Real Stories of East LA L.A. Poet Laureate Holding Out Winner of FRANCO AGUILAR LUIS J. RODRIGUEZ for Lady Luck by 6-Word-Story looks for ghosts on police brutality JOSEPH MATTSON contest in southern Mexico
Real Stories of East LA
Spring 2015
EAST LOS ANGELES COLLEGE Real Stories of East LA Spring 2015
Poetry Editors Gustavo Mateo, Nils Rabe
Fiction Editors Joshua Inglada, Daniel Sosa
Layout Board Alena Morales, Marcille Sanguino
Business Manager Kevin Rocha
Proofreader Extraordinaire Joshua Castro
Staff Joanna Alvarado, Lucy Alvarez, Joshua Castro, Joshua Inglada, Gustavo Mateo, Alena Morales, Robert Perez, Nils Rabe, Kevin Rocha, Marcille Sanguino, Daniel Sosa
Faculty Editor Dustin Lehren
Concept Design Diana Chang
Layout and Design Production Yegor Hovakimian
Milestone Committee Joan Goldsmith Gurfield, Dolores Carlos, Alexis Solis, Susan Suntree
Cover Art Front cover: Photograph Franco Aguilar, What Lies There (Hacienda Photo Essay) Back cover: Oil on printed photograph Franco Aguilar & Jesus Barrales, Out of the Smoke Inside cover: Digital Photograph Jemima Wyman, Sample from fabric archive
Milestone is published annually by the East Los Angeles College English Department, 1301 Avenida Cesar Chavez, Monterey Park, California 91754. U.S. Submission Guidelines: The editors invite digital submissions of poetry, fiction/non-fiction, comics, essays of literary interest, art, and photography. Guidelines at milestone.submittable.com
2 Contents
Introduction ...... 5
Acknowledgments ...... 7
Amarillas | Joseph Hernandez ...... 8
This, My Father Talk- | Andrew Liu ...... 13
From The Municipal Gardens | Andrew Liu ...... 14
Sea Layers | Joshua Inglada ...... 16
My Main Conflict | Michael Guerra ...... 17 a + d + d + i + n + g | Joshua Castro ...... 18
#collegestudentproblems | Raul Meza ...... 26
La Veinte-Nueve | Luis J . Rodriguez ...... 28
Confidence | Joshua Castro ...... 32
Relentless Wonder | Janet Macias Garcia ...... 35
A Hug from Behind | Matthew Mejia ...... 37
Just Fears | Matthew Mejia ...... 38
Growing Up in Mexico | Marisol Arteaga ...... 39
Hacienda: What Lies There | Franco Aguilar ...... 43
No Mas Sentir | Guadalupe Salgado ...... 47
Porque Si Sed No Tienes, Agua Tampoco Tendras ...... 47
La Maracuya | J .G . Santibanez ...... 48
When I’m High | Daniel Victorino ...... 49
Elotero Man | Judith Cruz ...... 52
In the Metro There is Light | Gerson Villarreal ...... 54
Pleasure for Two | Brenda Morones ...... 55
One Head, One Thousand Arms | Nils Rabe ...... 56
#selfie | Christine Rodriguez ...... 57
Wade In Her Water | Richard Lopez ...... 59
Voy Al Mar | Guadalupe Salgado ...... 61
Writing Utensils | Aaron Higareda ...... 63
Six-Word Story Winner | Irving Grey Angeles ...... 64
All or Nothing | Aura Chavez ...... 67
Dreams (or the Lack Thereof) | J .G . Santibanez ...... 68
Syrian Boy | Eric Eztli ...... 72
Cherry Blossoms | Maria Barrera ...... 73
Pay My Fare for the Boatman | Joshua Castro ...... 74
The Gay Man (went Partying) | Joshua Castro ...... 75
There’s Always Next Year? | Joshua Castro ...... 77
You Are Not | Christopher Barba ...... 83
Save for the Echoes | Samantha Hess ...... 84
Duet | Joseph Mattson ...... 87
No Reason Left | Joseph Mattson ...... 88
Holding Out for Lady Luck | Joseph Mattson ...... 90
Contributors ...... 94
3 PHOTOGRAPH > Franco Aguilar, Out of the Smoke, No. 1
4 Introduction
“No one noticed when Desiree began to talk to her shadow.” - J .G . Santibanez “Dreams (or the Lack Thereof)” pg . 69
When stepping out of the shadows, the first move may be noticing the shad- ow cast by your own life . For over half a century, Milestone, the literary and art journal published by East Los Angeles College, has aimed to present diverse student voices brave enough to take that first step . These students range from Luis J . Rodriguez (Milestone 1979), the current Poet Laureate of Los Angeles; to Dennis Sanchez (Milestone 1980) helping countless students transfer to four year universities with the Eastside Spirit and Pride Club; to recent student Eric Eztli (Milestone 2015) transforming his parents’ garage in Bell into Alivio, a cultural center for art and readings: all of whom are former students and whose voices inspire and move people .
This year the creation of Milestone has taken a bold new approach by mak- ing the promotion, selections of pieces, art direction, and virtually all other aspects of the magazine student-driven! You are holding in your hands the first of many more by-the-student-for-the-student Milestone magazines . We started with a strong campaign of getting the word out and going digital by using milestone.submittable.com. Even though writers can now whip out their phones and submit their current work, we are confident we have an experi- ence here that can’t be reproduced on a screen .
What will you find between these two covers? The artwork on the front and back covers sets the tone for the content inside . The front is part of Franco Aguilar’s What Lies There series, this issue’s featured photo essay on the hacienda ruins of southern Mexico . The back cover was commissioned by Milestone as a collab- oration between Aguilar and painter Jesus Barrales, whose oil paintings are also featured in this issue . Both artists depict decay and fear, but if you look closely enough, they point toward a sense of wonder, hope, and even beauty .
In selecting the work, the staff talked about the need for creativity in overcoming the many obstacles current society presents . Maybe we shouldn’t have been surprised when quite a few submissions dealt with the fears our community faces on a daily basis . For example, when many of us thought a poem about a flower was too simple, a couple of the staff vehemently argued that its metaphor depicts sexual violence, and that it’s important that we include it .
5 Real fears are explored in subjects like substance and is why we decided to reprint Luis J . Rodriguez’s abuse in Marisol Arteaga’s “Growing Up in Mexico” “La Veinte-Nueve” from Milestone 1979, which de- where a pre-teen daughter tries to love her alcoholic picts a tumultuous and terrifying experience the mother by partying with her, and in Daniel Victorino’s Always Running author had with the police during “When I’m High,” which is about escaping the pres- the Chicano Moratorium, which includes a run-in sures of the American dream with cocaine . Joshua with Charles Manson . This issue also features sev- Castro deals with the self-destruction that is some- eral works of another established and prolific Los times involved in navigating sexuality as a young per- Angeles writer, Joseph Mattson . In “Holding Out son . In an excerpt from There’s Always Next Year? for Lady Luck,” Mattson looks back on his “hungry” we follow a 20-year-old boy cruising for older men on years surviving “Our Lady, The Queen of the Angels Craigslist, and in “Confidence” a young man would and her wayward wolves .” When dealing with all rather connect through texting than meet someone these fears, Matthew Mejia offers sound advice with new . The palpable anxiety felt on a college campus his poems “Just Fears” and “A Hug from Behind .” during both the first week of classes and during fi- The characters in this edition of Milestone all have a nals when new students deal for the first time with tenacious will to feel their lives . The stories told may getting, and passing college classes is explored in not be for the prudish, but they all demand to be Castro’s “Adding,” and Raul Meza’s “#collegestu- heard . After listening, you might look past your own dentoproblems ”. The generational divide in multilin- shadow and feel how great literature and art sparks gual families is explored in Andrew Liu’s “This, My a light in all of us . Father Talk-” and Joseph Hernandez’s “Amarillas .” Fear of law enforcement still exists here and abroad
Dustin Lehren, Nils Rabe, & Daniel Sosa
6 Acknowledgments
Milestone gratefully acknowledges the ELAC Associated Student Union and the English Department faculty and staff – Joan Gurfield, Paulette Jaurequi, James Kenny, Mandy Concoff-Kronbeck, Ara Shirinyan, and Susan Suntree – for all their help and generosity . Many thanks to Dean Vanessa Ochoa and our graphic artist Yegor Hovakimian, and a special posthumous acknowledgment to Carol Lem .
7 PHOTOGRAPH > Nyqolas Hale, Secret Garden
Amarillas | Joseph Hernandez
In the garden in her backyard my grandmother has a tree that bears a fruit that grows fat and ripe like suns. She calls the fruit Amarillas, not by its name, but by its color. It is off-limits to everyone, my family and I know; no one but my grandmother can pluck it from where it hangs because, she says, she is the only one who can tell when it is ready for harvest. She doesn’t even let us help her pick it. So, because she cannot reach the lowest branches, she is left to spend hours causing a rain of smashed fruit on the sidewalk that not even her dogs are allowed to lap up. When she has gathered enough basketsful, and there is no more yellow-orange on her tree, she takes them to the local farmers market to sell or trade for meats and spices.
8 hen I was younger she would bring me to My girlfriend liked to sleep with nothing covering Wchurch with her. I would sit there, under- her body, and she smelled of cranberries and melon. standing nothing that was being said, letting my Her name was exotic, Lucinda, and she told me she eyes wander the cathedral, the browns and whites had a jungle in her backyard. I thought this was a of the pews, the rainbows of stained glass. After the joke until she took me to her home, in a part of Los mass, my grandmother would take me to the front Angeles I had never been to with a lot of hills. And of the church and kneel down before a statue of a in the center of the green, beyond the vines of rose- cloaked woman. She would put her head down and mary and a wasp’s nest that hung uncomfortably low, say nothing, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to there was an Amarillas tree. do the same. Afterward she’d buy us apples from a “What is this tree, I’ve never seen it before?” I nearby vendor, always handing me the larger one. asked. She told me that her father had found it a This was the only time in my life my grandmother few months ago at a farmers market he frequented. would share her fruit with me. Then, one winter “He’s lucky,” she stated. “A tree like this is rare evening, she brought a small green stem home from and he hasn’t been able to find another since.” a market-venture. She said she’d been looking for She apologized to me, amid the buzzing of wasps one of these for years now, said she hoped it would and a rustle of leaves beyond us. She said she want- survive in the soil in her yard. When it did survive, ed me to try the fruit, but that it was not yet ready: she watered it every day as it began to sprout. And small, pale bulbs had sprouted from the leaves and she stopped taking me to church. would not grow in full for several more months. If my grandmother had a choice between any- She told me she’d bring me back when there was thing she owned and her Amarillas tree, there fruit, then she told me we could go back inside her would be no contest. I might even believe she’d house, that we were home alone but she had want- choose the tree over me if it came to it. Before ed to show me this first. the Amarillas grew into her life, she had a statue, a As we walked away she sighed and said, as pale as small porcelain figure of the Virgen de Guadalupe. the fruit and dripping with accent, One day I broke the statue. Knocked it over by ac- “Persimos.” cident. Caused a whole mess of Virgen-shards on I never asked Lucinda what more she knew. She the floor. She came home and found that it was in had told me enough. I felt empowered now, know- pieces in the garbage. ing the true name. I felt I could go to markets and “Do you want the belt or the chancla?” she shout the name, “Persimo,” could whisper it into yelled, then proceeded to spank me until I was too the ears of market-goers. It would be our language, sore to cry. And now that I see how much of her a secret more accessible than the Amarillas word. I time and energy she dedicates to the tree and fruit, wondered if Lucinda could connect with people I’d much rather not imagine what she’d hit me who also knew this name, as I felt I now could? with if I broke that. Even if I ate just one. After she said the name I looked differently at I have learned the true name of the Amarillas, the tree in my grandmother’s backyard. I no longer though I’ve never told my grandmother. I was dating understood her reverence of it. Here was a fruit a girl who spoke the same language as my grand- with many names that even her own family was not mother, and would derive her words from the same good enough to taste. I asked her, the day after vis- roots. But this girl would not misname the fruit as iting Lucinda’s jungle, if I could take an Amarillas. my grandmother had. And I wouldn’t tell her I had “It’s just a fruit,” I told her, “more will grow.” She known of its existence before her, either. was at the kitchen sink slicing nopal for dinner.
9 “They’re not ready to be eaten yet. And even to me and I caught and held its cold weight, ran my when they are, I will need to bring all of them to finger along its creases. the market. I will count them all. I get paid for each “What,” he asked, “you don’t like these?” one,” she said without even looking at me. “No. I just…what are they?” I wanted to know “Well, couldn’t you get paid for one less?” what his name for them was. She stopped slicing. I was afraid she would strike “My mom likes them. I don’t know where she me, maybe not with the knife, but with the nopal. gets them.” He sat next to me then took a bite of I thought back to the days of the chancla and how his. “Try it.” she’d never hesitated to hit me when I talked back. I watched some of the juice run down his neck When she did nothing I backed out of the kitchen and onto his shirt. It bled onto the collar, a light and before I was in the hallway I heard her re- pink. sume chopping and slicing, preparing for a dinner “Damn it,” he said. He stood up and placed the I would not enjoy that night. bitten fruit on his bed, then went to his closet. “Do On the last day I ever saw Lucinda, she was eat- you mind if I?” he asked as he began to pull off the ing one. She had split it open with a knife, but stained shirt. didn’t offer me the other half. She slurped and “Nah, I don’t care,” I said. I took a bite of his sucked the fruit, and it was neither arousing nor fruit when his face was covered. It was sweet and obnoxious. She told me she would see me in a few cold. It was wet, too. I slurped the juice to avoid months. She was going to Mexico with her family. being dripped on. His skin was darker than mine I didn’t tell her to stop eating the fruit in front of and he had a scar near his bellybutton I didn’t ask me like that. I didn’t want her to leave me for that about. His stomach muscles clenched as he pulled long amount of time. I wanted to shout at her, if the new shirt over his head and I thought three you are from Mexico and my grandmother is from things at once: Mexico, why don’t you call fruits the same thing? I should do pushups when I get home. Instead I decided to never use her name for the I should start eating more fruit. fruits again. I wonder what our band will be called. I first tasted the sweetness of the Amarillas with “What do you think?” he asked me. He saw that my friend Julian. We were in his room. It was sum- I had taken a bite. He let me eat the rest of it. mer. We were working out a dream we both had, We spent the afternoon writing lyrics about sweet where the two of us would start a band and leave fruit. We finished the whole basket. By the time his school. He had a guitar, and I had scribbled lyrics mother called us for dinner, we were no longer hun- for songs on orange construction paper. Neither gry, so we stayed and wrote more. I titled one of the one of us could sing, but I always told him he could. songs “Amarillas,” and another “Bellybutton”. He I liked hearing him try and hoped that eventually didn’t show interest in either of these. his voice would grow on me. When I stole the fruit from my grandmother’s He shouted to his mother that he was hungry. tree she was not home and I was not hungry. The She told him she was making dinner, and to find Amarillas had been left to ripen and would not something else in the meantime. He left the room be picked for another week. Still, they allured me and came back with a basket of mixed fruit. I rec- in the sticky summer afternoon. I stepped outside, ognized them immediately. Toward the top sat two and when the pavement burned my feet, I slipped of them, gleaming and golden. He asked which I into a pair of old worn chanclas by the door used wanted and I told him to surprise me. He threw it to swat flies during family barbecues.
10 Despite being immature, the fruit was larger than I have imagined a reality where, instead, it is I my hands. The branches shook as I tore one from who grows the Amarillas. I leave the gate to my its stem. It was bright and smooth, but it was not backyard open and whoever wishes to take the fruit pale like Lucinda’s, or soft like Julian’s. I wondered can do so without contest. I have dogs, too, and how angry my grandmother would be with me if they feast on the fallen bulbs, too ripe and luscious I ate them all, but when I bit into it, it was sour. to stay hanging on the branches. All of the men It left a bad taste in my mouth. I chucked it at the and women who visit me know the taste, know the fence and it exploded in a cascade of amarillo and true name. Amarillas are always on their tongues. pulp. I wondered what she’d do if I took the whole tree down, tore down every fiber of color that held it together. If I chucked them all at the fence, paint- ing her backyard in the fruit’s flesh. Then I’d let her dogs clean it up. I wanted the tree gone. No more farmers’ market. No more sour fruit. No more making up names for things that already have names. But the tree would not go. It would continue to exist in her garden, continue to fill only her basket with yellow.
11 ILLUSTRATION > Gabriela Contreras, Passing Montebello
12 This, My Father Talk- | Andrew Liu
ing on the car. Something Memory must be like this. And love. about a tuition-reim- Words must have first started out bursement program. I smirk silent, to myself, humor filling me and pale, like a jelly doughnut and funny as with disregard a bunny. to engineering. An embryo The words of Spanish in water. bienvenidas taquería es Karina’s In the ocean, enter past, follow after water flushed and my father’s ground-up English churning against waves, some part medicinal as herbs, bitter of water must have struggled against itself and a little awkward for him to swallow. endlessly moving— On our way home, on the car ride The obstinate motion, the sea heavy and fast with the sun going down can get sick of itself like this. faster than we are. His speech was never Words must be like this, a body of water. as smooth as his driving. Mixed And from this unspoken world signals, a slowness, all around us, poetry, stop-n-go’s and a rhythm a fish swims without rhythm. Laughable, funny in half-moon light, obtuse, to my American- scaled down, slanted as light below standard ears. Caramel sea level. And truth Words as thick a small tureen, silver, and rusted as caramelo. bobbing in the corner of a sunken And the strangest thing, city, a bit of scum fledged against he says, “Isn’t that nice?” the surface, truth, truth. and I swear, the deadest words What a small thing, I’ve ever uttered, rising out of me, a car ride home “Yeah, that’s nice.” heavy and fast with the sun going down tumble out, cute faster than we are; this, my father and dumb as a pup. talks about a tuition reimbursement program. ILLUSTRATION > Gabriela Contreras, Passing Montebello In that silence, poetry And somehow, out of his as wordless as a fish I come home with this. enters into the well of self and like a kiss— Like a kiss… it swims, a shadow along the pale surface of water.
