A List of Houses

1920 Elm Drive, Milford, CT, 06460

I grabbed my ugly canvas bag, and opened Google maps. Was Elm where that really

good coffee shop is? I could use some expresso.

Stepping hard on the gas, I pulled away from my house and toward Elm. Whenever I

glanced at my scratched rear view mirror, I could see my lanyard swaying. My face, complete

with a fake smile, hangs above “Maria Smith - Census Worker.” This job is supposed to be an

easy way to waste the summer before grad school, but Jesus Christ. It sucks.

1916….1918….1920. I took a moment, staring in my rearview, to set my smile. It never

works, but I try anyway.

As I walked toward the brick house, I began to guess what the occupant would say. I do

that before most houses, as a little game. Looking at the perfectly painted shutters, and flower

beds, seems like it’ll be a Martha to me - fifty years old, and living with her husband.

“Hi, I’m Maria Smith with the United States Census Bureau. I’m here because you

haven’t filled out your census yet. Can I have five minutes of your time to do it now?”

A dog barked from somewhere inside the house, and a mellow, kind voice replied from

behind the door chain, “Cinnamon! That’s no way to talk to this poor child!” The voice

addressed me next. “Sure. I can talk.”

“Great! How many people will be living at this address on April 1?”

“Just little old me.” I smiled, counteracting my attempts to be professional.

“What’s your name?”

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 “Ainsley Miller.” Ainsley stepped out onto the porch, showing pants that had an inch of

skin showing at the bottom, a pink polo, and a heart locket peeping out from between the

buttons. Ainsley’s head glistened in the sunlight, and a smile glowed out underneath.

“Age?”

“63.”

“Sex?”

“Hmm….” Ainsley glanced back in the house, as if asking Cinnamon for assistance. “I

don’t remember what I said last year. Male?”

I marked a little x on my sheet. Wrong again - Ainsley was not a Martha.

645 Edge Lane, Milford, CT, 06460

I walked up the small winding path toward a small, slightly sad looking house. The door

was painted yellow, but the yard didn’t look big enough to plant even one of Ainsley’s flowers.

In my professional opinion: an old man named Robert. I rang the doorbell

A teen opened the door with fingernails long enough to pick a lock. She finished pushing

her hair into a large, messy, bun and wiped her hands on gray sweats. “Yeah?”

“I’m from the United States Census Bureau? Maria Smith. I’m here because -”

“No thanks.” The girl started to close the door. I could hear the TV blaring from her

living room.

“Wait,” I put my hand on the door, trying to stop it. “Can I give you some information

about why this is so important?”

“I mean, not to be rude, but no?” The girl began to tap her fingernails on the door. “I

heard about you guys on the TV.”

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 “You heard about all the good you can do by telling the government you’re here? You

can get more money for your community, your schools -”

“All in return for your citizenship information, right?”

I looked in her gold-speckled eyes. “No -”

“I’m not willingly giving up all of my family’s information to ICE, ok? Drop it.” She

hesitated, and then slammed the door in my face.

1800 Starling Drive, Milford, CT, 06461

All in all, my first refusal of the day hadn’t gone terribly. I was always scared when

someone said no - I had seen those YouTube videos titled “Stupid Ass Bitch of a Census

Worker” and they were not good for my mental health. But the day hadn’t gone bad yet, and I

had no reason to believe it would.

1800 Starling was beautiful. In this suburb of a town, the house was famous on the

listservs for winning “Most Manicured Lawn” four years in a row. But whoever lived in 1800

Starling never took the plastic trophy the city council tried to give them. Or so I’ve heard.

I’d never seen the occupant of 1800 Starling, no matter how much I’d heard. I have to

admit, I was excited. What would the person who perfected green grass look like? I imagined

floral prints, flowy clothes, hair long regardless of gender.

The door to 1800 Starling opened, and a man who looked like he said he looked much

older than he was came out. His squinting eyes covered by wire rim glasses seemed to be

evicting the hair off his head. “And what do you want?” he grumbled.

“Hi, I’m Maria Smith with the United States Census Bureau. I’m here because -”

“Because I haven’t filled out my census yet. Yeah, I know. That was a choice.” He had a

camera.

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 “Can I have five minutes of your time to do it now?”

“Why do you even do this? They can’t be paying you much. So what’s in it for you?”

“Are you refusing to answer my questions?” My fingernails might be implanted in my

palm at this point.

“Are you refusing to answer mine?” The guy threw his hands up like a Walmart version

of Bernie Sanders. “Why are you pimping yourself out to the government to take away another

citizen’s right to privacy?”

“Sir,” I held my voice as steady as possible. “I am doing this job to earn money so that I

can go to law school to defend people against assholes like y- assholes. Are you refusing to

answer the census?”

“Yes!”

“Thank you for your time.” I hope he loses “Most Manicured Lawn” this year.

1 State Street, Milford, CT, 06460

I know that address - it's where the mayor lives. But why wouldn’t she fill out her

census? Serves her right - she’s not great at her job.

