New River Anthology 2020 2020 New River Anthology A Collection of Student Art & Writing

Volume 24

CHAIRS

Eric Vithalani Holly Adcock

EDITORS

Melanie Bruce Deborah Doolittle Ashley Ess Andrea Herrmann

STUDENT EDITORS

Zoe Cox Loren Fioritto Tristan Orvis

SPECIAL THANKS

Emily Ellis, David Heatherly and Ginger Tuton

COVER ART “Winter Window” By William Smith

OASTAL AROLINA CCOMMUNITY C COLLEGE Jacksonville, North Carolina The Right to Write Award is sponsored by George and Lora Cole of Jacksonville, given in memory and in honor of their daughter. George earned an Associate in Fine Arts from Coastal; he is an accomplished artist with awards received from many campus and local art exhibitions. The Coles are passionate about recognizing the academic achievements of successful students, and we are pleased to present this award to three writers in particular:

“Sticks and Stones” by Shaniya Fisher (Nonfiction) “The Book” by Susan Lavin (Poetry) “Short Stories from the Apocalypse” by Micheal Bean (Fiction) Table of Contents

“Her Garden” by Casey Kirkendoll...... 1 “Possumwood Acres Peacock” by Meghan Baskerville...... 4 “Betterment” by Angelo Lytle...... 5 “Among the Stars” by Zoe Smith...... 6 “I Hear You Ma” by Guadalupe Lail...... 7 “One Father’s Journey” by Paul Delong...... 9 “Nervosa” by Cat Akerman...... 12 “If You’re Experiencing Armageddon, Please Press ‘One’: Short Stories from The Apocalypse” by Micheal Bean...... 13 “Live In Color Butterfly” by Meghan Baskerville...... 16 “Pañuelos y polen: lágrimas de néctar” by Mariana Orrego Serna...... 17 “Handkerchiefs and pollen: nectar tears” Translation by Mariana Orrego Serna...... 20 “America” by Cat Akerman...... 22 “New York City Graffiti” by Daniel Rivera...... 23 “North Hazel Avenue” by Angelo Lytle...... 26 “Serpens” by Angelo Lytle...... 29 “Threads of Awareness 2019” by Cat Akerman...... 30 “Shallow Time Deep Impact” by Christopher Campell...... 31 “Waterfall” by Meghan Baskerville...... 35 “I Remember When Your Name was a Synonym for Happiness” by Angelo Lytle...... 36 “Mountain Tops” by Meghan Baskerville...... 37 “TRANSgressions” by Sarah Barnes...... 38 “Jellyfish” by Meghan Baskerville...... 40 “The Silent Killer” by Brianna Logan...... 41 “Reflect” by Angelo Lytle...... 48 “Triple Meter” by Sarah Barnes...... 49 “Tiny Einstein” by Cat Akerman...... 51 “There Is No Rain” by Angelo Lytle...... 52 “Floating Shades” by Ashley Ferguson...... 54 “Sticks and Stones” by Shaniya Fisher...... 55 “A Novel Graveyard” by Slayde Rascon...... 64 “The Book” by Susan Lavin...... 65 “Dino” by Cat Akerman...... 67 “Sleeping Dog Lies” by Angelo Lytle...... 68

*Artwork pieces are bolded.