13 From The Municipal Gardens | Andrew Liu
In the Land of the Dead applications for a new life filter down in air, petals or leaves from a new tree, words and memories cached in legal language, shaking like music behind bars, applications for a new world, for a life beyond this voided suffering.
After we wave goodbye and I depart lifted away from the old schoolyard some time, a bit of memory, gets left behind like traces of a sinking ship. I turn and leave. My old life does the same. We come apart in opposite directions. Burning through clouds the setting sun parts the sky in two. Not like the two halves of a cut apple, or the split open shell of a cracked egg, but a unison of colors shades (though the blues and the grays do not get along they fall through the sky in dizzying spirals broad strokes of sea level, like the leaves of a great and ancient tree). A sky of fractured hues: to the east, a pool of night drowning stars, the lights of the city— to the west I see my own fading image trailing away like a lost kite.
And I think, how beautiful it seems that this is no real loss, utter absence of what once was. Rather, a slow transformation: like how the slow rush of traffic parallels
14 the slow setting of the sun, the sleeves of a bed brushing dust off the floor, or cobwebs humming with light like bamboo leaves churning in the wind a rush, a rush, a slow, breathless rush.
Quickly, yet sluggishly, here in the Land of the Dead. The ancient Chinese believed far in the west, where the ocean drops off, in ends of sea bed trailing like s l e e v e s of mist, fragments of the known world just hanging at the cliff face here, in California, where the city is so steeped in heat, summer never seems to leave the bones of our atmosphere.
Here, where the dreaming and waking worlds lie close as the thumb and the index. Yet far as the plains of Cho Fu Sa.
15 Sea Layers | Joshua Inglada
The spray and the breeze are of the sea’s salt. Green some days serene blue others. Boats filled with teens Wondering what they have not seen. What lurks beneath the ruby reef? Bottle-caps, treasure, fins, and teeth.
16 My Main Conflict | Michael Guerra
I do, but then I don’t Every day Every damn day
17 a + d + d + i + n + g | Joshua Castro
he 260 metro bus pulled into the stop at Elos “The 2 in 203 means the room is on the second TCommunity College and opened its doors. floor,” the girl finally said chewing her gum. “But Out spewed its load of fresh, young students, many you’re late though. That class already started forty of whom were checking their phones for the time minutes ago. I’m late for it, too.” and hoping to find their way on campus. “Well, I’m still going to check if he’s still adding,” Meandering her way through the crowd, Amber Amber said smiling politely at the girl and then Rapida emerged with a class schedule in hand. She climbed up the stairs. was seventeen and just out of high school; she wore As she ascended she heard the girl’s footsteps fol- the faintest trace of black eyeliner, and her aqua- lowing behind her. The two girls reached the top marine dress, black silk stockings and Abercrombie of the stairs and followed the long hallway until jacket were courtesy of her mother’s wallet. they found room 203. They peered into the room Amber needed to add English 101. She had through the small window in the door. The class checked online that morning and found that the appeared to be full. only open class left started at 10 a.m. She checked “I told you it was full,” the girl said. her phone. Her stomach clenched. Today was her “Yeah, but it never hurts to check.” first day of college and she was already half an hour A young boy appeared behind them and caught late. Amber looked insider her Taylor Swift mes- both girls by surprise. He was shorter and had to senger bag for her campus map. slightly tilt his round head up to address them. “Shit!” “Is this 203?” he asked Amber. She had left it at home. She checked the class “Yeah. Are you adding?” schedule: English 101, S1-203. She walked until “The room is full,” the other girl said. “He prob- she found a pair of newly constructed buildings ably won’t add you anyway.” that looked like gigantic, grey blocks. She entered “Aw, man,” he said beginning to chew his the first one in search of room 203. There was a thumbnail. “The bus I took to get here said 9:45, girl around her age standing by the stairs, staring but it didn’t come until, like, 10. It wasn’t my fault at her iPhone. that I’m late.” “Can you tell me where I can find room 203 for “You should’ve caught an earlier bus,” Amber English 101?” Amber asked. The girl pointed up said with her hand on her hip. the steps, but did not look up from her phone.
18 “I woke up late,” the boy said. “I didn’t even have “I think you mean to say that you were on the time to eat breakfast.” He started chewing on his roll sheet, Mr. Baker. Roll call was at the beginning other thumbnail. of class. If I called your name and you weren’t here “Gross,” the other girl said staring at him. to respond, then you’ve already been dropped. You Just then a young man intruded upon the three- may, however, stay until the end of this period and some standing outside the door. His head was try to re-add this class. It seems I now have a new shaved on the sides, but light brown hair grew fash- opening for one more student,” he grinned. ionably on top with a highlight down the middle. “You can’t do that.” “This 203? Are you guys adding?” “I’m afraid I just did, Mr. Baker. Now either join “Yes,” Amber said. the rest of the wannabes by the wall or leave this “We’re trying to…” the rotund boy said. room immediately, because either way this discussion “The room’s full,” the other girl said. “You should is closed.” Jason headed to the back of the room with leave.” the others, cursing under his breath, as the professor “Why are you all just standing here?” The young wrapped up his lecture and dismissed the class. Only man cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Have the six remained, each one hoping to add. any of you even gone in to ask?” The three freshmen shook their heads in uni- six son, slightly embarrassed. The young man pulled “Well, I’m going to be straight to the point,” said the door open and threw himself into the room. Professor Cale. “There are only forty-five spots in Taking hold of his initiative, the three students fol- my class. Forty-four of which are already taken. lowed him inside. One of which is now, thanks to Mr. Baker, up for A multitude of eyes stared at them. The young grabs to the student who is most deserving.” man made a beeline straight for the professor, in- He looked at the six students leaning against the different to the fact that a lecture was already well wall. His gaze fell upon each one as he inspected under way. them, searching for some sign of providence. “Are you still add--” “So, which of you is it going to be?” “Sit down. See me after class,” the professor said. The sextet of adders glanced back and forth, “But there’s nowhere to--” The young man ran one at another, trying to size up their competition. his hand through his hair and scanned the room. Professor Cale walked up and down the line with “Then I guess you’ll be standing rather than sit- his hands behind his back. ting, now won’t you?” “I want you each to tell me your name and Taking this cue, the three other students followed why you think you deserve a spot in my class.” He him to the back and stood along the wall. stopped in front of Amber. “We’ll start with you, “Now, as I was saying, this course will require young lady.” you to---” “Um, my name is Amber Rapida and this is my The door opened again. A man, six foot tall and first semester here at Elos. I just need to add this dressed in basketball shorts and a cap, chugged a class because it’s an English requirement.” can of Monster energy drink and made his grand “And why are you adding this class so late?” entrance into room 203. He surveyed the room “Because…I just never got around to it?” Amber and fixed his eyes on the professor. shrugged. “Baker, Jason. I’m on the roll sheet,” he said over his Professor Cale considered her for a moment. shoulder as he made his way to the back of the class. “But I bet you wish now that you had ‘gotten
19 around to it.’” He smiled briefly. “Okay. Thank you, my fees for last semester. But my father gave me a Ms. Rapida. Next.” His eyes fell on Tiffany. She check today to pay for classes.” crossed her arms. “Thank you, Ms. Kim,” said Professor Cale. “I’m Tiffany Tran and I want to add this class for “Next.” His eyes concentrated on the young boy, the same reason. But I think I should be added over whose chubby body began to fidget. the others because, technically, I was here before “M-my name is Matthew Thom,” he said. “I, uh, everyone else. Even ask Amber. I was already here I need this class because I took it, um, this past by the time she even showed up. She even made summer, but didn’t finish it.” me a little late because I had to help her find the “You took it here?” asked Professor Cale, “but class and everything.” why the late start?” Amber glared at Tiffany. “No,” said Matthew. “I went to MPC, but I trans- “Interesting, Ms. Tran,” said Professor Cale. “But ferred to Elos because it’s closer. But I didn’t know as I recall, you were not the first one of this group how to add here.” to enter my classroom this morning. That honor “Is the registration process so different than goes to Ms… I’m sorry, young lady. What was your MPC, Mr. Thom?” name again?” “I didn’t pick my classes the last time,” he admit- A young girl with her black hair in a ponytail ted. “My mom did it for me.” had been standing off to the side, away from the Professor Cale nodded. He glanced at Alex. others and spoke for the first time. Her accent was “And you, young man? What’s your excuse?” obvious, but passable. He made no hesitation in stepping up to face the “My name is Suhn Kim, professor. But my nick- professor. name is Ba-na-na.” “My name is Alejandro Sanchez. But you can call Jason snorted. Tiffany rolled her eyes. Amber si- me Alex. I would’ve added online sooner but like lently mouthed the word and smiled. Banana Sundae over here, I couldn’t add because I “Well, Ms. Kim,” said Professor Cale. “Please, tell was blocked for unpaid fees. I work part-time, but me why you think I should take you into this class my folks take most of my cash for rent.” He paused. over the others.” “Anyway, I finally paid it off today.” “I came to this country two years ago with my “Well, Mr. Sanchez, maybe you’ll get to add my family from Korea. I am the oldest of my siblings class--if you’re lucky.” and the first to go to college. I didn’t know any “I’m a pretty lucky guy, Mr. Cale. You’ll see.” English, but I took ESL classes and learned the Professor Cale held up his hands and shrugged. English over time.” Finally, his gaze landed on Jason. “Ah, Mr. Baker. “You learned a second language and managed We save the best for last. Speak.” to make it all the way to this level of English in “You already know my name and why I’m here,” just two years?” Professor Cale smiled. “That’s Jason said. “You gave up my spot.” impressive.” “No, Mr. Baker,” Professor Cale interjected. “It “I like to learn the English and study very hard was you who gave up your own spot.” to make sure that I get it right. I want to major in Jason eyed the professor, but said nothing. English, so I need this class.” She smiled. “Okay!” Professor Cale clapped his hands to- “I see. But why the late add?” gether. “The way I see it, we have a few ways to “I was not able to add this class online before go about this. Some teachers would simply put all today because the school blocked me. I did not pay your names together in a bag and pull one out by
20 random. Chance.” He looked at Alex. “But I don’t trip to the restroom.” He walked up to the door believe in chance. Because chances are the one and exited the room. who least deserves it will luck out.” “Well,” said Alex, “who didn’t see that coming?” “Other teachers might just give it to the person “This is bullshit, man,” Jason said. “None of ya’ll they like best. Favor.” He looked at Jason. “But I don’t should even be here. I should just step up out of believe in giving favors. Not undeserved ones anyway.” here right now. I don’t got time for this shit.” “Then there are those teachers who might feel “Maybe you should vote yourself out,” said sorry for you.” He looked at Matthew. “You feed Mathew quietly. them your sob story and they gobble it up. But I’ve “What you say, Bobby Hill?” had my fill over the years, and I’m quite full.” Alex turned around in his seat. “He said, maybe “There’s also those teachers who, let’s be honest, you should vote yourself out, you dick.” just don’t give a damn. They’ll pick any student be- “I wasn’t talking to you, Seacrest. So turn your cause they don’t really care. Hell, they’d probably not highlighted ass back around.” even still be here with you.” He looked at Tiffany “You wanna start something, fool?” Alex said and Amber and smiled. “But that’s not me. I care.” getting up from his seat. The professor took off his black-framed glasses “No. You can’t finish what I’d start,” Jason said and began wiping the lens with a piece of gray laughing. cloth he took from his back jean pocket. He clicked “You guys are so stupid. You’re acting so high his tongue a few times. He put his glasses back on. school. Besides,” Tiffany turned to Alex, “he’s like “All right. Let’s make this fun. All of you take a thirty years old and seven feet tall. He’d smack you seat and pull out a pen and a slip of paper.” down before you even took a step.” Jason sat in the last row, to the far left, putting “I’m not thirty, smartass. I’m twenty-eight.” his legs up on the seat in front of him. Matthew “Whatever, grandpa,” said the eighteen-year-old. sat in the very center; Alex sat in the seat next to “Will you all just shut up?” said Amber. “Look at him. Tiffany sat on the far right, near the windows; what you’re doing to Banana.” Amber sat as far away from her as possible. Banana They all turned to look at Banana, who had her sat in the front row. head down on her desk and was covering her ears. “We’re going to have ourselves a little vote,” Then Professor Cale walked back into the classroom. Professor Cale said rubbing his hands together. “All right, folks. I’m back, and very much re- “We’re going to decide who stays?” Matthew lieved.” He stared at them. “Why the serious faces? asked raising his arm. You guys look like The Breakfast Club.” “No. You’re going to decide who leaves.” “The wha?” Tiffany asked. The students now eyed the professor with interest. “Really? Never mind. Okay, everybody. Write “Survivor: Elos College edition!” Alex yelled. down a name on your paper.” “You could say that,” Professor Cale chuckled. The students wrote on their slips of paper and “You all heard each other’s stories, reasons, excuses then passed them to the professor. He then count- for why you should be in this class.” He looked ed them out loud. at each one of them. “And now you’re all going “One vote for Alex.” to consider this carefully and decide who least de- Jason grinned. serves this class.” He stood up from his desk. “And “One, Two, Three, Four votes for Jason. Wow, that while you’re doing that, I’m going to take a quick was unanimous.” “The fuck!?”
21 “Oh, and one for scary angry man?” “You’re just going to leave after he took the time “That one’s mine,” Alex whispered to Matthew. out of his day to stay here with us?” Amber asked. Jason’s feet fell off the desk in front of him as he sat “That’s so rude.” straight up in his seat. “You should stay, dude. We’re already here. Might “Okay. Ya’ll just gonna team up on me like that? as well see it through,” Alex said. Fine. Fuck ya’ll.” “No. I’m tired of waiting. I just want to go home. “Mr. Baker, please leave the room. You’re done Bye, guys.” He left the room, pulling his bag slowly here. Try again next semester.” behind him. Jason stood up from his desk, but didn’t leave. He Amber shook her head. “What a baby. He forced a laugh. couldn’t wait ten more minutes?” “Look, professor. I get what you’re trying do, “Who cares,” said Tiffany. “One less person to teach me a lesson and all that, but, dude, I really worry about.” need this class to graduate. I don’t wanna be at this Amber ignored her. “What’s your major?” she damn school for another semester.” asked Alex. “That feeling of disappointment you’re experi- “Sociology. You?” Alex asked. encing right now,” Professor Cale said pointing a “I’m not sure yet. Maybe Political Science or finger at Jason, “that’s regret. Remember it. Then Business,” Amber said. maybe next time you’ll be on time to class and “You look young. Did you just graduate?” won’t have to suffer for it.” “Yeah. Alhambra High. You?” Alex raised his arms in the air and shook them. “Psh! Right. Five years ago, maybe. I’m “Hunger Games!” The class laughed. Jason picked twenty-three.” up his drawstring sports bag, walked through the “And you’re still not done with this school?” door and slammed it behind him. Tiffany asked. Professor Cale smoothed out the tips of his mus- “Well, no. Not yet. I haven’t exactly, uh, made the tache with his fingers and stared at the class. best of my time here. Plus I work, so…” “And then there were five.” “But you’re going to transfer soon?” Amber asked. five “Yeah, hopefully. Maybe Dominguez Hills.” Matthew raised his hand. “Do we have to vote “You mean Dummy Hills,” Tiffany said. “My again?” brother says that school is for retards.” “Yes. But now we’re going to switch it up. This “I‘m sorry,” Amber finally turned to face Tiffany, time I want you to vote for---” “but nobody’s even talking to you.” Professor Cale’s smartphone rang aloud like an “I said I might go there…” Alex said softly. old-fashioned telephone. “Excuse me, I have to “That’s just what my brother told me. He went take this,” he said, and left the room. to USC, so he should know.” Matthew got up from his desk and pulled up the “Okay, Miss Know-It-All. Why don’t you just handle on his roller bag. shut up already?” Amber said, and turned away “You’re leaving?” Alex asked. from Tiffany. “Yeah… This whole thing is taking too long. I “Whatever. I don’t even wanna be here. I actually wanna go home. I’m hungry.” got accepted to better schools than this.” “Which ones?” Banana asked suddenly.
