a funny look and says, and you grew up there and went to school there. And I say, yes. And she says, okay, let's stop the cameras. All right, listen, Miley, you have to talk.

People want to know these things about you. And I say, okay, but I didn't say this to her. These are questions with yes or no answers. And I am answering them. I was raised by lawyers. I grew up with stories about depositions that had gone terribly wrong because someone volunteered too much. I was taught from early childhood that you only answer the question you are asked. You volunteer nothing. So we start again. And Martha says,

I'm here with Miley Moll're from Montana? And I say, yes. And I grew up there and went to school there. And she gives me another look. But we go on and we have a conversation and Martha is incredibly nice about it all. And I spent a week filled with dread before the interview aired and I watched it alone in Los Angeles. And on the screen I seem to be trying to protect myself with my shoulders and look very small. But I warmed up, and they edited out the worst parts. And they included Martha saying that I

would have to come back for my next book and me saying, deal, which was a fully executed verbal contract in front of witnesses. My segment was between one on how to make those cookies that are frosted half black and half white, and a guy who had a lemur for a pet. And the lemur guy was brilliant. He was so relaxed, and he totally knew how to talk about lemurs. Without any prompting, he just rattled away.

And now, 12 years and six books later, I am almost as good as the lemur guy. I get back from book tour and someone will ask me a simple question, and I have a whole anecdote ready. I'm practically tap dancing the answer before I catch myself and stop. And it's all thanks to Martha. And I was ready to go back for my next book and do it better. But by the time the novel came out, Martha was in prison.

That's how it goes sometimes. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Miley Maloy has written six more books of fiction since meeting Martha Stewart. She also competed on the U.S. Women's Kayak Polo team for four years.

Check out the Moth.org to see the newspaper clipping from Miley's six grades spelling B victory. We also managed to get a picture of Miley and Martha Stewart that was taken on the day of the taping. Miley's father scanned the copy he has hanging on his refrigerator for us. Coming up, we'll hear how one boy navigated his way through the periest world of the foster care system. The Mothradio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour.

I'm Meg Bulls, and our next story comes from musician Samuel James. Samuel told this story in Portland, Maine, for an evening we produced in partnership with the Maine Public Broadcasting Network. The theme of the night was leap of faith. I was 12 years old and I was in my third foster home and my very first foster father had just called. And he called to say that he was very sorry to hear about my mother. But what he didn't know is that nobody had told me that she was dead. So I was in foster homes because my parents drank.

They weren't bad people. I always felt loved. But when they weren't drinking, they were better parents, and they were drinking more and more frequently, and eventually people started to notice. I never noticed because I didn't have another childhood to compare it to. So when I got taken out of my home, I was very confused and very upset. And when I found out that she had died, I just got empty. You know, I just hollowed out. And then when no one else called to say that she had died,

is when I started to get really angry, you know, like, burn the world angry. And being a kid, a black kid, and foster homes in Maine and burn the world angry, there's not a lot of foster homes that want to hang on to you for very long. So I started going through them pretty quick. I learned the magic number was five. If you get to five foster homes, you're marked,

and people don't want to hang on to you at all anymore, you're trouble, so you can't get placement, and you are homeless, and then you go into shelters. And a shelter you can only stay in for 30 days, and you're on to the next, and on to the next. This is affectionately called the Shelter Shuffle. So the education you get in the shelter is nothing to mention. When I was a little little boy I remember my father telling me that because I am black I will have to be twice as smart as the smartest white man in the room

to get recognized half as much. So education was always a very important thing to me. So I knew I had to straighten out. So when I was 14 and I got my seventh foster home, I knew I had to hang on to this for dear life, no matter the cost. So I get to my seventh foster home, the case worker drops me off. I bring all my stuff into the room, my room, which was in the basement. They're almost always in the basement. And I'm really nervous because I don't want to mess this up. So I go up onto the porch and I light a cigarette. Yeah, you're ahead of me on this one. The foster father comes out and then it hits me that maybe this man that the state has

put in charge of me might have something to say about this. But he doesn't. Instead, he leans on the rear thing with me, and lights his own cigarette. And I think this is beautiful, this is just me and him, watching the sun set over the pines, beautiful, beautiful, and he turns to me and he says, yep, I never have no problem with colors. Yeah, and I think, well, with an attitude like that. How could you? So this man turns out, wasn't the prince, you might think. There was another foster child there,

and he was 12 years old, and he had fetal alcohol syndrome, and this man liked to torture him. And this man also had a dog who was old and in dying, and he liked to kick this dog. It wasn't going well, and it becomes this frustration where this is your life, and you can't do anything about it. You can't help him, you can't help the dog, you can't help yourself. It's like help the dog. You can't help yourself