Her Garden By Casey Kirkendoll On the little hill within the battered roads of the At a much earlier time, when the garden was still Holly Ridge Holden trailer park remains an old tended and the home still full of life and leisure, white trailer. Its wide porch is encroached with wild, my great-uncle Miller and his wife Fronigale had disobedient knock- out roses whose vines angrily come to visit from Kentucky. I was around eight grip at the graying wooden boards. The boards years of age at the time, and had lived in a small have become so gray and worn that their edges are trailer just to the right of my grandmother’s, a curling up with their loose, brittle, and rusted nails. mere five-minute walk away, when I had decided to The decaying flower beds are unkempt with rag come and spend some time with my favorite uncle and sorrel weeds, as prickled grass and other odds for the afternoon. They had been there for a few and ends have somehow buried themselves into days already, and he had been working around the the ground over the years. Shards of glass, rusted house while doing small jobs for my grandmother nails, those old fat Christmas bulbs, flimsy plastic who couldn’t handle some things herself. He and flower signs, and mysterious keys are all buried I would often share colas on the front porch as I’d within the fertilized dirt like tokens and mementos. watch him strip copper, and after a long day’s work, The golden lantanas are fat and heavy, as they we would enter the house to escape the summer reach over their designated spots of the situated heat. concrete blocks. The tulips and daffodils still stand high, as they proudly display their colors of loud One particularly hot summer day, I remember reds and loud oranges. But all the surrounding retreating into the house after some hours of being black- eyed suzie’s, four-o’clocks, and other flora outside. The cool, calm air brushed past our bodies are all dying, desperately waiting, and are straining as we entered, and the aroma of coffee bubbling to be ever-growing. on the pot and cleaning products greeted us. There my grandmother – or Mimi, as we called her, sat The garden once reflected the beauty of its with my Great-Aunt Froni. My Mimi was a fairly caretaker, my grandmother. A woman whose short woman with some heft to her. Her short, gray kitchen was always full, her yard always busy hair was often kept and combed particularly in a with either gardening, farming, or children, and way she’d like it. Her sun-beaten skin was soft and her home always eagerly open to guests, sure warm, and her carefully tailored pink fingernails to provide a sense of comfort, friendliness, and were never without a Newport cigarette. hospitality. The home was always a place that kept special memories for me. There are memories of laughter, celebration, and silliness with all family members included. “The garden once reflected the beauty of its caretaker, my grandmother.”

the new river anthology 1 Upon entering in through the weather door, plain cake. This cake had grown a full, luminous, she smiled at us as we came in and sat down on outstanding, beautiful head of magical, silky gray, the coarse, forest green and brown plaid couch. moldy... hair. The television lowly murmured with a spaghetti western, and the wooden ceiling fan lazily turned. We stared at it for a brief moment of awe before Her home was decorated in an old fashion with bursting into the same wild laughter that she had, hideous green carpeting, a green bar with one and she met our laughter with “I’ll be - if that cake side lined neatly with dusty shelves that held her ain’t got a full head of hair!” And she was right. extensive angel collection, and outdated kitchen The amount of “hair” on this cake would have wallpaper, which was lined and patterned with little enamored the most uptight of beauty queens. It roosters that were randomly situated in various had locks that were so silky and fine that the cake directions. Wind lamps, ash trays, and doilies itself could have been the next model for a wind- adorned every table, and her lovely handmade rags swept Pantene commercial. Needless to say, the and quilts rested on various chairs and countertop cake had met its swift demise by being woefully spaces. Her home felt like a second home – tacky and sloppily tossed over the side of the worn, green in nature, but wonderfully sweet and interestingly railing of the porch for the neighborhood stray cats aged. to enjoy. If it, hopefully, didn’t kill them.

As we sat and stirred up some brief discussion, Those laughs we shared were hearty and collective. my uncle brought up the possibility of food. My It’s a memory that is burned and ingrained in my old, poor Mimi beamed with a sudden memory. mind with all the others as I recall them. The Her dementia often made her forget the simplest laughter of her accidentally giving a gingerbread of things and remember them at a time most man a “pecker” whilst making Christmas cookies. irregular, but at this moment it had worked in our Showing me that sometimes some mistakes favor. She had remembered that at some time she are just too darn funny to be uptight about. The had baked a cake. A delicious vanilla cake that had laughter of one daughter breaking the seat of a been baked “a few nights before” was awaiting my worn, white rocking chair because of her big rear great uncle and I, and with excited grins we both while also being laughed at by another daughter, immediately requested for a slice. Together we her sister, before she, too, broke the rocking chair watched as that little woman rose from her special that she sat upon in a swift moment of karma. chair and shuffled her way towards the kitchen. She Objects can always be replaced, but the shared and gathered some plates before making her way to cherished memory of hilarity that eased us over a the antique silver cake protector. There was a quiet difficult week of work should be kept close. pause. She carefully grasped the ornately sculpted handle and at once we heard her light voice burst That laughter was brief before it was met with a into hilarious and sudden laughter. “A’right now, stop breakin’ my chairs!” The laughter of mistakenly chucking a red potato, fresh from the My uncle and I curiously looked at one another earth, at someone’s head because she missed the before I had finally asked, “Mimi, are you a’right?” nearby wheelbarrow. Reminding me that pain is And to my surprise she carried into the living room temporary, but if Mimi was going to get you back the vanilla cake, but this cake was no longer just a – she got you back in her own way, but forgiveness