22 “USC, UCLA, Yale. Universities. Real colleges,” it took them a bit longer to write down an answer. Tiffany answered. But one by one, they each soon walked up and cast “Elos is a real college,” Alex said. their vote. Professor Cale read them aloud: “A real ghetto college,” said Tiffany. “One for Alex.” “If you got accepted into so many great universi- Amber smiled at Alex. ties,” Amber said turning around again, “then why “One for Amber.” are you even here?” Alex gave her a thumbs up. Just then Professor Cale walked back into the “One for Tiffany.” classroom. Banana nodded her head. “Sorry, guys. My wife called and has to go to Professor Cale picked up the last slip of paper work in an hour. She wants to make sure I’m home and frowned. “I can’t say that I’m not a bit disap- in time for when our son gets out of school.” He pointed, but it is what it is. Two for Tiffany.” put his hands on his cheeks. “Don’t want him to be Amber shook her head slowly. Home Alone,” he chuckled. Professor Cale looked at Banana. “I’m sorry, Ms. The class stared at him in silence. Kim. I really am. Good luck to you on the rest of “Wow, really? I am officially old,” said Professor your semester.” Cale. “Okay! You know the drill, kids. Write down Banana got up from her seat, nodded to Professor the name of the person you think should get this Cale, said “Thank you,” and walked quietly out of class, and then hand it to me. Oh, and one more the room with her little yellow backpack. thing: I don’t want you to vote for yourself.” Professor Cale got up, reached into his bag, and A heavy groan rose up from the room. pulled out a slip of paper. He said, “I’ll be right “Aw, I know. This one is a bit harder. It means back,” and walked out the door. you guys have to be selfless. I figured it would be a Amber spun around in her seat and glared at change of pace for you,” said Professor Cale. “Look. Tiffany. “You are such a bitch. I can’t believe you You can write your own name, if you want.” He voted for yourself.” looked closely at the students. “But I really hope “That was messed up,” Alex said. that you won’t.” He looked around the room. “Who was I supposed to vote for?” Tiffany asked. “Where’s Matthew?” She looked at Amber. “You’re obviously taking out “He took off,” Alex said. all of your childhood trauma on me.” She looked “Why’d he do that?” at Alex. “He probably wouldn’t even pass the class “He said he was hungry,” said Tiffany. “Probably if he had it. And I’m sorry, I don’t care how quick went home to breast feed.” of a study she is, nobody who willingly goes by the “Well, I’m sorry to lose him. I’m a bit disap- name banana deserves to take my chance away.” pointed that he would give up so easily. In life, you “And I thought girls like you only existed in have to go after the things you want with ruthless Mean Girls,” Alex said. determination. Otherwise, what’s the point, right?” Tiffany looked at her phone, thumbed through Nobody said anything. it, and placed it back down on her desk. “Well, let’s get on with it. Write down the name “And I thought homos like you only hung of the student you feel most deserves this class and around elementary school playgrounds. But I guess pass it to the front. The person with the fewest votes we were both wrong.” will be asked to leave.” Professor Cale sat down at Professor Cale walked back into the room. his desk and thumbed through his phone. This time
23 “Sorry about that,” he said. “I just had to go after “You’re lazy, Alex,” said Professor Cale. “Don’t that poor girl. She’s worked too hard to just be shut act like you’re surprised. You don’t do your work, out like that. Don’t hate me, but I decided to give even though you can. You don’t show up for class, her an add slip.” The three students looked at him even though you’re fully capable of doing so. The with disappointed faces. only problem with you, Alex, is you.” “But fear not, children! The competition still wag- Professor Cale looked at Alex’s paper again and es. One of you is also going to be added to my class.” sighed. “You’ve passed the enrollment limit for this class. I can’t add you, Alex.” three “Yeah, but I was hoping--” “I can’t add you.” “You’ve all been pointing fingers at each other so Alex’s eyes welled up. “I know,” he said. far,” said Professor Cale, “but this time you’re going “I’m sorry, Alex. I really am.” to point them at yourselves. I want you to write “It’s all good, Mr. Cale,” Alex said forcing a laugh. down why you think you shouldn’t be added to this “There’s always next time. I’ll figure it out.” class. Then pass it up to the front.” “I hope you will,” said Professor Cale. “Good Amber looked down at her slip of lined paper luck, Alex.” and wrote: “Later, Mr. Cale!” Alex walked back to his desk, It’s hard to have to say something bad about myself, but grabbed his backpack, and waved goodbye to Amber. I guess my flaw is that I always put things off to the last “You better get this damn class, girl,” he said. minute. If I had added this class when I was supposed Amber waved back at him, sad. to, then I wouldn’t be in this mess. My name is Amber Then Alex looked at Tiffany. She eyed him wari- Rapida. And I’m a procrastinator. ly. He smiled at her as widely as possible and said in Professor Cale silently read through Amber’s Spanish to Amber, “No te juntes con esta chusma!” first, chuckled, looked at Amber, smiled, and placed and walked out the door. Professor Cale covered her paper down on his desk. Then Professor Cale his mouth with his hand to stifle his own laughter. picked up Alex’s paper, read it, frowned, and placed the paper down on his desk. two “Alex, you say that you’ve taken this class four times before?” he asked. “What’s the problem? Why “I don’t want there to be any more confusion aren‘t you passing this class?” among us,” Professor Cale said to the girls. “I want “I just… I just never finish it,” he said, and looked this to be over with already. So let’s get a few things down at his shoes. clear before we finish this last round. First, neither “Why not? You don’t understand the material?” of you has taken this class more than three times “No,” Alex said. “I’m not dumb or anything. I before now, right?” just… I don’t know. I get bored and don’t do the They both nodded. work. Or I do the work, but I don’t turn it in. Or “And you both have already taken the placement I just don’t come to class sometimes.” He looked at test that said you belong in this class, right?” Professor Cale remorsefully. “I always start out on They both nodded. top, but then I just fizzle out.” “And both of you are a hundred percent sure “You’re a smart guy, Alex. You’re funny, and very so- that you will try your absolute best to make sure cial from what I’ve seen of you so far. But you’re lazy.” that you pass this class with flying colors, right?” “What?” They both nodded.
24 “All right. Let’s finish this. Write a paragraph ex- Amber looked at Banana’s light brown eyes and plaining why you think the other girl deserves to thought they looked pretty. be in this class.” “I heard Professor Cale ended up giving you a Amber and Tiffany looked at each other. spot. Congratulations.” “You mean I have to write something good “Thank you,” said Banana. “Did he give one to about her?” Amber asked. you, too?” Professor Cale nodded. “That’s exactly what I Amber shook her head. “No. I lost to Tiffany.” mean.” He sat on his desk, crossed his arms, and “Oh,” Banana said with a sour face. “I don’t think looked at them intently. she deserves it.” Tiffany took hold of her red pen and started “Neither do I,” Amber said looking back towards writing. the stairs. “Why are you heading back this way? Amber looked down at her blank piece of paper. Shouldn’t you be at the admissions office?” Two minutes later, both girls folded their papers, “I was,” Banana said, “but Professor Cale forgot walked up to Professor Cale and handed him their to sign my add slip.” She showed it to Amber, who final assessments of each other. Professor Cale read looked confused by what she read. Tiffany’s letter out loud first: “Wait,” Amber said. “Why does your slip say “I think that Amber should be chosen for this English 103 and not 101?” class because I think it’s just right for her. A girl “Because that is the class I am adding,” Banana like her not only belongs in this class, but at this explained. school.” Amber looked at the slip, then at Banana, and “Very nice, Tiffany. Thank you.” back at the stairs. “But I thought this was---isn’t Tiffany smiled at the professor. this the S building?” Professor Cale opened up Amber’s note next. He Banana nodded her head. “Yes. S2.” looked at one side, then flipped it over, and back Amber’s mouth fell open. “So this isn’t the S1 again. “Amber, your paper is blank.” building?” “Exactly,” Amber said. “Because there are no “No,” Banana said. good reasons for her to be here.” “And,” Amber smiled, “that class we were in was Professor Cale nodded his head and folded up English 103. Not 101?” the paper. “Okay.” “Yes,” Banana said. “So I get the class, right?” Tiffany asked. “I wrote Amber laughed. Banana stared at her awkwardly, a paragraph and Amber didn’t. So I win, right?” confused. “O-k,” she said to Amber. “I will see you “You do, Ms. Tran,” said Professor Cale, who then later.” She waved goodbye to Amber and walked up looked at Amber. “I’m sorry, Ms. Rapida.” the stairs to room 203. Amber reached into her bag for her schedule hoping to find another class to add, one but grabbed her phone instead to check her updates. Then posted: [SO HUNGRY] on her timeline. As Amber walked down the hallway, she looked at her phone for the time. It was almost noon. She walked down the steps and made her way out of the building. She ran into Banana by the entrance. “Hey, Banana.” “Hello, Amber.”
25 #collegestudentproblems | Raul Meza
This is too motherfucking early. Excuse me, my textbooks cost how much??? #GetTheFuckOut I bought a copy of Anna Karenina. Holy fucking shit it’s heavy. I meant EXTRA caramel! Like, after drinking it, I want to get diabetes! I’ve misplaced every single copy I ever owned of A Tale of Two Cities. Yay. *insane laughter* So, like, I added to the conversation. That’s my ten points for the day, right? #Slay Now, how do I explain that my little cousin ate my textbook? #FamilyProblems Quicksand is giving me feels, I can’t even. My heart is in pieces, omfg. #cryinggg I’m sorry I couldn’t attend class. My cousin died. (Okay fine. I totally fell asleep and forgot to do the work. Whatev.) The notes I took drunk during class are honestly the best notes I’ve ever taken. You never notice how much you despise humanity until you are on an overcrowded bus. I’m really busy talking on the phone and not doing my homework. #CollegeLife I found Orion. He was hiding; shamed by smoke and clouds. #Poignant So apparently, the Greeks used Olive oil as a form of sexual lubricant during anal sex. I find it really weird that Kinko’s has self-help books. Important Life Decision, y’all: Fruit Loops or Apple Jacks? #Help Um, I have an essay due. You better not expect me to interact with people. The level of flop I hit trying to bake muffins is pretty pathetic. They look like cinnamon-covered piles of rubber. In the end, Simba accomplishes what Hamlet never did- kill his uncle. #Shakespeare #Simba4King I THINK THE MUFFINS ARE EDIBLE OMFG
26 *pirouette* This essay is kicking my ass. Well, now my arm hurts. #Sigh Of course this would happen on the same week as midterms. I said no cabbage, not pile on extra! #FuckThis #TheStruggle #UGH You know you’re a lit nerd when it takes you two minutes to identify a Shakespearean plotline. So how much work do I need to finish for a C? Bad grammar is only allowed when used in a satirical manner. A “q” is not a “g”. I don’t even care how many times you flunked Kindergarten. #SorryNotSorry At this time, my world consists of melted chocolate, flimsy poptart wrappers and cold pizza. American Horror Story: Finals What do you mean my argument isn’t strong enough!? IT IS TOTALLY AN ALLEGORY FOR IMPERIALISM YOU DON’T KNOW ME YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE YOU DON’T KNOW MY STRUGGLE I don’t understand the point of dimple piercings. I had a dream where I was friends with a group of serial killers and I kept getting dragged into their serial killer shenanigans. #Sitcom? Fuck this bus schedule. Y’all need to get your shit together. #Smh #CanYouNot? Coffee please? STARBUCKS CANNOT HANDLE ME RIGHT NOW. I got a C?!?!? What the actual fuck???? But I, like, spend all of my time studying. I’m so dedicated, I don’t even understand. What is this?? Brb, committing suicide over my C. #BYE The cannibalism episode of Criminal Minds makes me glad I’m a vegetarian. #barf #done
27 EDITOR'S NOTE
This essay originally appeared in Milestone 1979 by, then student, Luis J . Rodriguez . The work centers around the Chicano Moratorium, a protest organized by Chicano activists in East L .A . on August 29th, 1970 . The march drew 30,000 participants, but was deemed illegal by local police . This rare early work depicts a tumultuous and terrifying experience the Always Running author had with local police . We hope reprinting this piece offers insight and ideas for easing the continuing tension between police and low-income communities .
La Veinte-Nueve | Luis J . Rodriguez
t was a time of rebellion. It was a time of protest there with brown uniforms, insignias and berets. Iand assertion of ideas. Very few understood the They were doing drills and marches. times that they were. It was 1970, and the Viet Nam I got caught up in the spirit. I found myself War was at its height. Cities were burning in urban yelling slogans and putting my fist in the air. I felt unrest. It was a hot summer. People were talking funny at first as I had never done anything like it about a Moratorium against the war to be held in before. We used to give out yells on the streets, at East Los Angeles. There were posters on walls and parties or in jail, but this was different. announcement at meetings. I wanted to go out of There were people lined up for blocks. I strut- my way and attend. I rarely ever did. But I sensed ted along and joined in some chants. We marched something vital; something inspiring. I needed to through the Eastside, going down Whittier know more. Boulevard in the heart of East LA. It was August 29. That morning I put on my over- This time all the businesses had gates on their sized khaki pants, muscle shirt (minus the muscles), windows and all were closed except for a few and steel tipped shoes that I had put on the oven stores. The Boulevard was filled with gente, doing and spit shined to mirror-like luster. From the clos- Latin chants and playing musica right in the streets. et I reached for my favorite long sleeve blue shirt. It started taking on the atmosphere of a carnival. Hot or cold, I wore that attire, ready for anything. Some danced. The Moratorium was a march that was to start at The tienda owners and merchants looked out the park on 3rd Street in East LA and from there their windows; some looked worried. It seemed go through the main thoroughfares of the Eastside like every barrio was there. And children, man, to end up at another park on Whittier Boulevard. there were children! There were pregnant girls and A throng of people filled the park. There were smiling mothers. There were foundry workers and different Chicano organizations, different barrios; pachucos, too. There were a lot of bronze people there were farmworkers and factory hands as well saying, “Look at us! We are a people.” I had never as Blacks, other Latinos, Anglos and more. There seen so much chicanada at one time. must have been about 30,000 people in all. I took off my shirt and let out my own yell. “Yo They lined up behind signs and banners saying Soy Chicano!” Everybody was in the mood. There things like “Que Viva La Raz,” “Chicano Power,” was chanting, singing and drum playing. There “La Raza Si, Guerra No.” The Brown Berets, a were political slogans. militant youth group, both men and women, were
28 Chota cars were parked on side streets. Boom, the police, at least for time to allow others to es- bash! A bottle flew. More came down. Pretty soon cape, were being cut down and scattered. I walked on every side street the marchers passed by, the among the frightened, the confused and the an- police became targets of flying debris. Police car gry. From the midst of smoke hundreds of figures windows busted. A lot of younger vatos roamed the ran to houses, fighting from their living rooms and street throwing at windows and cars. Some older front yards. Police chased people in between the dudes tried to restrain them. The chota fell back on gloomy rows of barrio chantes. one street and were hiding. The marcha kept going. Some people tried to control the crowd. There We fell into Laguna Park, where they had speak- were children, women and old people at the park ers, dancers, music, and teatros. Some of my home- that needed protection. The police swung their boys were there with a lot of bilogna. Though we batons at all who stood in the way. They didn’t should have we didn’t pay much attention to the allow people to move back even if they wanted to. program. We kept going to the corner liquor store. One cop came up to me and said, “Move, son of The liquor store was packed with people. My a bitch, now!” homeboy went in and walked out with a case of I found myself staring into his eyes. The other beer. The store owner realized that a lot of beer police were lined up with hands on shotguns, tear was missing and probably other things, so he closed gas guns, and batons. I stood face to face with this the store and didn’t allow anybody to come in. A hura, and just then reason flew out of my head. lot of thirsty and hungry people got aquitados, so Chale, I didn’t care what he said. I was tired of be- we went up to the store and started banging on the ing tired. Of being pushed around. They threatened windows and causing a metote. me. I argued with them. But in the commotion But then a mean and threatening voice cut in, there was not time for arguments. He hit me in the “Move back before we blow your fuckin’ heads mouth. I fell, eating grass. They picked me up and off.” Chota with shotguns surrounded us. threw handcuffs on me. I could hear voices and I backed off but some of the vatos kept acting angry noises. Wetness filled my mouth. It was war. brave. I wasn’t that locote, so I went back to the I was a casualty. park. I was looking for my homeboy. Not long They threw me into a police car. On one side afterwards there was a ruckus at the end of the of me they threw this guy whose head was bleed- parque. People were gathering and yelling. Then ing profusely. I didn’t look for fear his brains were I heard gunshots. I ran over. The cops were lined coming out. With my hand behind my back, I gave up walking towards the crowd. They ducked and him my shirt so he could help stop the bleeding. dodged the flying bottles, rocks, and sticks. The My favorite blue shirt turned a dark red . . . and the battle had started. battle waged on. It was a nightmare, the battle of Laguna Park. They took me to the East LA jail on 3rd Street. It People went every which way. I got separated from was a small funky jail. They crowded us in the cells. my homeboys and felt lost. In columns they came There were no mattresses. They kept the handcuffs toward us. They fired at us, screaming in fury. Tear gas on us. I peed in my pants because I couldn’t use the burned into our eyes. A steady stream of wounded toilet. The chota laughed. They walked in one cell ran past me. Children cried and women screamed. and roughed up some guys for yelling. They came forward, their guns poised at us. This was the infamous 3rd Street Jail, where I was not quite sober. I ran toward the storm of seven Mexicans had supposedly committed sui- firing ahead of me. Those who tried to hold back cide in a short period of time. We knew they were
29 probably murdered. Many a vato got his head pushers, as well as other people who fought to- bashed and body pounded in those dingy cells. I gether with us on the march. kept my mouth shut, but I seethed inside. I could We met a lot of the inmates there. We were the hear a boy cry. youngest guys some of them had ever seen there. Late that night they woke us up. The stench of Some dudes tried to give us a hard time, but we sweat and urine engulfed me. They chained and did alright. That first night I saw the chota beat shackled us. We were put in the county bus, chained the heck out of this one wino. I saw them break to the seats and each other. There were a lot of guys another guy’s arm. there. We were from different neighborhoods. We They kept moving us around. From the County talked. I didn’t know what had happened after I Jail to Juvenile Hall, to the different jails. My jefi- got busted, but apparently there had been a large tos were looking for me. I was lost for five days. I scale riot. They were burning Whittier Boulevard. could have been dead for that matter. My parents Somebody gave out a spine-chilling Mexican yell. got the runaround. They would be told to go to The Boulevard was on fire. I smiled. Juvenile Hall. But when they arrived all the way We waited for a long time on the bus. They were from home, we were already loaded up on a bus still busting people in the streets. I closed my mind, going to another jail. This happened to my parents going over the day’s event in my mind. I realized I several times, and they were worried sick. was very tired. I was awakened from my thoughts We younger dudes were switched from the when a cop came up to the screened windows of the County Jail to the Hall, then to the Hall of Justice bus and started harassing us. Somebody told him to (old county), the one called the “Glasshouse.” fuck his mother. The cop got his mace spray can and In the Glasshouse they put us on murderers’ started spraying it into the bus, laughing. We ducked row, where the younger dudes under 18 who down and closed our eyes. Chains rattled. had committed murder were temporarily locat- “Cabrones!” we yelled. ed, awaiting trials or whatever. Most of the guys He kept spraying it and we could not do any- there were Negro or Mexican. There was one thing because we were chained. The side of my Anglo youth. They came from neighborhoods like face burned and burned. the Aliso Village housing projects on the Eastside, They took us to the LA County Jail. There we like the Imperial Courts and Jordan Downs proj- were searched, walked through a maze of cells, and ects in Watts. They were from Dogtown and the had our bodies processed. Usually we would have Flats. From neighborhoods all over. They put me showered, been looked at for worms and sprayed. and another guy in a cell with two Negro youths. But they refused to let us shower all the time we One had killed a teacher in school, the other had were there. They threw us in crowded cells without shot another dude from his housing project. At one beds. We squatted on the floor like Indians. Some of point one of them tried to cut me with a razor he the inmates asked about the riot because they had had stashed away. He was just trying to scare me. I heard about it on the radio. We ran it down. There just stared him straight in the face and acted brave, were four of us young dudes under 17. There was even though I was scared. If he was going to cut, a 13 year old, a 15 year old, and two 16 year olds. I wasn’t going cowering. But he didn’t and later That was unusual because the county jail was for we talked together pretty good. We passed the time adults, 18 and over. I had just turned 16 the month telling stories, jokes, and playing cards. On the ra- before. But they didn’t care. We slept that night on dio I heard more news of the riots, which by then the concrete floor next to winos, rapists, and drug had started other riots. The Mexicanos of the Casa