It's like you're starving to death and there's one source of food and it's this apple down between these rocks And you can reach your hand in and grab it, but you can't pull it out while holding it and this is your life But on the bus to school There was this cute little brunette sitting by herself and nose in the book named Jenny. And that was usually what I would do. So one day I asked her if she wanted to be loners together. Yeah, she laughed. And I have to tell you that it is so great to have somebody in your life who laughs.

So I'm talking to her on the bus every day and pretty soon we're talking every night on the phone. And that's going really well, but back at the foster home, things are going worse and worse and worse. And there's this foster family get together, dinner party, and during this, the foster father blows up at me, and he calls me a black bastard in front of everybody in the room.

It wasn't the first time I'd heard a racial slur out of his mouth, but it wasn't that it was the rage in his voice and it was the fact that it was a room for the people and it was the fact that when I looked at every pair of eyes in the room they all just went to the floor. I was abandoned and completely alone, and nobody had my back, and this is when the panic sets in, where it's finally too hard to stay, and I have to go.

So the next morning, my caseworker drops me off at the shelter. And at this point, I'm completely accepting of this because I'm not going to get an eighth foster home. It's very clear I'm not going to make it three more years at this place. So this is the best I'm going to do. But I take my lot of phone time at night and I still call Jenny. And I don't tell her where I am because I just lost my one chance

to go to college. I just lost because I moved so much. I've lost every friend I've ever had, including her. She just doesn't know it yet. And as long as I can keep her on the phone she won't But eventually it slips out and I can't remember what she said I don't I can't think of a reaction. I just remember Getting empty again and hanging up and I waited the next week to call her and And I waited the next week to call her, and almost immediately she hands the phone to her father.

Now, at this point, I've had a lot of conversations in my life about don't call the house again, don't come by here, you're a bad influence. But that's not the conversation I have. What he says to me is, would you like to come live with us? Now, when I tell you that, you need to understand that my relationship with Jenny had been only on the phone or on the bus.

She'd never been to my house, I'd never been to hers. And her father, who I'm talking to right now, had never even met me. He'd never seen my face. The first contact we're having is right now on never even met me. He'd never seen my face. The first contact we're having is right now on the phone. So when he asked me if I want to do this, my visceral gut reaction is, oh no. Because I have actual blood relatives

that did not take me in when I went into foster care. No family had ever done me any good. But my father raised me from a very young age to know it's okay to be scared, but not to ever be stupid. So I said yes. And my case worker drops me off at Jenny's and it is a huge, place and everybody there has huge

beautiful smiles or father, her mother, her four siblings and a bigger bunch of overachievers in your life you have never seen. None of them seen an A- ever. And this was the time when I realized that for the first time of my life, I am in way over my head. Because prior to this, everything had been about survival, but this was going to have to be about betterment and achievement. And while this is happening, my father is trying to prove to the state that he's got his act together.

And eventually, we get to a place when we get a supervised visit. trying to prove to the state that he's got his act together and eventually we get to a place where we get a supervised visit. Now supervised visit means this. It's him and me in a caseworker in a very stale florescently lit office. And I'm petrified because I've always lived by these little credos that my father has left me. But there's a part of me that thinks I might have made this up just to get through. Maybe he's the drunk jerk that they think he is, but I need him to be the man that I think he is, and I get in there, and he's the man I think he is. So eventually we get a visit where he gets to come to Jennings and he comes to Jenny's and they are naturally protective of me and a little trebidations about this.