1 State Street is imposing, with big Roman pillars in the front, but Mayor Cecilia Ram is

tiny, with ever-ponytailed brown hair and horrible slogans (Mayor Cece Rams the

COMPETITION!) When she opened the door, however, her hair was down. She tapped her foot

nervously, but smiled.

“Can I help you?”

I said my spiel.

“Um, ok. Yeah.” She seemed to be convincing herself.

“Ok. How many people will be living here as of April 1?”

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 “Two.”

Another girl brushed by me, almost knocking me over and flashing her long blonde hair

before my eyes. She seemed to be crying. “Actually, just one.”

“No, no. Elizabeth! Wait!” Mayor Cece glanced between me and Elizsabeth’s fleeing

figure. I tried to make myself as small as possible. “Oh my god. Oh my god. She’s gone.” Cece

looked like she was going to cry at any moment. She turned to me. “Can you come back later?”

I nodded and left.

23 Saffron Street, Milford, CT, 06460

This house was just average. There were no flowers in the small yard, but there were no

weeds either. I guessed the occupant would be average too - middle aged, but probably nice.

The door opened, and I was reminded of the photo that sat on my mantle of my father,

my mother, and me. My mother and I look so similar. We smile the same wry smile at the

photographer, stare at him with the same brown eyes, though I’ve always thought hers were

prettier than mine. We have the same birthmark, on our right cheeks. It almost looks like a heart.

In that picture, everything is perfect. In that picture, she never left.

But in real life, she did. Packed up and left when I was ten. I guess my dad was hurt, but

he didn’t show it. I still remember her perfectly.

The woman who opened the door to 23 Saffron Street, Milford, CT, 06460 had a

birthmark on her right cheek. It was almost a heart.

“I’m from the Census?” I wondered if she would look down at my name tag and put two

and two together.

“Oh. Yeah, I was just going to do that.” She smiled. “I bet you hear that all the time.”

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 “Yeah.” I said it more harshly than I wanted. “How many people will live at this

residence on April 1?”

A man walks up behind her wearing a yellow polo. “What’s up?”

“She wants to know how many people will live here on the first. You still gonna be here,

Sam?” She leaned into his arms and smiled.

“I sure will.” Sam looked at me. “Two people.” He seemed nice, but my mom always

told my dad that yellow looked bad on him. Yellow looked horrible on Sam.

I turned back to the woman, meaning to stick to the script, ask her the questions, and

leave. I didn’t. “Will you still be here, ma’am?”

She smiled in that way that people do when they’re too polite to be confused. “What?”

“You won’t leave by then?”

“No.” She took a closer look at me. “You look so familiar. Where do I know you from?”

“Nowhere.” She didn’t get it. There were more questions, but I didn’t ask them.

I still had a long list of houses to visit, but 23 Saffron was going to be the last for today. I

headed back toward Elm. I think I saw a bar next to the coffee shop.

Short Story Rubric

Short Story Components Publishable Sophisticated Adequate Needs Unsatisfact-
Development ory

Style 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

6
Author uses creative and Comments on Style: Great use of dialogue, short deliberate sentences and
effective use of rhetorical and some excellent imagery
stylistic devices, the “Show,
Don’t Tell” technique, Point of
View, and dialogue to enhance
the reader’s experience.

Organization of Plot and 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Setting

Author effectively develops the Comments on Organization of Plot and Setting: The vignettes really worked
components of the short story for you, the end came a little abruptly but not so much that it was
arc (hook, exposition, inciting unexpected. A few places where I think you could have emphasized the
action, rising action, climax, census component a little more or fact checked, but mostly spot on
falling action and insight).
Setting is distinguishable and
well developed. Plot and Setting
relate to government and
politics.

Character Development 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Author creates real, believable Comments on Character Development: Think about the order of events and
characters, at least 2 of which what your protagonist to realize going through them, sometimes it was a little
work in government or politics, too subtle
and captures a universal aspect
of the human condition. The
main character’s conflict is clear
and likely causes/requires
change. Character is motivated
by a political catalyst, likely
presented in the inciting action.

Theme/Insight 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Author weaves through the plot Comments on Theme/Insight:

a recognizable and effective
theme that isn’t cliche. The
story’s ending type is
appropriate for the story’s genre
and story arc components.
The theme and insight should
be reflective of both political
knowledge and knowledge of
the human condition.

Short Story Component Publishable Sophisticated Adequate Needs Unsatisfact-

Development ory

Mechanics 10 9.5 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Author uses Times New Roman Comments on Mechanics:

or similar, 12 point font, one

7
inch margins, page numbers as
a footer, and includes a heading
and effective title on the first
page only. Author has no
spelling, grammar, punctuation,
or formatting mistakes. Dialogue
is properly punctuated and
capitalized and dialogue tags,
syntax and diction are varied.
Author either single spaces and
skips lines between paragraphs
or double spaces and indents
paragraphs and dialogue (1000-
1300 words).

_______ /50 Total Grade