30 Blanca district of Riverside had rioted and Wilmas band looked real crazy but with a pretty face. She (Wilmington) of the Harbor had its flaming skies. looked at us youngsters and smiled. She kept the There were still business aflame on Whittier place lively. Boulevard. When he heard Ruben Salazar, a chica- I didn't know it then, but my jefita and familia no reporter, had been killed by police the cell bars were already in the courtroom waiting for me to rattled and yells echoed throughout the jail. make my plea in front of the Judge. But I didn't That night we spent giving out soulful Mexican after all. There were a lot of people to be arraigned yells. and they didn't get to us. They took us back to the In the “Glasshouse” I was in a cell next door to a Glasshouse. In the jail I ran across my homeboy more notorious killer. He was going to trial at this who also had gotten busted with us. We talked of time, and they had him in a blocked-off cell. It was the significance of what had happened. He said he Charles Manson. They had it so when we got out would never do this again. "Fuck revolution if this to walk around the tier, he stayed inside his cell. is what you get for it," he said. But this couldn't And when we were locked up they let him out. He be it. There had to be more to this than getting was a fascist, and it was for his own good. He hated bumped on your head so that you didn't know Negroes and Mexicans, but especially Negroes. where to put your hat on. But my homeboy felt he He would intimidate us and call us names. There had rebelled and paid the price. was a lot of yelling back but Chale; there was noth- "Hang it up, ese. It's not worth it." ing we could do. When he went to trial one morn- The knowledge of his enemy was still elusive. ing they told me that all the guys who were awake So it was with me and confusion reigned. had to stand up and face the wall as he passed. That One night the guard opened up the cell block is how he wanted it. I don't know if it was true and woke me. Groggily I got up. They put hand- because I was asleep. But if I was awake I wouldn't cuffs on me and took me down an elevator. There have turned to the wall. I would have spit in his eye. was the police county bus and I boarded it with At one point during this period we got to other prisoners. court for arraignment. I was charged with failure "Damn, here we go again," I thought. We sat to disperse. They took a whole mess of us to the chained and shackled. They took me to the new East LA Jail Courthouse where we were stuffed in county jail. There waiting for me were my parents. the bullpen (holding tank). We spent a long time They looked sad and tired. I looked out the win- there waiting to make our pleas. Some guy was on dow and tears formed in my eyes. I hadn't realized crutches from the beating he had gotten during how much they meant to me. My jefita saw me the riot. Others were bandaged up. They eventu- and cried. I was finally released. The runaround was ally took us young dudes and put us in different over. I hugged my mama. It was just the beginning rooms from the others. We talked and joked. Then for me, but I reassured her, "I am no criminal, ma." we were put in a room where they had the girl She scolded me in Spanish like she always did, but inmates who were arrested during the nights of the I just smiled. She smiled back and we drove all the riots. The girls looked rowdy. One girl had a tattoo way back to San Gabriel. of a serpent on her arm. She was torcida for being on pills. The other girls were vacilando. They made fun of the chota. When we tried to talk to the girls the cops told us to shut-up. They threatened us so we just listened to the girls. One girl with a head
31 Confidence | Joshua Castro
he Santa Monica Boulevard stretching through “I’ve seen clips,” the waiter said. “But not an ac- TWest Hollywood was long and bright. By the tual episode.” intersection at San Vicente there was a strip of bars The boy looked at the menu. “The quesadilla,” and clubs and trees dressed up in lights along the he said. “What’s in it?” sidewalk on one side and a police station was across “Chicken. You want it?” the street from it all. A block south of the intersection “How much is it?” across the small side street of Larrabee was a building The handsome waiter leaned over close to the that emitted laughter and song into the night. The young boy and pointed at the menu. “Ten dollars young boy sat at a table on the second floor of the for the meal. Seven by itself.” club reserved for dining. It was warm inside and vid- “I’ll just have it by itself.” eo clips played on television screens throughout the “Do you want it with the special sauce?” building. Musical Mondays was a popular venue for “I don’t know,” the boy said. “Is it good with the lovers of Broadway and movie musicals. sauce?” “Where is she?” the boy asked. He had taken out “Makes it spicy. So do you want the sauce?” his phone and put it on the table. It vibrated. “Sure. But with no tomato.” his friend texted. The waiter fetched a plate from the kitchen and
32 <*Douchebag>
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34 Relentless Wonder | Janet Macias Garcia a butterfly powered with wings of relentless wonder watches the world underneath as its cities unknowingly whisper their tormented cry butterfly wings scattered among dead bodies cries disguised in false realities devouring scraps of the vulture butterfly wings scattered among dead bodies leaving the stench of decomposed ignorance tyrants of unforgiving existence seeking life as currency exchange butterfly wings scattered among dead bodies
35 PAINTING > Jesus Barrales, Touch of Paint, Oil on Canvas
36 A Hug from Behind | Matthew Mejia
Sometimes it’s all I need when I feel like I’m alone, I don’t need flowers, just stand behind me and I’ll feel you in my bones. It seems like nothing but please trust me and don’t worry about how I look, Take away tattoos and the radical - you got me: an open book.
I look like a fuckin criminal and a heathen who’s lost his way, But don’t worry I’ll be fine I found my path by faith and praise. I used to curse the sky and wish that I was never made to be, Because of how and who I was I used to long to stay asleep. I wanted more than anything to learn the reasons why I cried, Cuz when I wiped my tears and in the mirror was the person I wish had died. It isn’t fair when children go or when the elders take their turn, Because sometimes death just never comes to those who should have burned. When people take another’s life because they think that it’s a game, Why can’t you see it, black or white inside we’re all the fucking same And it’s insane the way they hate because of how we dress ourselves, The look across my face had nothing to do with how I felt. Now can’t you tell?
This isn’t about a moment, no - it’s about my whole damn life, It’s a secret I’m about to share it cuts deeper than the knife. I used to fear myself and all the images in my brain, And it’s the same fear that I cast away when I expressed myself on stage. Because you see last year I played it safe, I just wanted to be loved. But this time now I realize that only I can rise above. And I have flown with angels singing proud with trumpets and their wings, It’s time I joined them all with majesty, prepare as I will sing.
I never told you this before but just a simple touch from hands Removes the dark and dread and fear I had And makes me feel less mad. It turned me back and brought me down When I thought that I was lost, It’s all I needed was a hug yet from behind me stood me a ghost. So here’s to you my future tamer If you feel that you’re no match, Just simply stand behind and don’t let go - For God’s sake don’t lose your grasp.
37 Just Fears | Matthew Mejia
They’re just fears. Walk past doorways, We’re always so scared of things Don’t go in To the point Because you’re scared of the dark. We shed tears Or are you simply But once again, Scared you’re the man you thought, Listen close, And you’re falling apart? Because they are just fears. But we need to be broken Time. So we can build what we’ve lost. It just takes time. We are architects of emotion Won’t you give me some time! And engineers of our thoughts Fuck! We can’t stop. I’ll be fine ok don’t worry This shit’s all in my mind. If you’re afraid to be vulnerable But that’s where you’re wrong Then you must be scared to love too. Because our minds seem so blind In our weakest moments To the lies. We learn to see ourselves Then we’re sprawled out And it’s true. Under white lights and the knife. So look in the mirror, But I’m scared. And see yourself shedding tears. We’ve all said it – We are not as weak as they say No I haven’t – Because they are Don’t you dare. Simply You don’t comb your hair Just fears. So viciously and cover up when you’re bare – Trust me. You’re scared.
But it’s ok. This fear means only That we care about us. That we wanna be stronger But we’re too scared to trust. And it hurts to lose kisses And to never be touched, But we need to get up And try again. That’s a must.
38 Growing Up in Mexico | Marisol Arteaga
y name is Marisol, Marisol Arteaga. I live with my father, Efrain Arteaga, and my brother, Roberto MArteaga. We have been living in the United States for years. We used to live in a very small apart- ment, a single. Now, thanks to my father’s hard work, we live in The Huntington Apartments. They are some decent apartments, and we live more comfortably since it is bigger. The manager always does her best to keep the building clean – to have it looking as perfect as possible. My father, despite his 5’3 size, has a strong character. He is also nice and loving. He was born in Mexico and has worked since he was small. He didn’t even get to middle school. As a result of his rough life, he is always bothering me.
39 PHOTOGRAPH > Franco Aguilar “Sit up. Have you done your homework?” So I stayed here alone. Anyway, long story short, the sit. I didn’t have any homework. The teachers hard- year I lived with her was gruesome. She was ver- ly ever gave homework, and if they did, I didn’t do bally and physically abusive. She drank in front of it. us, engaged in sexual activities with anyone. She “You better not be lying. You need to get an ed- brought many men to the house that were my “un- ucation, so that you can have a career. I want what cles.” They were not, of course. One day, my moth- is best for you. I am telling you for your own good. er sent me to the store, and I remember seeing a Without an education what will you do? I don’t bunch of kids playing near it. Then, they started want you doing laborsome jobs like me, and get- yelling, “Your mother is a whore, your mother is a ting little pay.” My dad is the janitor of a clinic. He whore,” they said over and over. I didn’t defend her has been working there for many years now. because they were only saying the truth. “I will marry someone with money,” I answer, The best day of my life in Mexico was at my but it just makes it worse. Grandmother’s house, the mom of my mom. I was “Marisol, we are in the United States. We are not washing her dishes. I was forced, as always, by my in Mexico. Here, women have opportunities. Why mother to do all sorts of tasks. I was on my tiptoes would you want to depend on a man? Men are to reach the sink, and struggling to scrape the dry jerks, and when you grow up I don’t want to see leftovers from a pot. Someone knocked at the door. you putting up with any man’s shit!” Because we were poor, what was supposed to be These lectures are endless. I just nod, and nod, and the living room was also the kitchen. As I turned nod, and agree with him, so he will stop bothering around, and the door was opened by my grand- me and leave me alone to watch TV. They began mother, I saw MY FATHER! He surprised me. It when I started middle school. I didn’t have many was a miracle; my prayers were answered. He took friends then because I hadn’t attended the same el- my brother and me back to the U.S. He would ementary. As a result, the first days I was a loner, have brought my younger sister, but my mother until a girl by the name of Emilia approached me. refused. I was glad she did because otherwise, I would have Anyway, as I was saying, Emilia was my only stayed a loner for God knows how much longer. friend until this one day in English class. I was With low self-esteem, I didn’t have the guts to start laughing loudly at something Emilia said, yet as I conversation with anyone. I felt ugly and didn’t was laughing my head was turned towards another have good taste in clothes; I knew that. And when classmate, whom I didn’t notice. I found something beautiful to wear, and tried it “What are you laughing at?” this girl shouts from on, it only brought me disappointment. It was me, across the class. it was my body: short, with messy hair, brown skin, “Oh, I wasn’t laughing at you,” I said. and no signs of curves. I was ashamed of my body, “Yes, you were, I saw you staring at me.” Vanessa and didn’t think I could be successful. was the prettiest girl in the classroom, and always This probably has something to do with my surrounded by many friends, especially boys. mother. I don’t know the whole history of my par- “I’m going to fight you!” she said. At this mo- ents’ relationship, but I do know that it wasn’t a ment, our classmates’ eyes were fixed upon us. I good one. She used to live here in the U.S. with didn’t know what to say. I stood there without a us, until she decided to leave for Mexico. I was 7 at word coming out. the time, and unfortunately, she took me with her, “She is scared!” someone yelled. along with my brother and sister. And my father
40 “I am not scared, and I will fight you.” My knees I do now? I was walking, looking at the concrete, were shaky; I wished I hadn’t stared at her, yet I when unexpectedly classmates approached me. didn’t even know I was doing it. “You left her crying. She is bleeding.” From that “At lunch,” she said with a scornful smile. “At moment on, many classmates wanted to be around the field.” me. And I liked it. So I became a troublemaker. I Damn teacher. Where the hell was he? Isn’t he sup- didn’t do any schoolwork, and often ditched class, posed to be aware of what goes on in the classroom? and got into more fights, which I won. I was tough He was inside another little room that connected to according to my friends. Girls wanted to be just like the classroom doing God knows what. Classmates me. I enjoyed the attention. As a result of all this stood up to surround Vanessa and talk to her. The bell destructiveness, I started to get suspended from was about to ring for lunch in 10 minutes. I was sit- school, but I got more popular. ting next to Emilia and some other girl who seemed “All I get from you are complaints, and com- very nice, Victoria. She was an intelligent one, always plaints, and complaints from school.” My father was raising her hand to answer the teachers’ questions, full of anger every time. He would punish me by and never missed homework. making me go work with him, yet I didn’t change. “Are you really going to fight?” Victoria asked. I was suspended again, and again, and again. “I don’t think I have a choice,” I responded. I “When will you understand? You are old really didn’t want to. My hands were trembling, enough! Stop acting like this!” My father would and my heart felt as if it was going to leap out of say. Yet I didn’t understand. I did it again, and again, me. I hoped Victoria and Emilia wouldn’t notice and again. my fright, but I know they did. I know they saw “I am getting tired of you already! You are noth- my shaky hands. They stood quiet, without saying a ing but disappointments!” These words crushed my word. I was ashamed because I was afraid. heart. So I decided to take a break from him. The bell rang, and I walked to the field with *** my friend Emilia. I saw a bunch of kids huddling I left for Mexico to be with my mother. Her around Vanessa. As I approached her, I thought that home is one room - where the living room, kitch- from that moment on everyone was going to hate en, and bedroom are one, and of course, a small- me. They were going to hate me because every- er room exists, which is the bathroom. Since the one preferred that pretty popular girl. Next thing I house is far away from the city, it is hard to keep it know, I was face to face with her. clean because of all the cornfields, and no concrete “Are you ready to get your ass kicked?” she said. roads. Dirt is picked up by the winds and slammed Everyone seemed cheerful and excited. I felt my on everyone that passes by. blood boiling up. I took a step towards her and we My father gave me permission to stay for only started to fight. Everyone was shouting. What? I two months for school vacation. I told him I longed don’t know what. I was focusing on my aim. to see my mother, so this is why he allowed me to “A staff member is coming, a staff member is come. Despite her awful behavior towards my fa- coming,” someone yelled. ther, he never spoke badly about her, or about any- “Let her go!” So I did. She tried to walk away, but one. The reality is that I went to Mexico because everyone followed her. As a result, she was caught I knew I was going to do whatever I wanted. And by the staff and got in trouble. I loved it. I loved it because I lived without rules. I looked at my surroundings and I was alone; What teenage kid doesn’t want that? In Mexico, great, I thought. Emilia wasn’t in sight. What would once people are around thirteen, they don’t have
41 curfews, and they can go to discos, and they can the house the next day, but he wasn’t home. My even drink! At this age, people are considered brother answered. adults. I came across girls who were 14 and mar- “What? What are you talking about?” he asked. ried with kids. I felt badly for them though because “Yeah. I am going to live here, in Mexico with they are treated like servants. Poor things. her, for all my life.” So my mother’s name is Sylvia. She is in her thir- “You are crazy. You better get your ass back be- ties, but looks like she is in her late 40s. She is a short, fore school starts!” he yelled. I clicked the phone. light-skinned woman. I hadn’t forgotten about my My mind was set. I refused to speak to my dad past life with her, but now she seems cool. again. I didn’t want to hear it. My brother would “Do you drink?” she asks. call me telling me my father was devastated. But I “No. I have never drunk before.” My father wasn’t listening. would have never let me. Yet she did. That night, I *** drank two full beers, and I felt dizzy. I had fun with One weekend, my mother and I were once her! I thought we were going to be best friends. again sitting on my uncle’s patio, drinking beer and Then three weeks after I arrived, she was absent laughing. My mom went to the kitchen, so my un- for two days. I hadn’t seen her. I was starving. One cle started asking me about my father. time, she abandoned my brother, sister, and me “I love him. He is the only one I love. Him and for two weeks! This time I just went over to the my brother.” Tears came out my eyes. “They are the neighbor’s house and asked for food. They gave me only ones I have,” I said. It had been six weeks since a plate of rice and beans. That is all I got, but it I left. Looking down, I felt more alone than ever. was the best meal I ever had. When my mother got “Then what are you doing here?! Go with your back, I confronted her, and she told me she had father you ungrateful daughter,” my mother said been working – yeah, right. returning from the kitchen after overhearing me. “I will make it up to you. Get ready, because we I raised my head, and there she was with the most are going to your uncle’s house to have a good gruesome expression, as if she hated me. time,” she said. So I got ready. We drank and drank “By today, I want you out!” until I vomited! My mother couldn’t stop laughing. I was stunned. My mouth was sealed, but my The next day, she kept drinking with my uncle, and thoughts flourished. they told me to join in. I realized this life was all “Yes, I am,” I responded and stood up. I walked about getting drunk and having fun. I liked it. towards her and said, “You are right. I couldn’t “Stay with me. You don’t even have to go to agree more. I am such an ungrateful daughter.” I school,” she said. I told her my father would pres- left, walked to her house, packed my belongings, sure me so much about going to school. and made a phone call. “Here, you can just get a job, and do whatever The whole flight back I was crying. I was in you like. You just have to pay me rent.” shock. When I got off the plane, I was eagerly “Wow, I don’t have to go to school! I’m going searching for him. He was there and gave me the to let dad know. I am not going back!” So I called hug that I so desperately needed.