2 fall 2020 was key. The collective laughter from Thanksgiving ached. That same silver hair had become unkempt, as one sister swore and swore that she didn’t eat all the same sun-beaten skin had become grayed, the ribs, but that we all, in a fit of plotting against and the same carefully tailored nails had become her, had maliciously and purposefully stacked brittle. By then, time had marched on its cruel them all on her plate. Teaching me that distress slaughter and had taken its toll on both her and her is temporary, but the hilarity of remaining true to home. ourselves and laughing at ourselves in the mirror is an important factor of life. The laughter of watching That same home remains empty and devoid of that stout, overweight, sweaty grandmother what it once was: a shelter to those who needed it, shuffle down the dirt road while wearing the most a foundation for memories that became painfully revealing short-shorts that desperately attempted endearing, and a playground for all grandchildren to hold in all the sagging skin, and the bold and friends of grandchildren. However, when we printed letters “HOT ASS” being so uncomfortably all met on June 1st for the memorial, and as I was stretched across the rear of her shorts. Confidence surround by family, I thought to myself. I reflected is something Mimi had, and the laughter rolled off on the past with my family members, with those her back like water. Life is too short, and it’s too who loved her, and a plethora of cousins, and I short to waste time being uncomfortable. The last came to realize that her garden hadn’t withered. collective laughter of nearly all her children, all her There were no weeds nor rusted pieces of mess grandchildren, and even her great grandchildren strung about in the dirt. Time hadn’t robbed her all under one roof in celebration of her final March of her garden as her garden didn’t rest at the birthday. Because family is all you have, and you surroundings of her home. Her garden, which must laugh with them and live in the moment with consisted of a whirlwind of colors of all sorts from them while you still can. vivacious reds, bursting oranges, brilliant greens and startling yellows, were all surrounding me as I remember sitting in my little wooden seat and I sat in that little chair. One by one, all describing glancing over towards her as she sat in her own their beautiful memories they had with our Mimi. special chair, painfully so, as her frail bones surely

“Life is too short, and it’s too short to waste time being uncomfortable. The last collective laughter of nearly all her children, all her grandchildren, and even her great grandchildren all under one roof in celebration of her final March birthday.”

the new river anthology 3 “Possumwood Acres Peacock”

By Meghan Baskerville

4 fall 2020 Betterment By Angelo Lytle

I used to have apathy for empathy back when self-flagellation was in.

Bury your inner child before the world flays its skin.

Hide all your high hopes before they’re lost to the wind.

Save your love for your loved ones; you’ll need it when this earth goes to pieces.

I condemned my goldfish soul to a bowl where I’d never reach my full potential.

It’s easier staying the same than growing through growing pains, but the glass cracked, and the ocean came.

The child inside me could not be restrained; he played in the water and felt joy again.

Now that I’m older, I want to be giving and kind;

I’m still learning after all this time that to be something warm, you must light a fire inside.

the new river anthology 5 “Among the Stars”

By Zoe Smith

6 fall 2020 I Hear You Ma By Guadalupe Lail

I hear you Ma

Life has weakened you

Yet yous’ risen

I’ve seen’t it

Watched you refuse food—

So my belly could be full

I’ve seen’t you

Hunched, head lowered askin’—

Beggin’

For better days

I’ve seen’t you

Watched you wipe away

Grime,

Sweat,

And Tears—

Yet yous’ fought on

Brave.

Like a warrior

the new river anthology 7 I hear you Ma

Life is begin to weaken me

Yet I’s too will rise

You’ll see me

Ridin’ this wave of life

You’ll see me win—

And lose fights—

You’ll see me hunched— with my head lowered askin’—

Pledgin’

For the sun to rise again

But I’ll know how to wipe away

Grim,

Sweat,

And Tears

I’ll strive on Prepared.