And they have an old piano and I mentioned, you know, my father plays the piano. What I don't say is that my father is a world-class jazz pianist. So when he sits down to play the piano, So when he sits down to play the piano, the only thing more beautiful than the sound coming out is the sound of all of the family's jaws hitting the floor at once. And in this, I'm sure it was a really surreal moment for them, he becomes real to them as well. And they begin to champion me and him and us getting together and eventually I go back to live with him and eventually I go to college.

And the other day I was talking to Jenny about this very thing and I told her that the thing that sticks with me about it is that I was a really angry kid. I wasn't a good kid and these people took me in and by no means did I pay them back with kindness when I was a really angry kid. I wasn't a good kid, and these people took me in, and by no means did I pay them back with kindness when I was there, I was still very, very angry. And it hangs on me that I didn't treat them as well as they treated me. And Jenny said, I don't remember you being a bad kid. I think you're being too hard on yourself.

And I can't tell if she's right, and I am being too hard on yourself. And I can't tell if she is right, and I am being too hard on myself, or if she's just as kind as somebody raised by her parents, should be. Samuel James is an award-winning wreath-based singer, songwriter, and self-described fancy guitar player. You can see pictures of Jenny and of Samuel's family and find out more about his music on our website. If you have a story you'd like to tell, go to the mock.org and leave us a two-minute pitch.

We listen to every pitch and sometimes we'll call you back to hear more or we might even play your pitch on the radio, like this one from Alfonso Ramirez. This is a story about my mother who was a babysitter for her whole life. She passed away last year from advanced Alzheimer's. My mother lived in Los Angeles and she loved babies. She loved them so much. She had costed people with infants everywhere, whether they were in their arms and cars or in a high chair and asked if she could hold them. Ugly babies, cute babies didn't matter. She was an equal opportunity baby napper. One time I took her to the supermarket where she loved to wander up

and down the aisles like a child. Anyway, no sooner were we in the store than she saw a cute baby girl in a stroller smiling at her. And I couldn't restrain her. I left her there briefly, tanned her, tanned herself, figurine she'd be distracted for a couple of minutes. All of a sudden, I heard a loud scream.

I knew exactly what had happened. I searched everywhere for her. Then I spied Mama Sita through the glass plate window of the market. She was in the parking lot walking faster than I'd ever seen her walk. Almost trotting. I ran out and stopped her. Get asked as I asked her not to share what she was doing. She was claiming to have won the baby in some supermarket lottery as if it were a Thanksgiving turkey which the baby oddly resembled. No, I explain to her in Spanish that contest this last week will come back next week and try again. She nodded and handed over the baby just to the store security guards sprinted towards

us, the worried parents trailing behind her. I apologize and explain to them what had happened. They seem to be the most excitement they'd seen all week and I'm talking about my mother and the baby. I abandoned the groceries that I left inside all week and I'm talking about my mother and the baby. I abandoned the groceries that I left inside the store and escorted my mother home. I kept then a coupon and sped a comprado de los bebés. Yes, I agreed with her.

We neglected to bring the coupons and that's why we couldn't buy the baby. She smiled. It was the last time I saw her smile. She was happy. She was 87 years old when she passed away a year ago from advanced Alzheimer's. In the end, she herself had become a baby. You can pitch your story at themoth.org. And when you do, don't forget to tell us where you're located.

We produce shows around the country and we're always looking for local storytellers. Coming up, a woman goes out on a ledge to help a young man. The Martha Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bulls and our last story comes from Cheryl Hamilton. Cheryl's originally from Auburn, Maine, and she had a chance to tell this story in her home state at the State Theater Portland,

here Cheryl Hamilton live at the mall. It's 2001 and I'm teaching a wilderness search and rescue class in New Haven, Connecticut, which is kind of crazy because I don't know anything about search and rescue. I just needed a job and I embellished my resume and when the directors asked me during the interview what my qualifications were, I said, I'm from Maine. And they hired me. And so now I'm standing in a field teaching a bunch of international high school students how to find north on a compass.

And I'm not sure if you're aware, but there's actually not a lot of wilderness in New Haven, Connecticut. So I have to have my class in this park in the middle of town. It's called East Rock Park. And it's called East Rock Park because when you drive up 95, you can actually see this gigantic rock face off to the side on the left hand side. And it has a big statue on top and this black railing that keeps people off of the ledges. the left-hand side, and it has a big statue on top, and this black railing that keeps people off of the ledges. And it's where families go to have picnics and like in the park.