42 Hacienda: What Lies There | Franco Aguilar
In the remote corners of rural towns in Southern Mexico, exist forgotten ancient sites, which were once pivotal landmarks during an ominous era of the country’s history . Left abandoned for centuries, these large estates, known as “haciendas,” were at a time properties of wealthy settlers, but have not been occupied since . Despite this, the ruins still remain, speaking to surrounding communities and becoming the subject of enthralling folklore . Encompassed by a mythical semblance, these ruins have garnered countless haunt- ings and fascinating legends, diverse and unique according to their location . Tales of riches, tales of nightly visitors . Is it all true? What really lies inside these ruins? This ongoing photographic project explores the skeletal remains of these sites . Driven by child-like curiosity, we travel into a mystical realm, with aspirations to learn, speculate, and allow our imagination to drift lavishly .
43 PHOTOGRAPH > Franco Aguilar, What Lies There I PHOTOGRAPH > Franco Aguilar, What Lies There II (above), III (right)
44 45 46 No Mas Sentir | Guadalupe Salgado
quiero que una palabra fuera la misma escrita que hecha que mis nervios volaran lejos
y si eso no se pudiese hacer que entonces se desplumaran como se despluman gallinas cotidianamente sin sentimiento y sin remordimiento
para que estos nudos de garganta para mi no tuvieran valor alguno
Porque Si Sed No Tienes, Agua Tampoco Tendras
dicen que el tiempo pasa y les creo no por ver el reloj ni por ver las arrugas que aparecen sino porque el tiempo pesa y desnuda el alma
porque quita todo por lo cual uno no lucha por eso es que se, que ha pasado
47 PHOTOGRAPH > Franco Aguilar, What Lies There IV La Maracuya | J .G . Santibanez
The passion fruit vine was blooming. “Everything will be all right,” it said. Funny, neither could we.
A year of watering plants, The passion fruit vine day after day, was especially stubborn. with nothing else It sprouted grudgingly, to do— inched up the fence, Now the plants were talking to me. bit by bit, sluggish, “Las plantitas están vivas— then refused to do Si les hablas, te contestarán.” much else.
Sure, Mom. Month after month, (Mexican mothers still sickly yellow-green, and their plants, Lifeless. right?) But then, one day, My Mom loves her plants. there it was— She grew them at our old house, Vibrant green leaves, a whole garden of them— purple and white, papayas and coffee stalks, star-shaped blossoms: chiles and yerba buena— homegrown everything. “Everything will be alright,” it promised. When we were uprooted, she gathered them all My Mom really does in makeshift mazetas love her plants— and brought them along I guess that’s why she never confessed, with us. that they are Goddamned liars. Now she grows them here, too, in our not-so-new I wish she’d given me a heads up. rental house, with the big back yard. But the plants just won’t thrive here—
48 PHOTOGRAPH > Brenda Morones, A Place for the Heart When I’m High | Daniel Victorino
wake up with the sun glaring down on my face. The sun doesn’t Iusually hit my face thanks to the tall buildings that usually block the sunlight for me, but not today. I lie here for almost an hour before I decide to finally get up. The city streets are already crowded with people rushing to their destinations and cars honking at each other as rush hour begins. It’s 9 a.m. in the streets of downtown Los Angeles.
49 I wish I had somewhere to go. I have no reason to I should’ve pursued a career instead of having get up. I have nobody to meet up with, or anything this worthless job. I can barely afford to pay all the important to do. bills and I can’t go any further in this line of work. All I remember is that it started at a company I started feeling like I wasn’t good enough. I want- party. I worked as a mechanic at a Mazda dealer. ed to start all over. Go back in time and do things The whole staff was there. Most of them were differently. My wife never complained about any- around the same age or a bit younger than I was. thing. She seemed to just accept the fact that what There were about thirty-five to forty people in to- we had was good enough. I hate being just “good tal. We were all crammed into one of the garages enough.” I wanted to be better for my family. and the smell of car fumes lingered in the room. “What’s up, man?” Robert yells at me and dis- It was dark out and the day seemed to be close rupts my thoughts. I see him from the corner of to an end. I remember feeling so exhausted but I my eye walking towards me. We talk about myself didn’t know why. Work was the same as any other and nothing more. He seems interested, so I keep day. I remember not socializing much that night. talking for quite a while. He’s giving me attention I was standing around drinking a few beers and and it’s making me feel comfortable. I start loosen- minding my own business. I wouldn’t say that I’m ing up and opening up to him. I realize I haven’t antisocial, but there was just something about that had a conversation like this with another person day that kept me from wanting to interact with in so long. Before I know it an hour has gone by the others. Suddenly my co-worker Robert came and I haven’t even called my wife to let her know up and asked if I wanted to go out to a bar with where I was. Then I hear Robert calling over an- the guys. I was usually intimidated by Robert but other person. decided I would go out and relieve some stress. “Check this shit out, man,” he says as he sets up a Robert is a tall, muscular, white man with a seri- line of coke on the counter. ous look on his face who seems to keep to himself “What the fuck is he doing?” I think. I look most of the time. Conversations between us usually around to see if anyone else has a similar reaction consisted of short questions with straightforward to mine. They don’t. Even the bartender seems to answers that didn’t last longer than five minutes, so be okay with it. I was a bit surprised that he asked me to hang out. “Here you go man. Do a line,” he says. I thought maybe a few more drinks might cheer “Oh, no. That’s not my thing,” I reply. me up, or at least clear my head for the night, so I “It’ll calm you down,” he assures me. decided to tag along. So many thoughts run through my head. Why We got to the bar and I immediately looked for am I even considering it? I just barely opened up the seat furthest away from everyone else. I wasn’t to this guy and yet I feel like I can trust him. The there to talk; I was there to drink and nothing more. alcohol running through me persuades me to go I sat on a stool at the bar for about twenty minutes for it. What harm is one line going to do? It isn’t just thinking. I had gone through three beers and going to hurt anyone. the thoughts in my head showed no sign of leaving. That’s where I was wrong. That one occasion led I guess you can say I was going through a midlife to many more. I started spending part of my fami- crisis. All I kept thinking was that my family de- ly’s savings. I spent more than half of my paycheck served to have everything they wanted and that I on it. I was too busy pleasing myself to worry about SHOULD have been able to provide it for them. the needs of my loved ones and my responsibil- Where did I go wrong? ities. Bills went unpaid, job performance started
50 declining, and relationship problems were at an all satisfy me. I have what I need. I struggle to get time high. That didn’t bother me, though. I had money for drugs at times, but I get it any way I can. something that made me forget about everything. Nothing can stop me. All those negative thoughts about not being good Time passes by so fast when I’m high. The moon enough were gone. shines brightly as the last few people out on the I eventually lost my job and my wife. She took streets start heading home. I reach into my pocket everything: the house, my daughter, and all our and grab another small bag full of coke. I make my possessions. She kicked me out and left me with way to the library parking lot, making sure that nothing but the clothes on my back. I sit outside nobody is around. I sit on the floor near the back on the sidewalk for a few hours before I get up of the lot and prepare myself. I forget everything and start walking. The sun is starting to set, so I I’ve thought about today. This is what I live for decide to head to the local park. The skies are dark now. I do my thing and I sit there for a while, calm and the park is empty. All I can hear are the ducks and relaxed. Then I suddenly start feeling nauseous. near the pond. I make my way to a park bench and I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve never call it a day. Years have passed and all I think about felt this before. I stand up and try screaming for is my addiction. I never worry about fixing any- help, but I just can’t. I open my mouth but nothing thing with the people I lost. Why bother? It doesn’t comes out.
51 Elotero Man | Judith Cruz
Steaming, screeching pots of golden hues, String like husks running wildly. Bustling bubbles of a wicked witches brew, Yellow soldiers marching idly. Held in captivity in a battered silver sphere, Screaming please, PLEASE get me out of here! Hoary confined walls that open sporadically.
Sharp silver pliers ready to recruit. Ripen figures piling ready to submit. Bamboo stakes slay their pray by the bubbling blood infested fire.
Alabaster strokes of creamy lacquer. Decorated soldier rolling in coarse cotija ivory ash, Striped scars of amber mantequilla silken icing. A dusting of chili ancho ammo encase its carcass. Saluting its erect limbless body, The elote silently sings to the elotero, “Aqui estoy tu elote con todo!
52 PHOTOGRAPH > Brenda Morones, Far Beyond the Stars
53 In the Metro There is Light | Gerson Villarreal
In the metro there is light, Ambient light, Inadvertently quivering.
We tend to sit impermissible, Unaware, Entirely unconscious of it;
Yet it kindles us In the underground As we ride Homeward. Homeward.
54 Pleasure for Two | Brenda Morones
For there are many Many long distances That come from underneath And end up in between And from the ocean they have merged Made one, their simple love And what started as a simple affection Ended With nothing more than a simple touch A simple caress That like the ocean it dwelled And As the ocean splashed With the fury of its waves Coming down upon the nothingness The emptiness, the most hollow of places Its vortex, the weak spot Spinning round and around And once more Capturing the attention The attention of its lover The ocean But The ocean only being free Splashing and crashing Smashing and pounding So hard That the vortex became its strong spot And what started as a simple affection Ended, as a pleasure for two
55 One Head, One Thousand Arms | Nils Rabe
—a mighty deity whose Name cannot be uttered; whose Image is a burning and a blinding
One head, one thousand arms Stretch across a million Scaffolds and strings harp Strummed by five thousand Ten fingers and toes
Afro pygmies hoot and holler And animals yelp high- Pitched Yip! Yip!s and Aow! Aow!s And Oo! Oo!s through crooked trees And then their own Voices echo back at them
56 #selfie | Christine Rodriguez
The dog sniffs for poop He ignores me completely I am also Shit.
ILLUSTRATION > Valentina Zapata
57 58 PAINTING > Jesus Barrales, Deep Thought, Oil on Canvas Wade In Her Water | Richard Lopez
was feeling extremely optimistic about that day, me might have just been sick. I began to realize Iit had rained a little through the night, and it that we were the only ones on the dance floor, and was expected to rain again later in the evening. The the only people still in the lounge were the really sounds of raindrops falling and hitting the ground drunk people that were too oblivious to really see were consoling, peaceful, and relaxing. Big plans what was going on. In this moment of realization were going on that Saturday: my friends and I were came the mixed emotions of dread and confusion. I going to celebrate one of my best friend’s 21st did not know why my best friends would abandon birthday. It was all planned out, we were going to go me, but it could not be any good for me. That is to a lounge in Pico Rivera and have some drinks, when I finally felt the razor sharp nails that were dance, and just have a good time, or so I thought. slowly digging themselves deeper into my flesh, as Sitting at the bar, already feeling a little tipsy over if she was making sure I could not escape her grasp. the beer we had been drinking, I suddenly had that I do not know, even now, why I did not try to Mexican urge that I needed to dance. So, I scanned fight her off or run away in a panic. That may the room quickly and I see that I only have two have been the only reason I still have my soul. The options. Option one, I can either dance with one woman dancing with me finally chose to reveal of my guy friends, which was not going to happen. herself. All the stories that family members told Or option two, this girl sitting all by herself not me would never prepare me for what I saw. As too far away. she slowly turned her head up I could see where With my inhibitions gone due to the beer, I walk the sniffles were coming from. It had seemed that up to this girl and simply hold out my hand and she was crying for years. She even had tried to put gesture to the dance floor. Now that I look back, it make-up on, but the eye-liner and blush she once should have seemed strange that instead of giving had on was now streaming down her face. The me her hand, she put her arm around mine. Without more I noticed one detail about her face the more much thinking, we were on the dance floor. I did it changed. Quickly the wrinkles on her face began not even care that she would not look me in the to get deeper, and her hair became unkempt, and eyes, or really even let me see her face. I was prob- started to turn grey. But the one thing that kept my ably a little more than just tipsy because after two attention over her entire transformation, were her songs it was lost on me that her razor sharp nails eyes. Those black murky dying eyes will forever be had been cutting into my skin. I heard little sniffle seared into my brain. What truly wakes me up from sounds and just passed it off that someone around my nightmares is that even though she was crying,
59 those eyes of hers were burning red with spite. I her if she knows how to contact me through my still feel the hate she felt for me when we were phone. She must also be able to find out where I together at the lounge. What happened next was all live, right? I ask you, because these are questions I too surreal. I myself still have a hard time believing still do not know the answers to. Now the thing I it was real. used to love so much, the rain, scares me so that The music from the DJ finally stopped playing, I fall into a panic every time I hear it. Even if I and all I was left with was this hag and the sound know it is not real. Needless to say, I have a new of rain coming from outside. I could feel what was phone, number and ringtones of course, but when- coming next, and my life as I knew it was over. I ever it does rain, she still calls and texts me. And the tried to prepare for it the only way I could and that sounds of a rainstorm and raindrops fill my room. I was listening to the rain fall one last time. But what do not know if I am just losing my mind, but I do I heard was not the sounds of a raging storm, they know that one day she is going to catch up with were the sounds of a dying rain, one that would not me and take back what she lost that night. last much longer; and that filled me with such grief So I write this as a warning to everyone. Make I almost collapsed right there. My life was going sure you know whom you decide to dance with, to be torn out of my body, and I could not even because it can be your last. I do not think that I go out hearing my favorite sound in the world to will ever be safe. I feel if I can save someone else console me. Then I noticed something in what I from the fate that awaits me, I might rest in peace, thought were my final moments. I did not know wholeheartedly. It is never a good thing to con- why, but as the rain got weaker outside, she got stantly look over your shoulder, or think every weaker inside. I did not question my instincts, as night may be the last. But this too will end eventu- the rain was almost completely done; I pushed her ally; it has to or else I… away, ripping off pieces of my clothing and her ra- zor like nails tore into my skin even more. I ran for the exit, got through the door, and slipped on the wet floor. I got up quickly and continued to run to the empty parking lot to find my car and get the hell out of there. This is when the real torture began; she some- how called my phone, which only scared me more, because my ringtone was that of a rainstorm. She even went as far as texting me to come back to her, which also sent panic through me because my text message ringtone was that of a single raindrop. All I could think was how am I ever going to escape
60 Voy Al Mar | Guadalupe Salgado madre las olas despiertas, me llaman la brisa me jala y la brújula me canta canciones lejanas los truenos invaden y me azotan con ramas mi simple ventana madre yo nunca e querido dejarte pero es que el mundo me jala y esto dentro me cala y ya no se calma ya no se calla no oyes esas olas, desde chica me gritan desde pequeña conocen mi casa,
Madre no puedo dormir mas… ni a mi jardín, y ni a mis plantas puedo atender y siento que esa vida sonada junto a mi pero y mi granja se escapa ...
61 PHOTOGRAPH > Franco Aguilar, Out of the Smoke, No. 2
62 Writing Utensils | Aaron Higareda
When ink Kisses paper I feel free
You see, There are no r u l e s Nor no boundaries And the blank page Never judges me But tragically By the end of the 21st century Paper and pen Will be a luxury item So I’m digging a hole to hide them And making a map for you to find them. PHOTOGRAPH > Franco Aguilar, Out of the Smoke, No. 2
63 Six-Word Story Winner | Irving Grey Angeles
On March 26th, 2014 the Milestone staff had an open reading and six-word story contest at East Los Angeles College’s free speech area. The rules were simple: craft an exciting story with only six words. As an example, the rumored inventor of the genre, Ernest Hemingway was read: For sale: baby shoes, never worn. Along with Eileen Gunn’s: Computer, did we bring batteries? Computer? And Margaret Atwood’s: Longed for him. Got him. Shit.
The three runner-ups are Adrian Tanwongprasert, Inffanyt, and David Herrera.
64 65 66 PHOTOGRAPH > Nyqolas Hale, Secret Garden All or Nothing | Aura Chavez the feel of the air. the distractions I seek to procrastinate a little longer. he’s sly- I’m getting to know my humor. I take it a day at a time- your smile.
I simply want to hear you speak. you’ve awakened the feelings I’ve chosen a blanket instead; a sweater for when I go out, a scarf to pretend. my lingering cough- I’m healing, With a recklessness that isn’t careless.
Your words. The long distance would ache, yeah, I wanted to wait.
I let us go. With deeper emotions-
Sewed up buttons.