Like I’ve seen’t you

Because I hear you Ma

8 fall 2020 One Father’s Journey By Paul Delong There was blood, screaming, and blue lights the you,” and lunged toward me, ripping my shirt and last time I would see my daughter for a year. My punching me multiple times in the face. I continued previous relationship with Rachel, the mother of out the door, went to pick up my daughter, and my daughter Mila, was fueled by toxic behavior and then went back to my house. Rachel was calling constant fighting. Because Rachel and I were both me continuously, screaming hysterically and active duty military and going through separate threatening to come by my house to get Mila, who divorces at the time, our love had to be kept secret, was just two at the time. I stood my ground and causing a lot of stress and tension. After the birth of told her she could take the night to calm down and our daughter four years ago, I was kept off the birth pick up Mila in the morning. certificate to avoid repercussions of the affair, and emotions were at an all-time high with the erratic “It’s my birthday, and I want my daughter,” Rachel behavior escalating. hollered into the phone.

My entire relationship with Rachel was filled with I explained once again, “Rachel, you just beat the verbal and physical altercations. On the weekend hell out of me because I caught you cheating! You of her birthday in February of 2018, I planned a are not getting her tonight and having her around day trip to go skiing while my parents watched our that mess.” She was not taking no for an answer daughter. When we returned from the trip, she was and showed up at my house anyway. I decided to in the process of uploading photos from the day to try and deescalate the situation and allow her to Facebook while we relaxed at her house. Suddenly, take our daughter home with her. It was that or I noticed her utilizing the block function to prevent another violent outburst, except this time with another guy from seeing the post. I recognized Mila watching. Rachel kept bringing up wanting to the name because it was someone who Rachel stay in a relationship, begging for another chance. had previously cheated on me with, so I calmly confronted her. I explained to her that what we had I said, “Rachel I am not allowing you to do this was unamendable, and I left to pick our daughter anymore. Mila.” up from my parents’ house. No matter what I did for Rachel, she would never stop being unfaithful. That is when it happened. Rachel’s eyes turned a hazy red. Her face had a soulless appearance. She Rachel tried to explain the reasoning behind her seemed possessed. She was possessed. Pulling a actions, saying, “I just did not want to hurt his knife from her pants, she lunged at me. I quickly feelings. You are making it a bigger deal than it grabbed her wrists, desperate to avoid the attack. is.” Having already been down this path with her, The knife stabbed into my wrist, deep into my flesh. I silently gathered my belongings, ignoring her desperate attempts of justification. I shouted for her to stop. “You are stabbing me!” She pushed the blade in deeper. My eyes darted As I headed towards the door, she yelled, “Fuck towards my daughter. Mila’s face shrouded with

the new river anthology 9 terror, echoing cries that still haunt me today. With certificate was stressful, expensive, and time- no other option, I head-butted Rachel twice in the consuming. It was a lot more difficult adding my side of her head. She went limp, dropping to the name to a legal document of a child that was floor instantly, but for me, she was falling one frame biologically mine than I initially thought. My at a time. My senses were heightened. My emotions daughter was born in Hawaii, but then moved to were flooding to the surface. Rage consumed North Carolina, which was part of the reason why me. Sadness overwhelmed me. My daughter just it took longer to go through this process. I had to witnessed this. The person I loved tried to take my hire a lawyer in North Carolina first to prove that life. I had to keep in check. I couldn’t lose my cool. I I was the biological father. I then had to hire a thought about the police. They never need much to lawyer in Hawaii to start the process of obtaining arrest a guy in these situations. the original birth certificate, which was needed according to North Carolina law to be able to make With blood pouring out of my wrist and Mila still any changes to the document. This process of using crying, I told Rachel she needed to leave, or I was both lawyers took about a year and around $30,000 calling the cops. She still refused. She begged to from start to finish. talk, pleading to take Mila with her. I called the police. Thankfully, they arrested her, and I was Over the course of the year 2018, I became both spared. Rachel’s charge was “Assault with a Deadly emotionally and financially stressed. I began Weapon.” I was going to keep our daughter with drinking more and more to drown out the excessive me, but because she disclosed to them that I was thoughts of worry over how my daughter was doing not on the birth certificate, the police allowed and when I would be able to see her again. There one of her friends to pick up Mila. Child Protective was not one single night that went by that I did not Services stated that they did not remove Mila have vivid dreams about my daughter. At first, I from her mother’s custody because they were not hated them. I would pour whiskey down my throat notified until a week later that a child was present. before bed, so that maybe for one night, I wouldn’t To them, Mila appeared to be safe when they finally be reminded that I did not have my princess. My did a home visit. This was the beginning of a long, work started suffering due to my depression and excruciatingly emotional journey to get my name always being hungover, but I didn’t care. The title rightfully on the birth certificate and to get custody of Marine, which I once took pride in, no longer of my daughter. meant anything to me. As time went on, it became difficult to see the light at the end of this long, dark The process of adding my name to Mila’s birth tunnel. I started to look forward to the dreams with “My senses were heightened. My emotions were flooding to the surface. Rage consumed me. Sadness overwhelmed me. My daughter just witnessed this.”