And so on this one day, we're finishing up class, and the bus driver who meets us at the summit says to me, sure, I think one of your students has climbed over that railing, and he's sitting down the ledge. And I'm pretty sure that I have all my students, but I'm curious, so I say I'll go check it out. And as I get to the railing, I look over and there is this person sitting below and he's about the size of a teenager and he has gray t-shirt on and slick black hair. And so, again, I'm curious. So I climb under the railing and I walk down this sort of rocky path. And as I get closer, I realize he's not one of my students.

He's actually like 22 or 23 my age. And he's sitting pretty close to the ledge. And so I walk, but now I'm like close enough to him that I kind of have to say something. So I'm like, hey, how's it going? Everything all right? And he looks at me. He doesn't say anything at first. And then he says, do you believe in life after death? And I realize that I am in a situation now that this guy is in trouble. And I am going to help.

You see, I come from a family in Maine that has a bunch of police officers and emergency room nurses. We like crisis. And we were brought up to help. And so I'm going to sit there and talk to this guy, except I have a problem, which is that my students are still back on that bus and they have to get back to camp. And I don't really want to walk away from this guy now, so I'm kind of torn.

And so I look down and I'm wearing this orange lanyard that all the counselors have to wear with our keys on it. And I quickly take it off of my neck and I wrap it up in my hand and I hand it to him and I say, can you hold onto this? It's really important. And he looks at me and he's confused right police so. And I say, I'll be right back. And I race up that path and I get up to the bus and I tell the bus driver to take my kids back to school and that please call the police. And then I race back down that same path. And as I get closer, I'm glad to see him still sitting in the air, holding the lanyard.

And now this ledge, it's about the size of a living room couch. And I'm not scared of heights, but it is a 400 feet drop to the ground. And I'm going to sit next to him. So I sit down, and I'm trying to find a way to sort of, you know, secure myself. And I see a little rock piece sticking out and I stick my heel into it to sort of feel grounded. And then I look out and it is a beautiful day.

I mean, the skies are super bright blue and you can see New Haven Bay in the distance. And I can see a Yale campus where my camp is actually being held. And you know, for a second, I actually forgot why I was sitting there. It was so nice. And then it reminds me. And so I don't really have a strategy at this point. I mean, but I decide that I'm going to talk him back up on the summit. I mean, that's what I'm going to do, or until the police gets there.

And folks, I don't know anything about searching rescue, but I know a lot about talking. I'm pretty good at talking. And so I'm just going to talk to him, and that's what we do. And I find out pretty quickly that his name is Lawn and that he's from a large Vietnamese family and oh he's a math major he just graduated college like I did and he loves math and he actually teaches a bunch of students you know in the neighborhood about math and I tell him that I'm a human rights major and I'm excited to go to Africa, because I want to help people, and that I love swing dancing.

And he tells me that he loves music. And I'm feeling pretty good, because we're really connecting. So then I say, you know, so what are we doing here? And he says, that his boyfriend broke up with him the night before, and he's heartbroken. He says that he really wants to tell his family but he's afraid that they'll disown him. And now

I don't know what to say. I mean I'm not gay and I cannot imagine a situation that my family would ever disown me. But I have been broken up with and I know it sucks. And so I tell him about some of my breakups and I try to empathize and I say how hard it is. Or again, and I'm feeling good because I mean, he has just told me something, a really personal thing. He hasn't told his family. And so I keep talking to him.

And then my coworker show up and everything changes. He looks back and I guess he panicked because he starts to get up on the balls of his feet and I grab the back of his shirt and I'm like, what are you doing? He's kind of in a leapfrog position and I can feel him shaking in my palm. And honestly, I'm shaking a little bit. And I say, you know, what's going on? And I'm trying so hard to keep my voice measured, like to do in the movies. And I say, you know, long what's going on. And I'm trying so hard to keep my, you know, my voice measured like they do in the movies. And I'm like, listen, we can walk out of here.