67 Dreams (or the Lack Thereof) | J .G . Santibanez
Week One hyperactive—they keep running into each other, so that No one noticed when Desiree began to talk to you can never tell where one ends and the other begins. her shadow. Everyone was too busy to pay any attention to her. Far too busy. Week Two No one was too busy for Desiree that first night, All day long, day in and day out, Desiree had though. On that first day and the day after that one, nothing else to do but listen. She hated every min- it seemed like the whole world was talking to her. ute of it. She hated the quiet, hated having abso- Or rather, talking at her—asking terse, high-strung lutely nothing to do, but most of all she hated that questions that they knew she couldn’t answer. Isaac wasn’t back yet. Isaac would know what to Eventually the questions stopped. By the fifth do—Isaac always knew what to do. But Isaac wasn’t day everyone stopped talking to her altogether. home, he hadn’t been for more than a week, and She could still hear them, though. Sitting in her that meant that Desiree had nothing left to do but empty and quiet (oh, so quiet) room. Desiree heard wait for him. He’d be back, though. He always was. everything that went on in that house. She heard He sure seemed to be taking his sweet time this the worried tones and stern conversations of the time, though, and as the days passed, Desiree grew morning; the retreating voices devoid of hope in more and more restless. Tired of waiting, sick of the evening; the whispered shouts and half-con- the silence. Her need for companionship was so cealed sobs reserved only for midnight. strong it was all but a physical need. After all, for At night, Desiree dreams of her brother. Her very the entirety of her six years on this Earth, Desiree dear, very spoiled, very dead brother. In her dreams, had never been just Desiree—she had been Isaac- she is a kid again. Sometimes she’s two, sometimes and-Desiree. One part of a whole—incomplete on she’s five, three, or four—but she’s never older than her own. Just like she needed air in her lungs and six. Six is when he disappeared. Isaac: the prodigy blood running through her veins, Desiree needed child. Isaac: the missing child. Isaac: the dead child. someone to complete her. In Desiree’s dreams, Isaac is none of those things. He is That’s when she discovered her new companion. simply her twin, the way it should be, the way it should One day, while sitting at her usual post beside her have always been. These dreams of hers, they are more like bedroom door, Desiree noticed her shadow curled memories, except they are all out of order. Like the tiny up on the floor beside her. In the flickering light twins that inhabit them, the dreams are clumsy, loud, and from the small candle on the windowsill, her shadow looked foreign. It no longer looked like an image of
68 ILLUSTRATION > Cynthia Garcia herself in the negative, but like a different creature al- together. It shook, sighed, breathed. It looked lonely. Alive. And, best of all, it would never leave her side. Nobody noticed when little Desiree began to talk to her shadow, but they sure noticed when she wouldn’t stop. Tonight the twins are three. Cloudy skies and dry grass as far as their infant eyes can see. The world around them is fuzzy, blurred at the edges, as first memories are wont to be. The twins, though, they are as sharp as two squeal- ing kids running ‘round a meadow can be. In this dream, Isaac is like the clouds above, soft, and pale, and chubby.
Week Five “What do you think is wrong with her?” That was her mother, murmuring, right outside Desiree’s bedroom door. Desiree paid no attention. She was busy playing a game of catch with her shadow. Throwing a rubber ball against the wall, watching it bounce back at her, giggling and com- plementing her new friend. “Wrong with her? Oh, the nerve of you, woman.” That sounded like Esther. Desiree tilted her head a walk around her room, dragging her hand along to the side; the rubber ball shot past her shoulder, the wall, so she could hold hands with her shadow. missing her face by a hair’s breadth. Desiree really “Fine, keep looking for him if that’s what you want.” liked Esther, but Esther rarely visited their home. Desiree couldn’t help overhearing Esther. Her Desiree suspected it was because her parents didn’t mother’s slurred, frantic murmurs—like never-end- like her. They never even let Desiree call her Aunt ing white noise in the background—she could ig- Esther, even though that’s what she was. nore. But Esther, with her sharp voice and even “She spends all day in her room talking to her- sharper tongue—Esther was in a different league self,” her mother whispered. “You can’t tell me that’s altogether. Esther could slice her way out of the normal, Esther. Do you think she might be…?” background and right into Desiree’s consciousness “What? Crazy? Retarded? No, I don’t think ei- using only her words. ther of those things. I think she is a scared, lonely “But you’d best keep in mind that you have six-year-old girl who just lost her twin brother,” another kid,” Esther continued. “Here. At home. Esther answered. Now, Desiree might not be Isaac—she might not Desiree’s face scrunched up into a defiant pout. be your favorite—but she is your daughter. And Well, that’s just not true, she thought. Isaac isn’t lost, she needs you. Now.” he’s just out. Playing. He’ll be back soon. He al- There was a long silence after that. In her mind’s ways is. Desiree stopped listening at this point. She eye, Desiree could see her mother backed up didn’t know why Esther was being such a liar, but against the other side of the bedroom door, her she knew that she no longer wanted to listen to entire body sagging, bleeding with a thousand tiny the conversation. She got up from the floor, took cuts from Esther’s tongue. Defeated.
69 “You should be sterilized,” Esther’s finishing What Esther couldn’t see was that the girl was do- blow. At that moment, Desiree knew that her ing everything in her power to forget it all. mother was no more. The woman never stood a chance against Esther, really. Isaac is gone. In the blink of an eye, he is nowhere to When Esther stepped into the room, Desiree was be seen. His jeers still linger for a moment, but soon they ready for her. She sat in the middle of the room, are gone. Desiree finds herself lost in the room made of with her back to her shadow, braced herself. She wood. Toy blocks are strewn in a haphazard ring around would listen. She would weather whatever words her supine form. The picture book she had been trying to Esther whirled her way. Esther shut the door be- read mere seconds ago lies cold and lifeless on the floor, hind her. She walked to where the girl was sitting completely forgotten. Her twin is gone, so she does the and took a seat on the floor facing her. Looking only thing she knows to do in such situations. She sits Desiree straight in the eye, Esther began the me- and waits for him to return. Forever ticks by, again, and thodical, surgical process of separating her niece’s again, and once more for good measure. identity from that of her nephew. But then—just like that—Isaac is back. He comes “You are not Isaac,” Esther said, voice like a scal- back, like he always does, bearing light, and warmth, and pel. “You are more than your brother’s twin. That laughs. He grins at her. She grins right back, and in that is a fact. You will not doubt that because only fools moment all is right with the world. doubt facts. Are you a fool?” Week 730 “No, Esther.” They sat on their front porch smoking a cigarette “That’s right. You’re not. You are Desiree, you are by the last light of the day. A special treat for a six years old, and above all, you are your own per- special occasion. It was Desiree’s birthday and she son. You are more than your brother’s twin.” was all grown up now. Esther could hardly believe The twins are five now. Isaac is a buzzing bug, a it. Esther wasn’t a very nostalgic woman—nostal- croaking toad, a shrieking crow—annoying. They’re in gia wasn’t practical. But come this time each year, their room. Everything is made of wood: wooden walls she could never help taking a trip down memory around them, wooden floorboards beneath. Wooden blocks lane from the privacy of her own thoughts. No flying across the room. Departure: Isaac’s hands. Arrival: one needed to know. Desiree’s face. The girl is trying to read. The boy is having “Do you ever think about Isaac?” The question none of that. One of them is bound to give in. It isn’t surprised even her. She hadn’t meant to say it out going to be Isaac, because Isaac’s not the one getting a loud. Desiree took a long drag of the cigarette, face-full of toy blocks. passed it back to Esther. Week 52 “Which Isaac?” “It’s been a year, you know… Esther had been prepared for every response but he disappeared a year ago today… that one; she put the cigarette to her mouth and don’t you want to talk about it…” pondered. “Oh. Not really, Esther,” Desiree finally answered. “Which one do you think?” Esther asked at long “But don’t you miss him?” last. “Your twin.” “No, not really. I mean, I did at first. But now I “Oh. That one,” Desiree brushed some cold ashes don’t. I promise I’m all-better now. I don’t remem- from her lapel, leaned back on her chair. “Not for ber him much at all,” but Desiree remembered years, actually. Why?” everything—Esther could see right through her. “No reason. He just came to mind. Seeing as it’s your birthday and all.”
70 “So what, you thought I’d like to spare a thought because it was too painful. Never would Esther for my long-dead twin on my twentieth birthday?” have imagined that it was because Desiree had sim- Desiree let out that signature wry, half-laugh of hers. ply forgotten. A world where a mere decade was “Not exactly, but I don’t see why you would think all that it took to make Desiree completely forget that’s so absurd, now that you mention it,” Esther about her twin—her other half—somehow it no answered and shot a long glance at her niece. Desiree longer seemed like a world any person should be looked genuinely annoyed at her aunt—she had comfortable living in. rather been enjoying the pleasant silence. When morning arrives, Desiree wakes up feeling “I was all of six when he died, Esther. I hard- confused. She’s confused because she’s annoyed and ly remember anything about that time. The only elated and anxious all at the same time. She was thing I do remember is that the brat was annoying dreaming, and she knows it. There is no other ex- as all shit.” planation for the infuriating cocktail of emotions “Is that so?” currently swirling around in her brain. But try as she “Why do I feel like I’m being interrogated?” might, she can’t remember what she was dreaming “I’m not interrogating you, child,” said Esther with about. She never does. Fortunately, the turmoil in her a dismissive wave. “I’m simply curious. Because from head begins to ebb away after a few dazed moments. what I remember, you two were inseparable. Picture- A few seconds after that, so does her interest in perfect. Model twins. Joined at the hip.” finding out what it all means. “Well, that’s news to me.” Dreams. What does she need to know about Another long silence followed, during which dreams, anyway? Absolutely nothing, that’s what. Esther couldn’t help but stare at her niece. Desiree, Dreams and fantasies—nothing but a bunch of ri- lounging on her chair, eyes closed, was oblivious to diculous nonsense that nobody in their right mind Esther’s searching gaze. should waste any of their time on, if you ask her. “You really don’t remember him, do you?” If you were to ask Desiree what she dreams of at night, Esther asked. Desiree yawned, opened one eye to don’t expect anything other than I don’t. She’ll lie to glance at her aunt. you, straight to your face, because the lie is three whole “No, I really don’t. And I honestly don’t know syllables less than the truth: I can’t remember. why you find that so surprising.” Surprising was an understatement. Esther had al- ways assumed that her niece never spoke of Isaac
71 Syrian Boy | Eric Eztli
Government bullets bloody his mother’s smile extraterrestrial peace shrivel in space black consumes infant Syrian souls men murder fathers soldiers sacrifice reflections of their sons collapsing buildings break the sleep of a Syrian boy who listens to his sisters weep
Thick voices from wrinkled faces charm the ears of children a machine gun falls loaded and heavy in his palms
Soft fingers press triggers for freedom from the child eyes unable to cry
72 Cherry Blossoms | Maria Barrera
A Cherry Blossom crumbles every May It falls from grace during spring ‘til its death But pink remains until taken away Fade without consent ‘til their final breath
73 PHOTOGRAPH > Franco Aguilar, Out of the Smoke, No. 3 Pay My Fare for the Boatman | Joshua Castro
I am not worried Maybe they’ll see because you have already wired me my fare the heroic nature of my heart. by placing golden dollar coins on my eyes or under my tongue. Maybe the gods will be proud of me and I’ll get an annual pass My ghost will reach into its pocket to the gardens of Elysium, and procure the boatman’s fee, where I will run and laugh and will safely cruise along the watercourse. alongside all the other happy souls forever and ever. Do not grieve my destination, for I will be welcomed by Lord Hades, But most likely I won’t. who’ll stand there like some overeager WalMart Because although I’ve never killed a man, greeter. I’ve never saved one either.
I will stroll past the three-headed dog, In truth, I was just your average, pull my number, take a seat run-of-the-mill human being. and wait my turn. Neither wicked nor virtuous. If I was ever a jerk in life — Just born to make mistakes. an asshole, a dick, a douchebag, a son of a bitch — I will mostly likely join the 99% then they will know, and be ushered into the Asphodel Fields, and off to the fiery pits of Tartarus I will go. where we will all just chill together for evermore, and spend our time trying to figure out Maybe I will be seated in front of a television the lives we left behind. with no remote control, and for eternity I will always have to get up to change the channel. That is, unless we drink from the Pool of Lethe, Oh, how I would suffer. and simply forget. But maybe I won’t. Forget the love, the pain, the joy, the sorrow, Maybe they’ll see the wins, the loss the extraordinary person I was of a life no longer. when I still had breath. I’ll hold out for as long as I can down there, Maybe they’ll see but, all of the random acts of kindness eventually I’ll get a little thirsty. I showed to others in secret.
74 The Gay Man (went Partying) | Joshua Castro
Once a gay man went partying on the West Hollywood side, Twerk it, twerk it! when he ran into a twinky boy interrupting his stride. [Chorus X2] Ho-ly fu… Now you know you’re in We-Ho! W-T-F! I’m like, O-N-T-D Twerk it, twerk it! Once a gay man went partying on the West Hollywood side, [Chorus X2] when he ran into a leather dad interrupting his stride. Ho-ly fu… Now you know you’re in We-Ho! Once a gay man went partying on the West Hollywood side, when he ran into a hip-ster interrupting his stride. W-T-F! I’m like, O-N-T-D Ho-ly fu… Tsss, tsss! W-T-F! I’m like, O-N-T-D Woof! Ugh! Hey, bro! Twerk it, twerk it! Ugh! Twerk it, twerk it! [Chorus X2] [Chorus X2] Now you know you’re in We-Ho! Now you know you’re in We-Ho! Once a gay man went partying on the West Hollywood side, when he ran into a butchy lez interrupting his stride. Ho-ly fu…
W-T-F! I’m like, O-N-T-D Once…a gay man went partying on the West Hollywood side, Hey, bro! when he ran into a pretty Drag interrupting his stride. Ugh! Ho-ly fu… Twerk it, twerk it!
[Chorus X2] W-T-F! I’m like, O-N-T-D Work! It! Now you know you’re in We-Ho! Tsss, tsss! Woof! Once a gay man went partying on the West Hollywood side, Hey, bro! when he ran into a hairy bear interrupting his stride. Ugh! Ho-ly fu… Twerk it, twerk it!
W-T-F! I’m like, O-N-T-D [Chorus X2] Woof! Hey, bro! Now you know you’re in We-Ho! Ugh!
75 ILLUSTRATION > Gabriela Contreras, On the Goldline
76 EDITOR’S NOTE
This is the first three chapters of a longer work fol- lowing a group of friends that idly let their youthful possibilities pass them by .
There’s Always Next Year? | Joshua Castro
“Youth is wasted on the young.” ~George Bernard Shaw – I – beside him. The man was here, and it was too late for an escape. t was on the corner of 1st Street and Martinez IAvenue where Dylan Meza stood by a lamppost under the flickering glow of a streetlight. The chill “You Dylan?” A husky, accented voice asked. of the winter night air bit at the exposed portions There was nothing left for Dylan to do but ac- of his body, and it was only with the consistent knowledge his own wretched identity and pitifully rubbing of hands and shifting of feet that he man- climb into the passenger seat. aged to abate his shivering. His red hooded sweater The first noticeable attribute of the driver was was comfortable but thin; his skeleton gloves fash- that he smelled like cigarettes; a musty, chalky odor ionable, but fingerless. He exhaled repeatedly in an that reeked in the nostrils. The man looked nothing effort to amuse himself by imagining he had the like the picture in his online ad. His posted pho- supernatural ability of icy breath. tograph was of a much younger Hispanic man in Dylan had arrived at this destination about ten his mid-thirties with a somewhat handsome pro- minutes earlier in an effort to get there before the file featuring dark wavy hair and enchanting green man he was about to meet. He knew this intersec- eyes. This man looked well into his late-forties and tion all too well and was loathe to have returned to it had thinning hair. The flat stomach in his photo so soon. Had it not been just two weeks ago that he was now a protruding gut. had promised himself, and his friends, that he would Dylan felt angry with himself. He had obviously never again venture into this sort of circumstance? been deceived and was now stuck in a situation he Yet here he was, a quarter past eleven, waiting for a himself had constructed. The older man, however, stranger to pick him up and take him away. looked quite pleased with Dylan’s young features Dylan began to feel rather conspicuous stand- and smooth face. He looked at him intently. ing in the same spot for so long, illuminated so “Are you really twenty-one, boy?” he asked. clearly for the eyes of prying neighbors to wonder Dylan felt trapped but could not will himself to what this young man was doing out so late on a move, let alone to exit the vehicle. weeknight. He was about to give up and begin the “Well, I’m actually twenty right now--but I’ll be walk back when an old white car pulled up slowly twenty-one next month.” The man seemed pleased
77 with the age and proceeded to put his hand on of reaching a sort of climax by way of a good Dylan’s knee. old-fashioned blow job. “You ready to have some fun, boy?” His companion in this feat, Ronny Wu, was an ac- Dylan resigned himself to a pathetic nod of quaintance of his that he had met at school during his head and tried not to recoil as the guy’s hand the first week of spring semester. They shared a moved so blatantly to massage his crotch. He felt Human Sexuality class, ironically enough, and al- disgusted with himself because it aroused him. lowed themselves just an hour’s worth of continual There was no turning back now. He had logged side-glances at one another before they made their onto Craigslist and responded to the hook-up ad. way quickly to the nearest bathroom stall to initiate And although the man who had shown up was not their new association. They had, by way of a quick- what he had expected, Dylan was firm in his belief ie, mutually agreed to be each other’s fuck buddies. that this is what he deserved and that he must own So it was here, in Ronny’s bedroom, that they were up to the consequences of his actions. This was go- now engaged in their shared sexual impulses. ing to happen. This agreement of theirs had been in effect for “Do you have work tomorrow or something?” almost a month now. At first, it had been a connec- the man asked him. “You can stay at my place after tion that was viable and arousing, but it had quickly we’re done playing if you want.” He smiled and become apparent to Fernando that he was finding revealed his chipped front tooth. himself to have already lost most, if not all, interest “I have school tomorrow,” Dylan responded. He in Ronny Wu. This was why they were ten min- had a math class in eight hours at East Los Angeles utes into the act without so much as a successful College and knew that it was important not to miss eruption. it since the semester was only five weeks in length. Fernando was bored with Ronny, like he had be- He considered this carefully, but ultimately knew come so often with many a young man in the past. himself well enough to know that there would be He released a sigh of discomfort, which Ronny no chance of him waking up on time. mistook as one of ecstasy. Encouraged, Ronny in- “I can’t stay out for too long. You have to bring creased his intensity in an effort to please. Fed up, me back home as soon as we’re done.” Dylan then Fernando placed his palm on Ronny’s forehead pointed to the house nearby where he had been and gently pushed his head back with an expres- standing earlier. It wasn’t really his house, but he sive, “Thanks. That’s enough.” didn’t want this pervert to know that it wasn’t. He Grateful for the momentary break for his jaw, didn’t want him anywhere near his real life. Ronny smiled that stupid smile of his that Fernando “Okay. That’s cool, boy. You can sleep over next had always perceived as “slutty” and, therefore, de- time.” He smiled revealing his chipped front tooth spised. Rising to his feet near the edge of his bed, again as he restarted the car and then drove off to Ronny excused himself and went to the bathroom an address unknown to Dylan, in a city that was to freshen himself up. Thankful for the momentary not his own. relief, and dying for an excuse to get the fuck out of there, Fernando retrieved his Nokia phone from – II – his brown sweater pocket and checked the time. It Fernando felt the slight tremor of a buzz emit- was already half past midnight. Had it really only ting from his sweater pocket. He ignored it. He been just half an hour since he had gotten there? was at present too occupied with the mental effort It felt like he had been stuck there for hours. He opened his unread text from Dylan.