10 fall 2020 Mila. That way, we were happily together. I began old, remembered me and looked excited to see taking sleeping pills during the day. Even if it was me! I fell to my knees and held out my arms as she not real, I was holding her, laughing with her, and rushed towards me, smiling. That first hug after a she was mine. As my lawyer made progress with year and a half was an embrace I will never forget. my case, I became less reliant on pills and alcohol, It took all the pain I had in my body and washed it and more focused on getting back on my feet. Little away. We spent the next four hours laughing and did I know, with a little more patience, persistence, playing while the rest of the world melted away. I and two more months, I would be able to see Mila still have some of her favorite shells we picked up again. that day. Seeing her smile made our cursed time apart worth it. Once the process of obtaining the original birth certificate ended, I was able to get a court date in My life over the last two years has been a stress- North Carolina and start the journey of securing filled whirlwind, including a fight ending an abusive custody rights. During the first court date, relationship, the long process of getting my name visitation was worked out, so I would be able to see added to my daughter’s birth certificate, and my daughter during this battle of custody. I was finally seeing my Mila again. I have learned alot finally given a time and place that we would be able about myself through this emotional process of to spend time together. We were going to meet at getting away from a toxic person and becoming a the beach for four hours. parent again. Although these last couple of years have broken me down to the lowest point I have It was a hot August morning as I was nervously and ever been, they have also made me stronger and excitedly preparing to reunite with my daughter smarter for any obstacles that may be in my future. after a year and six months apart. I had a million The determination to see Mila again fueled my thoughts a minute racing through my mind. What motivation not to give up. I am a better father today should I wear? Will she remember me? How will I because of the endless fight to be in my daughter’s control my emotions? As I pulled into the parking life. Before these life lessons, I used to come home lot at the beach, my heart felt like it was going to from work and put on a TV show for Mila to watch explode. I had a bag of toys in one hand and flowers so I could relax without interruption. If she wanted of every color in the other. I had no idea what to go on a walk, I would rush through it out of her favorite colors were anymore, so I got every boredom or laziness. Now, we walk until she gets possible option. When I got out of my car, Mila saw bored! I now notice myself valuing every moment and recognized me right away. with her no matter how big or small because I do not want to take our time together for granted She jumped up and down, and pointed at me again. My journey began with a bloody battle, and yelling, “There is daddy!” It was impossible to hold although it’s not over yet with a long custody war back my tears, and they rushed down my cheeks ahead, I am now prepared for whatever comes at like rain on a car window. All this time had passed, me next. and my daughter, who was now almost four years

the new river anthology 11 “Nervosa”

By Cat Akerman

12 fall 2020 If You’re Experiencing Armageddon, Please Press ‘One’ Short Stories from The Apocalypse

