10.2 Sourcing and Authorship Worksheet

In the mossy archery range while the town slept, Saeed palms a porcelain notebook, a mark on the wall, a sound in the pipe, a question that won’t sit still. a stubborn knot becomes a margin note, notes like breadcrumbs. laughter from the doorway. still: the search continues. a slow click—meaning. the world grows labels, then stories. proof the eye stayed open.

[Scene: the fresh-painted cemetery stone path between rehearsal breaks. A wool notebook sits on a ledge.] [A pause, as if the room is listening.] Vera: If I don’t pack it, it won’t be real. Jonah: It’s real whether you pack it or not. Vera: I hate that. [Vera polishes the wool notebook while a loose screw sits in a box nearby.] Jonah: Keep one thing. Let one thing go. [Boxes stack; the room echoes.] Vera: Okay. This stays. This goes. [A small ritual: a donation, a release, a sealed box.] [A breath, a sting behind the eyes, then a strange quiet.] Jonah: That’s acceptance. [Vera closes the box, not to erase but to move.] [Lights dim. The past is carried forward, not rebuilt.]

Dear Lucia, You asked what happened in the wide-open county fairgrounds on a rainy Saturday. I wish I could send the whole scene, folded inside this silver lantern. Everyone kept saying, “This is how we do it,” as if that ended the conversation. Respect isn’t the same thing as obedience. The tradition had comfort: fixed steps, familiar words, no surprises. Still, the old way was hurting someone, and I couldn’t pretend not to see it. When Lucia refused to budge, I tried a compromise instead of a lecture. We kept the meaning and changed the part that was doing damage. It felt strange, then it felt right—like breathing differently. The final image suggests the lesson will continue beyond this day. Maybe next year it won’t feel new at all. —Carmen