78
79 – III – took it upon himself to be proactive by typing into his phone a rousing message to his companion. They were parked in the alleyway just outside “Really, Dylan? You know, I’m right here.” Dylan’s house. The minutes were slipping just past Dylan playfully smiled and sent another text. one o’clock but neither boy had any real inten- in neutral with the key switched ON, but just short “Why are you my only best friend?” Fernando of the actual ignition. They sat, both of them, con- exhaled and threw his head back against the tently in their seats listening to the latest NOW headrest. Hits cd replay on the stereo for the fourth time in a “What about the girls?” row. They’d been sitting for well over an hour now “Why are you my only male best friend?” doing much of nothing other than simply keeping Fernando amended. each other company. “Because you love me?” Dylan laughed In the driver’s seat sat Fernando, his rotund body mockingly. occupying most of the space. He had pushed his “I do. I dooo love you. But sometimes I can’t chair a few inches back for greater legroom and staaand you.” had pushed down the seat so that he could recline “Good. Then the feeling is mutual,” Dylan said with lackadaisical ease. He held his phone five laughing. The minutes dragged on as the two boys inches away from his face so that he could corre- remained in the car and spoke casually. spond to several different text conversations. His chubby little fingers moved with silent rapidity. “I’m just saying. I would totally be down for that. In the front-right passenger seat, across from Anytime. Anywhere.” Fernando, sat Dylan. He was a young man of just “Ugh. Really? Why?” Fernando asked offended. twenty years but was soon to be an “old man” of Dylan merely sighed. “Because he’s so beauti- twenty-one in just a matter of days. Not that Dylan ful. I love his face and his body and his voice. If cared one way or the other what his current age I could have his babies, I would. I’d make sure he was, because, as far as he was concerned, he had never wore protection just so there’d always be the always been “old.” If it were up to Dylan to de- chance.” scribe his own age, he would always reply that he “But you’re both boys. It would never happen,” was “already” a certain age rather than being “just” Fernando pointed out. or “only.” He was a Pisces and inclined to his mo- “Doesn’t mean we couldn’t keep on trying, night ments of melancholy. after night after night. Oh,” Dylan breathed excit- Dylan sat upright, staring listlessly out the front edly. “I’m getting hot just thinking about him.” window at a yellow alley cat he had noticed several Fernando rolled his eyes and considered the most hundred alley times ago. He reached into his pocket hurtful thing he could say. “Well, I think Kevin every other minute or so to retrieve his phone, stim- Jonas is mutha-fuckin-uuugly.” Dylan’s whole body ulated by a phantom vibration he could have sworn snapped straight up as he turned to face Fernando. was a real text. However, time and again, he stared “Take that back,” he snarled. only at an empty inbox. He knew better, of course. “Why should I? It’s true. Nick is the hottest one The only friends of his that ever routinely texted but he’s like 12, so I won’t count him. And Joe is all him on a daily basis were few, and at this time of right but his weird eyebrows kinda ruin it for me. Still night were either asleep at home or currently in the car with him. Peering at his dormant phone, Dylan
80 though, he’s hotter than Kevin because Kevin is the “Well, last time you were being annoying. And ugliest damn thing I’ve ever seen. Oooh! He ugly.” this time you were being an ass,” Fernando said Dylan was furious. Kevin Jonas posters lined his looking up from his phone. bedroom walls. This was personal. “Whatever.” Dylan turned his head away and With a ferocious look in his eye, the one a man stared out the window once more. will glare at any person who threatens his beloved, Fernando rotated his body to reach for the back Dylan said to Fernando in his most serious tone, seat. He grabbed a box and placed it on Dylan’s lap. “Don’t ever say anything like that about Kevin again Dylan looked at the box. It was from the Vans store. or I swear to God I’ll pop you in the mouth.” “What’s this for?” Dylan asked. Fernando stared silently at the serious expression “It’s your birthday present. Size 10 ½, right?” that he knew had no business being anywhere on Dylan peered slightly into the box and could Dylan’s face. Then he laughed in it. He laughed, make out a pair of indiscernible colored shoes. He and he laughed, and he laughed. He reached for shut the lid. “I don’t want it now. Just give it to his phone immediately and sent a text to his best my at my birthday dinner this weekend.” He tried friend, Roxanna. to hand the box back to Fernando, but he refused.
81 “Roxanna, calm down. Stop crying. What’s “She’s at a bar. Drunk. Alone.” wrong?” Fernando pleaded tiredly. “What did he “A bar? She’s not even twenty-one yet. How did do?” Pause. More crying. “Well, where are you? she get drinks?” Okay, I’ll come get you. Stay there.” He hung up “She knows the bartender,” was all Fernando said the phone and pulled up his seat. on the subject. “So are you coming or staying?” “What happened?” Dylan asked sincerely. “Yeah. Of course.” Dylan looked at the clock on “Oh, same old crap that always happens.” he the dashboard. “It’s already gonna be two anyway. lamented. “She had a fight with her boyfriend.” It’s not like I’m going to class tomorrow.” “Tyler?” “You mean tomorrow-tomorrow or today?” “No. Tyler was last year.” Fernando corrected. “Because technically it’s al- “Really? Oh, yeah. Wait, Rob, right?” ready today.” “No. She only fucked Rob, but she wasn’t with “God, you know what I mean. Why do you always him. She liked him though. That was in January. have to be so damn exact with everything?” Dylan She’s with Manuel right now. The guy who works groaned. Fernando shrugged and started the car. with her.” “Fine. Do you have class today?” Dylan asked. “Oh, yeaaah. That one guy that’s kinda cute but “Yeah, but I probably won’t go since the home- not really, but is in the right light?” work is due today and I didn’t do any of it.” Fernando laughed. “I know, right? I don’t know Fernando answered. why she’s with him, but whatever. It’s her life. I’m Dylan nodded in passive agreement. just Commander Save-A-Ho.” “FUCK IT! There’s always tomorrow!” Fernando Dylan smiled. “Gee, thanks. Are you implying exclaimed as he stamped on the gas and sped off that I’m one of your damsels in distress?” down the alleyway into the continuing night. Fernando smiled back. “If the dick fits, fuck it!” Dylan shook his head with amusement. “So where is she?”
82 You Are Not | Christopher Barba
Sunflowers are yellow; Café centrado. They are bright for a reason. Golden yellow. The beauty that defines them; Amarillo de oro. Sunflowers are pure, They are not rotten – filth. Sunflowers don’t deny their admirers. Sunflowers are more than just flowers. They shine brightly, in the sun; Brillan maravillosamente, elegantes. On the other hand, You do not. You are not, You are not a sunflower. You are not pure. You are rotten. Deep inside you is trash. Sunflowers are something special. They do not leave the people who admire them. That is why they shine, That is why they are yellow, That is why they are beautiful. You are not a sunflower. No eres un flor elegante. Eres meirda de la ley. Sunflowers are yellow, because they shine extravagantly. On the other hand, You do not. You are trash. You are filthy. You are garbage. You are rotting – flesh. You are not pure. No eres Hermosa. You are not a sunflower. You do not shine purely. You are not remotely close to the likes of a sunflower. You are weeds. Disguised as beauty, a murderer of elegance. a Sunflower… …you are not. 83 Save for the Echoes | Samantha Hess
“You sat in the living room. I remember a breeze coming through and seeing it ruffle your hair. Your hair was so short then, remember?” Dante’s recollection of her in the house they had once shared made goose bumps rise on Lily’s arms. His eyes focused on her had always thrown her off, even the memory of it. Lily tried to compose herself. He had asked to meet her at the cof- fee shop where they had had that terrible date. It was mostly empty and dark and always has the smell of those terrible clove cigarettes the hipsters think are cool to smoke. The booths are small and private. Remember how the coffee scalded your tongue? Remember how tongue tied his gaze made you? She thought to herself. His eyes still makes your brain stumble.
84 ARTWORK > Kristen Huizar, Self-Portrait “Where are you?” He asked with a smile. and turned away. She caught her reflection in the Lily hated that smile. No bit of imperfection different, odd shaped mirrors that littered the little could be seen in that smile. It was disconcerting. café. Plain. Plain, plain, plain. She had always been This had always been his way. No matter what plain. From the messy brown hair to her jet black she tried to do, he had always had this charming eyes, to her weight. Nothing stood out. She was al- way with her. It wasn’t just how attractive he was, ways on the verge of being pretty, but there was al- though he was just that. Beautiful. She remembered ways something. She was too big, her clothes were when she had first seen him. His long fingers were out of style, her hair too wild. She had learned to running through his straight brown hair, which had accept it. And then the way Dante had looked at always been a little floppy. He was wearing a black her had made her love it. She looked up at him collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants, and regarded him with weary eyes. He was looking suspenders, and worn brown boots. She was study- down. What could he possibly want? she thought. ing him from her seat at the book store, her pencil She was tired of this game. flying furiously across the page of her sketchbook. “Leave. Me. Alone,” she said quietly. He was so familiar. She was trying to catch the way “No,” he said sadly. “I can’t. Don’t you understand the sunlight hit his silhouette. She was so involved that I can’t?” His voice had dropped that charming in what she was doing that she didn’t see his eyes tone. It was desperate. “I’ll always be here.” If it had shift to her. been anyone else, she would have been scared at “What are you doing?” that. But it was him. And it was just sad. She hadn’t even noticed he had gotten close “I’m sick of hiding. I’m sick of pretending you’re enough to say this quietly, with his face hovering busy or you’re working or you’re out of town. It’s inches away from hers. She gasped a little but still sad. I need someone who I don’t have to hide. I was able to take in that face. His eyes were honey, need someone who my family can actually meet.” drizzled and flaked with gold. His eyebrows were Her eyes locked on his now. He had to understand, straight and perfect and freckles splashed across a why didn’t he understand? small, straight nose. He had that smile, that stupid “I do, but that doesn’t mean I can be okay with smile with perfect teeth. it.” His eyes fell on her lips. “Am I that interesting?” he had asked, his smile “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare.” She felt her getting faintly bigger. face warm and her voice scratchy, as it often was Later, she would want to take her fist and bash when distressed. in those perfect teeth. Lily shook her head slightly. “When you’re emotional it’s so easy for me. Your She would always daydream back to that moment. thoughts flow like water into me. When you’re up- Her eyes focused on his nose, anything but his eyes, set, it’s like a flood.” Dante smiled sadly. and mechanically she smiled. Lily remembered the moment she had realized this. “I’m right here. Wondering what you want?” His It was the same day she had realized what he was. smile fell. She began noticing odd things, like he had started Good, she thought. answering her thoughts, and getting things for her “Right to the point hmm?” His voice was lilt- without her asking, and getting bright red when she ing, although she could hear it was forced. His had imagined them together. She had stormed out hands crossed and uncrossed on the table. He bit of the house one day when he had apologized when at his lower lip, a habit both learned they shared. she was thinking of why he had never touched her. He seemed to be at a loss for words. Lily sighed She loved him and she knew he loved her, but why
85 did he always flinch? After a short walk, her mind was with the pain; she would never be able to be with set. She walked into the house and walked straight him. Everything she loved about him had started over to him and put her mouth on his. He tasted like to make her want to fly into a horrible fit of rage. smoke, like vapor. She pulled back and screamed. She His gentle hands, those teeth, those eyes. She was so touched nothing. He was crying and apologizing and desperate to feel something, she would have even apologizing but she was outside the house already. She settled for her closed fist connecting to his face. had stumbled through the streets that night, thoughts Six months in, Lily knew she couldn’t do it any- shrieking through her head, impossible thoughts. more. She couldn’t hide him, couldn’t stand not What what what what what!!!! was all that repeated in being able to tell someone. Who would believe her head. She was scared, but she had to know. When her? Her family would take her to a psychologist. she finally made her way back the sun had started to So she had ignored him. Stopped thinking of him. light up the sky. He was sitting on the couch, his hands He wasn’t there, right? She was just crazy, right? clenching into fists and unclenching. He smiled at her And then he had really stopped showing up. He with watery eyes. She just looked at him, knowing he stopped being there. It had been a year, and there could hear the questions. he was at the same book store, with that smile and “The day it happened…” he paused. his invitation. “You caught my eye wearing that old dress, the “Please, we can figure this out, please.” one you found at a yard sale, the one with the dai- Dante reached over. His hand slid over hers, keep- sies. You were listening to that song; it was so loud ing the slightest distance between them. She still I could hear it. That one, ‘I write AB AB, try to felt the cold air from it. She loved him. She knew find your rhyme scheme.’ You had this faint smile. A he could hear it. But she couldn’t love an idea. She ghost of a smile,” he laughed a sharp, hard laugh. “I couldn’t continue this charade. She looked at him, saw you go in the book store. I had to know who her eyes sad. you were, to know you.” “Do you remember the rest of the lyrics of that “I didn’t see the stupid truck. He was drunk. At song?‘ When you leave here…you take all that you 10am, could you imagine that?” His eyes squinted, own but the memories echo.’ With you, all I’ll ever like trying to remember something that happened have is an echo. I’m still alive. I need to live.” in a dream. “You were the last thing on my mind. She smiled and imagined she could feel his large, I hesitated when I stepped out onto the street. I warm hands. She got up and felt his unfathomable didn’t want to cross until I had seen you up close.” gaze on her as she walked out without a goodbye. Lily didn’t know what to say. Ghost. Ghoul. She had said goodbye countless times in her head. Unnatural. His eyes went wide when he heard her She walked out of the coffee shop, away from the think that. They had talked throughout the entire one thing that would make her happy. She couldn’t morning and tried to make it work. And it did, live with the taste of smoke lingering on her lips. for a small while. At first she was scared, but her As the sun hit her face, she thought of the last part heart swelled with so much love for him that the of the song. fear had stopped whispering in her ear. But soon I live alone now, save for the echoes. those feelings were replaced by pain. All she want- ed was have him hold her. Have his lips touch hers. But he couldn’t. No matter how many poems he wrote for her, or how many bouquets of flowers appeared on her table. Anger walked hand in hand
86 Duet | Joseph Mattson
down thru lamppost row, rambling with phantom’s sweat the 1st Street bridge, I hear a bird sing the credence of their Lord God as the screeching wheels of a bum’s swollen cart wails the indomitable pain of
the world.
87 No Reason Left | Joseph Mattson
we fought like badgers, her and I. over the things that badgers fight over: food shelter warmth danger sex but also we fought over all points between—we had badger teeth, badger claws, we had badger eyes we chased each other into holes, clawed the guts out of our proudest moments we chewed on each other’s fat like bulbous morons debating over the last good truths of the clinically insane we howled, we grunted, our eyes were the eyes of assholes, bitches, sonsofbitches when we fought windows broke, televisions smashed, dishes flew on wings of contempt, and furniture was not even given five seconds to run when we fought, the neighbors called the police when we fought, we were so crazy that we wouldn’t hit each other, we would punch ourselves when we fought, all that love we had wasn’t worth a damn, but just enough to get us by until the next bout
88 when we fought, the jungles the deserts the cold woods of Michigan folded and we took the bank, breaking the snakes the wolves the bears the warlords of senseless passion, even the badgers when we fought, there was nothing left to do in the world but fight & in the morning, the next day, whenever the smoke cleared and it was safe for the dust to settle, there was a little bit of the good stuff to keep us going it went on for years then, one day, just before the last fight, the final match, the championship, I mean thee heavyweight title, I realized it was all used up.
89 Holding Out for Lady Luck | Joseph Mattson
hen I was much poorer, hungrier, younger, at all for those who actually lived in the Windsor. Wand more foolish and hungover than I am By the look of the canisters full of empty bottles now, I spent my days in Koreatown, at Catalina and I would find out in the parking lot the next day, 7th Street, learning to be a writer. It was the third the patrons were voracious—piranha with lust on floor of the old Windsor Hotel where I did my bloody steer—with drink. time, the first place I lived when I moved to Los At some point a discord would occur. Two men Angeles. The year was 1998, and my single-room would start talking aggressively to each other, ver- apartment was directly above a Korean bar and bal punches and jabs, growing, swelling plump with restaurant, The Prince. I would read and write all ego and grog. The talking turned into shouting. day, then sit and drink on the fire escape outside my The woman would be there between them. Both window, overlooking 7th, where people flooded in of the men would look at the girl, hungry for her and out of the joint at dusk and into the night. By holiness. In the alcoholic haze she was a queen, as 8pm, a steady rush. An hour or two later would if no other woman existed, and that each knight come the karaoke. The later the hour, the sloppier must above all else have her. The men would scowl, and more spirited the karaoke. Along with nights rally their friends, and argue more, mounting in of Korean songs, there were nights of overly-dra- intensity, two male cats with only one little female matic love ballads like Whitney Houston, Journey, in heat between them. They were waiting for the Cher, and a score of one-hit-wonders that refuse right moment to claw each other down. to die; banes of my youth. Then, at 2am, came the One of the men would grab the girl and kiss drunken karate fights. her. The other man would growl and grumble, I use “karate” in an inauthentic, generic sense, stomp and pant. Fangs were exposed. Hissing. Then because I’m unsure of the style—Tae Kwon Do, he would grab the girl and kiss her. One of them Tang Soo Do, Hap Ki Do, or something else—but would push. The woman would get between them, it happened almost weekly, at times up to three and whichever one didn’t push first would take his nights in one week. When the restaurant was clos- turn to shove. The woman would seem distraught ing and the tipple ceased to flow, the intoxicated or flattered or both. The men would each grab her clientele loitered on the sidewalk, spilling over into again for a turn, kissing her once more or fon- the street, refusing to surrender the night. They dling her behind, sometimes tweaking a breast. At fired up cigarettes, splitting off into little factions last, one of the men would point and spit on the before the exodus, lingering, cajoling—no concern ground: calling the duel.