And now he just keeps saying to me, you shouldn't be here, Cheryl. You shouldn't be here. You should go. You shouldn't be here. And I tell him, I'm not going anywhere that, you know, we're going to sit here. And if you want to keep talking, we're just gonna talk. And then the police arrives and I am so relieved because I did it. I talked just long enough to keep them on a ledge and so I look back and then all of a sudden, he's gone.

He's gone and I'm looking around, I'm trying to find him and I'm completely disoriented. I mean, he was just here. And then I lunge for the edge of the cliff, and I feel police officers hand push against my chest, and he's holding me back, and I am screaming every swear word I have ever learned, and just saying no. A few minutes later, I'm sitting in the same field where I talk to those students how to use a compass. And now I'm the one shaking.

I am holding onto the ground, it's sitting on all fours because I need to feel something in my hand again. And the police officer, and I'm keeping everybody at bay except the police officer comes over and he says, do you want to call somebody? And the only number I can remember in that moment was my parents in Maine. And I call my parents and my dad picks up

and he's cheerful as usual. And I'm like, dad. And I'm trying to get across the story and I'm just mumbling. And all of a sudden I said, and he jumped. And my dad, he let us sound that I've never heard him make. It's the same sound as the feeling in my stomach. And then he asked me, is he alive?

I don't know, dad. I don't know. And I, all I remember was sitting in that field and just so confused, I mean, he didn't have to jump. I mean, and so then I'm shaking some more. And I keep starting to think about like, what am I going to tell people if they ask me? What am I going to tell the police or his family?

And I start wondering like, do I tell him that he was gay? Do I tell him that his parents, or he thought his parents would just own me? And I just can't stop shaking. And I remember that my co-workers came over and they were trying to console me. And I was just like, get away. Eventually, the police officer came back over

and he put his hand on my shoulder. And he said, he's alive. He's pretty banged up, but he's alive. I couldn't believe it. As much as I completely never ever thought that he would jump, I couldn't believe that he survived that fall. And in the weeks following, people would ask me,

if I went to the hospital that day, check on him. And the truth is I didn't. I thought about sending him the orange lanyard and a note, but I couldn't figure out what I would write and letter. And the truth is we didn't really know each other. I mean, we talked for like 30 minutes, and so we were strangers, except that I also felt embarrassed and ashamed. I was a naive 22 year old that studied human rights

and thought I could change the world. And here I was in my first opportunity and he jumped. I also felt really bad because he kept yelling at me in those last five minutes, you shouldn't be here, you shouldn't be here, Cheryl. And maybe he was right. Maybe he's like me. I mean, when I'm upset, I just go to the ocean, just because I be here, Cheryl. And maybe he was right. Maybe he's like me. I mean, when I'm upset, I just go to the ocean,

just because I want to feel small. I just go there and be upset. And then I come back. Maybe this was his ocean. Maybe sitting on that ledge. And then I walked in and messed it all up. People would also ask me, would you do it again? And that is a really hard question for me.

I think about it a lot. And the truth is, I would. I would go back down that ledge again. Except this time, when I would sit down next to him, maybe not as close. I would know that as much as you want to help people, it's really not that easy. Thank you.

That was Cheryl Hamilton. Shales are brighter and performer. If you'd like to find out more about Cheryl or any of the other storytellers in this hour or listen again to the stories you heard, you can find them on our website, themoth.org. That's it for this hour. Thanks so much for listening and we hope you'll join us again next time for the Moth radio hour. Your host this hour was Meg Boles. Meg also directed the stories in the show. The rest of the most direct oil staff includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Jones, and Jennifer Hickson, with production support from Whitney Jones. Moth Events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City, supervised by Paul Ruest. Our theme music is by The Drift, other music in this hour from John Zorn, Benny Greb, Samuel

James, Luis Santana, and Matthias Bossy. Links to all the music we use are at our website. The Malthus Produce for Radio by me Jay Allison at Atlantic Public Media and Woods Hole Massachusetts, with help from Vicki Merrick. This hour was produced with funds from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the John D. and Catherine T. McArthur Foundation, committed the building a more just, verdant, and peaceful world. Mothradio Hour is presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org.

To find out more about our podcast for information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website, THEMawth.org. you