90 If they weren’t already in the street, the security would throw money down into the street, placing guard that worked the door, a big, tough Mexican— bets, calling odds, shots. one bad motherfucker—would pick the both of The bouts lasted approximately five or ten min- them up, one in each hand, and toss them off the utes, if that, though they felt longer. The cops rarely sidewalk. The guard would subsequently sit back came. The police were called only if someone went and enjoy. He liked the fights as much as anyone. down and couldn’t get back up at all, if he was I would run to the refrigerator for another cold knocked unconscious. Or, if some random person one and rush back to the fire escape, sometimes not from this little corner of the world happened knocking my head on the loose window shutter to be driving by at 2:15 in the morning, they might crackling weary old paint. Watching two smashed make a call. Generally, it was noble competition, as warriors duke it out over a dame was a lot more in- old as mankind’s lust itself, left alone. teresting than worrying about the rent, and it was a Often, it was an equal contest. Both men would minor salve from the day’s rejection letters from the be barely standing, yet standing nonetheless, or magazines. I felt like a bigwig, I had the bird’s eye, both would be face down on the pavement. In the coveted skybox above the stadium. My apart- such instances it was too hard to call a winner, and ment was unfurnished, my clothes were dirty, the the woman they were fighting over might have left pantry was empty, all bills were overdue, and I was with someone else before the row was even fin- even lower on hope. The first year I spent in Los ished, reducing the suitors to disgraced fools. But Angeles was not easy. The hardship momentarily if one happened to kick ass just a little swifter, pre- disappeared, though, when the fights were on. cise enough over the other, then the woman would Once called, each contender took his distance take his arm and triumphantly fish through the with pause, often with a bow. One would howl a winner’s crotch for the valet ticket, wave it at the karate howl. The other would howl nearly simul- attendant, and devilishly fondle the bruised champ taneously. Before their howls completely broke while scoffing blatantly at the loser, polishing and apart in the fog they were in the air, flying at each displaying herself like the trophy she’d become. The other in helicopters of flesh, alight with fists, kicks, late-model luxury sports car was brought around, chops, and, in the more stellar matches, heads and off they’d go. The other man might remain laying knees and elbows. The fighters were always good in the street, either too whipped, too shamed, or and toasted with the booze either a comrade or too drunk to rise just yet. The bystanders would enemy in ushering in and justifying the fracas, but look pitifully down at him, and the security guard even staggering drunk before the duel they man- would roll him out of the way if any cars came by. aged to dance gracefully in the air once it began, Someone drops a few bills or some coins on his combating with style and honor, bold and cine- back, a frosty reminder of how let down he or she matic, no dirty tricks. Watching them, it was easy was by the performance. The crowd slowly dispers- to see the finest line between war and ritualistic, es, shuffling for their own parking stubs, blissfully choreographed dancing. They were physical artists, and savagely happy, resigned and entertained for their strikes coolly calculated, they never wrestled. the night. Their designer clothes remained relatively intact, However, there were exceptions. One, I recall. aside from the occasional blood stain or shoeprint. One night two men started in on each other over a The spectators cheered, squealing and grunting stunning but icy Asian fox who was not impressed like pigs before the trough. Sometimes the crowd in the least. She handed her parking stub to the valet before the two men even swapped fists and
91 stood to the side with her gaze lost to nothing in Caught in the unforgiving chops of despair, particular, smoking a boring cigarette with thin those indigent, ravenous days had their way with sardonic lips, her smoke looked disappointed. She me. I was not eating right, surviving habitually on was wearing a black leather bodysuit. The two bru- Top Ramen, nine-for-a-buck at the 99¢ Store. I tally went at it, exchanging a ruthless gamut of fe- made attempts at escaping the reality by routinely rocity. Rather than waiting to see who won, when chasing a bottle of Thunderbird with forty ounces her car was brought around the woman dropped of cheap malt liquor when what I really needed her cigarette to the cement, crushed out the sad was protein. Somehow, the fights gave the nights ember with one glossy black boot heel, and with a little something, some excitement, some new the other kicked one of the men directly in the breath. Looking back, there was magic at hand, an throat. The other suitor she grabbed by the back of acquiescent joy. They were romantic, old-worldly, the head and slammed it into her car door a few a signpost for the human condition that once in- times before tipping the valet and then blowing the vestigated beyond the animal aggression, the ques- stop sign at 7th and Berendo, headed for Vermont tionable and ostensible sexism, and the defeat or Avenue doing seventy. rival, revealed crumbs of success, possibility, jubilee, Wide awake, an owl by nature—insomnia or and even that most elusive turn, Luck. It was primal curse or blessing or all—I routinely took my ring- gut survival against odds metaphorically on display side seat, feeling lucky to witness the spectacle as for a few glorious minutes. It was nature. the moon and the fog escorted the killers into I’ve moved up over the years, not as much as I as- triumph, tragedy, and thermodynamics. My own pire for, maybe, but enough. Enough so that even in thermodynamics had digressed into the infirmly, my lowest moments my ambitions, talent, and ac- bottomed-out physics of trying with damned effort complishments are never forfeited, and, after mov- to remember sanguinity in a cold, vindictive, dis- ing six times around Los Angeles, I have to visit The heartening time. Those nights, even in Los Angeles, Prince from a fistful of miles northwest. Finally, I even in the summer in Los Angeles, a chilly, bitter can afford to go inside and have a drink. I’d never wind whipped inside of me, no matter how much even set foot in the place the entire time I lived I was sun-drenched and burned by the days. there. Not only a lack of money, but, perhaps, too, I spent a lot of time on my humble little iron- shame and fear kept me out, as it did many other caged perch. The buildings of downtown off to the public places. The Prince, I discover, is both classy east glowed in the early dark morning like titans. and seedy, a noir-esque hideout for Korean gang- The hills hovering in the north dotted lights of sters, anonymous artists, and other well-dressed, the wealthy strewn about like softly plucked white enigmatic urbanites, with a beautiful horseshoe bar lottery balls and gently fallen constellations. If the and Olde English-cum-Revolutionary pub decor fog or the smog wasn’t too thick you could make leftover from its former incarnation, complete with out some stars up above, the heavens letting a bit colonial soldier statuette lamps and deep-red vel- of majesty slip through to the puppets below. I vet/faux-gold leaf wallpaper, drastically contrasted could use the majesty when it fell. I wound up on with a truly eccentric Korean menu full of exotic that fire escape almost every night, too drunk my- critters, including sautéed silk worms and live oc- self, and too dimly philosophical. Too young to be topus tentacles. so hung up on misfortune, nearly casting off my Sitting there, regarding the old days while en- dreams and aspirations as if life’s game was already joying an anomolous Eastern version of Duke over. I wasn’t even twenty-five years old. Ellington’s Mood Indigo and the requisite soju,
92 I came to the odd realization that the fights while and despite each harboring their own ugli- commenced only on nights when patrons sang ness, can teach a man more about himself and the American karaoke. world than many other five or ten minute chunks There are no drunken karate fights outside of time. Hunger is a cruel, but wise mentor. my present window. There weren’t any when I “Mattson?” hunger would say. lived in any of the other places in the city, each “Reporting for duty,” I'd answer back, staring at uniquely predatory and competitive all its own: In the last of The Prince’s regulars zooming off into Hollywood, it was indeed vampires; downtown, the night. scavengers; Echo Park, gunfire. As for the fights “Tonight’s lesson…” hunger would continue. back at Catalina and 7th, I don’t know if they still “Same as yesterday,” my answer. go on. The few times I’ve stopped by I did not I would stay out on the fire escape all the night liv- stay until closing time to find out. I had progressed ing above The Prince, pugilistic with my thoughts, in a multitude of ways, but I had lost my ring- figuring my own odds for the day ahead—victory side privileges. Yet, somehow, I know they must go or the gutter, as if there was no in between—and on. If not there, then somewhere. Our Lady, The drink until dawn, when the Southern California Queen of the Angels and her wayward wolves are sun would come rising, rising up, the one true god too hungry for them to stop. Desperation and no- and king of everything, indiscriminately burning bility, cocksmanship, and, yes, even drunkenness, holes through us all.
93 Contributors
Franco Aguilar Gabriela Contreras I’m native of East Los Angeles and a Chicano/a Studies major Hi, I’m Gaby, illustrator and designer . I began Gaby&Co .com currently enrolled at ELAC . Minoring in photography, I spend in September, 2012 as a result of my daily commute on the a great amount of time traveling and working on my photo- Metrolink Trains . I enjoyed my hour commute to downtown graphic projects . Los Angeles during the week, mainly because I saw industrial buildings and was inspired to draw them . I began drawing street Marisol Arteaga corners, urban locations and street objects . I enjoy turning my I am interested in writing books in the future . I am an English illustrations into pattern designs, zines, zip pouches and other major and will be transferring this fall . Thank you for reading . products . I graduated with a degree in graphic design and minor in photography in 2004 . My husband Cesar and I live in Southern Christopher Barba California with our two dogs, terrier-mix Brillo and dachshund To understand a situation that has occurred in my personal life, I Chili Bean . have to analyze the situation for a large amount of time . Usually this takes a hold of me and controls my mental stability . In or- Judith Cruz der to move on from a situation, I write it down . I have always I am a 25-year-old native of East LA . I am an English major and been told that actions speak louder than words . The way I see I have always found literature as an escape into a realm of won- it, words ultimately make more of an impact because they can drous creativity . Being bilingual (English/Spanish) I like to incor- dissolve actions . porate a bit of both worlds in my work . I regularly attend poetry slams in and around the city and hope to see more culturally Jesus Barrales diverse poetry events closer to home and on campus . I’m currently a student at ELAC . I live and was raised in South Central Los Angeles . Some art influences include the activist Eric “Praxis” Eztli Luis Genaro Garcia along with muralist and street artist El Mac . I am an educator and student from the city of Bell who is in love with the people’s quest for liberation . My involvement in hosting Maria Barrera Alivio Open Mic and being a part of the Southeast Los Angeles My love affair with math began at a young age . Looking back, Collective have been some of my proudest moments . math has not only been present in the most difficult stages of my life, but its relevance is always deepening . My first memories of Cynthia Garcia math are of when I was four and my brother, in an effort to pass I am an English major at ELAC . I draw because I love art . It’s the time, would make a game of asking me the times tables cathartic to me . Drawing makes me feel like I’m helping make while doing chores . However, it was not until the third grade, the world a better place . when immigrating to America, that math became a language of its own; struggling in other subjects allowed me to find my niche Janet Macias Garcia in math . Solving math problems, since then, has become an in- I’m a college student and mixed media artist . A native-born of exhaustible passion . East Los Angeles, I’m currently co-hosting an open mic with a community of artists who call themselves the Roots of Refuge . Joshua Castro I’m 27, born in CA . That’s all . Who cares what I have to say? Not Michael Guerra worth mentioning really . *As of this publication, Castro was last (I suppose this is referring to the piece?): The contradiction of daily seen wasting away on a sofa, drinking and amounting to nothing . life . *This short bio somehow encapsulates Mr . Guerra’s poetry, but his poem manages to do it with even fewer words . Hurrah! Aura Chavez I fell, and blood drew trails . * Editor’s note
94 Nyqolas Andrew Hale Andrew Liu I’m just a college student trying to learn myself a better life, I sup- 19, born in Monterey Park Hospital, English Major, hopes to write pose . I photograph people, I write, I listen to all kinds of music . a collection of poetry, a collection of short stories, and a novel That’s about it when it comes to who I am and what I’m doing, one day . at the moment . Richard Lopez Joseph Hernandez I am going to transfer to the University of Oregon in the fall . I I’m a graduate of CSULB’s MFA program . I grew up in the have been at ELAC for three years . I spent my freshman year of Inland Empire and enjoy running, reading and writing, though college at the University of Hawaii at Manoa . I love reading so not all at once . much I own almost 250 books . Unlike a lot of people, math is pretty easy for me . Samantha Hess I am 22 years old . I go to East Los Angeles College and I am an Joseph Mattson English major . I have aspirations of teaching at the high school *Joseph Mattson is the author of the story collection Eat Hell level . My passions are writing and music . (Narrow Books) and the novel Empty the Sun (A Barnacle Book), an SCIBA Fiction Award finalist, considered one of the best LA Aaron Higareda novels by the LA Weekly. Mattson is the editor and contributing I am a full-time parent and part-time student . I have been writing author of The Speed Chronicles (Akashic Books), which also poetry for a little over three years, and recently I have been drawn includes new fiction by Sherman Alexie, William T . Vollmann, to playwriting . I plan to pursue my dream of becoming the best Megan Abbott, Beth Lisick, Jerry Stahl, James Franco, Jess writer I can be by majoring in creative writing at the university Walter, and others . Mattson was also a contributing author to level . It is my last year at ELAC, and I am going to miss it . and the literary co-editor of Two Letters Collection of Art and Writing Vol. 2 (Narrow Books), which also features work by Kristen Huizar James Greer, Tod Goldberg, Dave Reeves, and others . Mattson Through my art, I merge my political ideologies in symbols has been a regular contributor to Slake: Los Angeles—A City that magnify my environment . I am currently going to East Los and Its Stories and PEN Center USA’s The Rattling Wall, and his Angeles College; however, I plan on transferring to Otis as a work has appeared in Ambit, Pearl, The Fix, and dozens more fine arts major then become an art teacher . Along with being literary journals, magazines, and anthologies . He was shortlisted a student, I participate in an art collective on campus known for DZANC’s 20 Writers to Watch list, an alternative to The New as C .R .A S. .S . Apart from school, I enjoy bike riding around Los Yorker’s 20 under 40 list . He lives in Los Angeles, California . Angeles to get acquainted with the community .
Joshua Inglada I’ve lived in Lynwood for 24 years now and have been writing poetry, fiction, and nonfiction since middle school . My first poem was a haiku done for a 7th grade class assignment, and my interest in poetry just took off from there . When I’m low on inspi- ration, I look to nature to give myself a boost . Writing about the plants and animals that we live alongside never fails to get the gears turning in my brain .
95 Matthew Mejia Luis J. Rodriguez My entire life people have told me how easy it was and that I just *The official Poet Laureate of Los Angeles, Luis’ poetry is soul needed to stand up and “scream .” But as far too many of us talk, a prophetic act, a powerful means to enlarge one’s pres- know, it’s still hard to just take someone’s word for it . The months ence in the world . Luis is also a novelist/memoirist/short story prior to writing, I was still recovering from my failed relationship writer/children’s book writer as well as a community & urban and breaking in my newfound courage . I felt all over the place, peace activist, mentor, healer, youth & arts advocate, husband, helpless and hopeless . But most recently, I discovered a bea- father, grandfather, and great-grandfather . He has 15 books in con of possible future happiness, and made the choice to face all genres, including the best-selling memoir, Always Running, my demons . I realized the fear that crippled me for so long was La Vida Loca, Gang Days in L.A. His latest book is the se- simply that - a fear . So I tested myself both mentally and emo- quel, It Calls You Back: An Odyssey Through Love, Addiction, tionally to see if I could think and manage to create something Revolutions, and Healing. He is founding editor of Tia Chucha that I knew would give me a feeling that I had been afraid of for Press, now in its 25th year, and co-founder/president of Tia quite awhile . Chucha’s Centro Cultural & Bookstore in the San Fernando Valley . And he’s co-convener of the Network for Revolutionary Raul Meza Change . Luis is dedicated to a clean, balanced, abundant, co- There’s a lot I can tell you about myself, since I am my favorite operative, healing world . No more capitalist private property rela- topic of conversation, but I’ll shorten it dramatically . I was born in tions, exploitation, war, or inequities . “In essential things, unity; in Los Angeles and I am a city boy through and through . I survived nonessential things, liberty . In all things compassion .” various apocalypses, four excruciating years in high school, and what amounts to a stampeding herd of alpacas . Guadalupe Salgado I am an undergraduate student at UC Davis pursuing a bach- Brenda Morones elors in Art Studio and flirting with various other academic dis- I love to express myself through words and believes in their power ciplines . I am from Los Angeles and I hold a deep love for the to help people empathize with others (my major is Psychology) . arts; I appreciate and respect them for their power to transform, I enjoy writing about my feelings and about the hardships I’ve change and reveal the very nature and essence that lies not just had to overcome growing up . Being an AB-540 student made it within the artist, but all that is around her or him . hard for me to go to a 4-year university . One person who has en- couraged me most is my mother . I also like taking walks around J.G. Santibanez the park . I am a twenty-year-old former overachiever from Boyle Heights, and I am currently completing my second semester here at Nils Rabe ELAC . My interests include writing, reading, thinking, overthink- “One Head” is about an audio recording . It’s patchwork . A very ing, and staring vacantly out of windows . Basically, I am a stu- mad sight scientist chanted for me, as did my two younger dent with too much free time on her hands . brothers, and they channeled !Kung or Mbuti hunters hungry for elephant flesh . A very heavily distorted electronic organ riff drives Daniel Victorino the relentless number . It includes banging and bashing pots and This is the very first time I wrote a short story . I have never had pans and other assorted kitchenware and utensils . much interest in creative writing, but a Creative Writing class with Mrs . Suntree has changed my opinion of the subject . Christine Rodriguez Just your typical ELAC Monterey-Park-chola trying to get a fancy Valentina Zapata education . I’m a painter, illustrator, and musician currently enrolled at East Los Angeles College . My drawing influences include gothic, hor- ror, and fantasy films such as those produced by Tim Burton .
96 L.A. Poet Laureate Holding Out Winner of FRANCO AGUILAR LUIS J. RODRIGUEZ for Lady Luck by 6-Word-Story looks for ghosts on police brutality JOSEPH MATTSON contest in southern Mexico SPRING 2015 | | Real Stories of East LA Real Stories of East LA