By Micheal Bean Maybe they did want to set the world on fire kill you,” she told him, wrinkling a very prominent nose in distaste. The end of the world. Whether it’s a multiheaded horror from the Book of Revelations, Cthulhu, “Mutated animals will kill me faster. Hell’s bells, or just, as in the case of this anthology, nuclear just being out in the open will kill me faster than Armageddon, it’s a popular thing to write about. a ten-year-old pack of Marlboro’s.” Jim laughed What would the everyman do if they found softly. He looked from his cigarette to her as if he’d themselves in a world turned upside down? Would realized something. “We’re all going to die out they become a hero or a monster? Would they find here; I might as well pick the way I go.” The next a way to turn the new world into the old one, or few moments passed in silence as Doris didn’t have would they be beaten down by the harshness of a an answer for that. world turned upside down? After Jim finished his cigarette and flicked the It was ugly, but it was food. butt to the ground, the pair continued on their way. They walked along the sidewalk of a former “I grew up on that block,” Jim said casually as he riverfront park. Jim remembered coming here reached into his tattered coat. Pulling out a dingy during the summers and teaching his nephews how pack of cigarettes, he chose one and put the rest to fish. Thinking about them made his heart twist back carefully. “Right there,” he said pointing with and he banished the thought. Alice worked at the the cigarette before bringing it to his mouth and base, surely they found a place to hide... lighting it. The “there” was a pile of rubble across the muddy swath that used to be a river. Jim was short, The city was deadly silent. In the past there had nearly as short as his companion, with thinning been birds in nearly every tree; squirrels would race black hair and streaks of gray in his mustache. He’d passed one another, barking madly as they sought been a math teacher the day the bombs dropped. mates or food. There are still animals around, Jim As he took a drag from his cigarette, he allowed his noted grimly, just hairless and covered in tumors. mind to roam. Seventh grade final exam... As if summoned by his thoughts, a squat, pinkish head popped out of a grimy trashcan. In this state “It was probably bigger then,” Doris said dryly, her it was hard to recognize it as a raccoon, but the hand resting on the sheath of her Bowie knife. Doris hairless beast still had a few bristly hairs around its was older and heavier than Jim, and her short gray eyes and ears. Jim raised a hand to stop Doris and hair peeked out from a filthy handkerchief. She reached into his coat for his pistol. edged away as he began to smoke. “Those things’ll

the new river anthology 13 It was ugly, but it was food. Jim watched the street. There’d been a bar not far from here. Was it the Brown Pelican or the Black The problem was when he fired his shot and killed Pelican? I know that Pelican was involved in the the raccoon, that sound rang out sharply in the name. He should have been paying more attention still air. Firing guns was always risky; that was to the shattered roof on their left side. Eyes were why Doris carried a knife instead. The sound, still watching them from the shadows, waiting for the seeming to hang in the air, was like a dinner bell right moment. After all, the man and his companion for anything nearby, and they would know that were ugly, but they were food. someone is out and about. Jim and Doris had only ran into a few dozen people in a city that had once Thank you, come again. had a population of 30,000. Most of those had been like them, scavenging and trying just to survive the BZZT! “Welcome to- oh damn it all!” The robotic past few years, but there were always those who chef/waiter hovered in his spot, facing the door. didn’t like scavenging and wanted to be predators Ocular sensors focused with a soft whirring sound instead. as the door swung open and closed in the small broken diner. He spun on his axis and continued Ten of those types had found the camp Jim and to slice up the lumpy vegetable in front of him. Doris had made. Ten burly men, possibly former It wasn’t an onion—there were no real onions students of his, dressed in armor made from old anymore. But this was what the scavenging work sports equipment and carrying rifles. Everything of a smaller robot had brought him. the pair had found for the coming winter had been taken, and they’d been forced to flee the school bus The robot used to be shining steel, a wonder from they had been using as a shelter. the General Robotics line. Now he was possibly the only one left. He resembled a large dull silver orb They hurriedly took the dead raccoon and rushed with mechanical arms sticking out at the bottom. deeper into the alleyway. Jim kept watch as Doris He hovered on a small jet of air. Three slender deftly skinned the beast and gutted it, picking out stalks at the top of his body, each capped with a the tumors as she went. He wouldn’t have believed large glass eye, allowed him to look at his work and it before the bombs dropped that the school’s the environment at large. Currently, though, all he cleaning lady would be so good with a knife. saw were the same dingy four walls. And him, the

“Jim kept watch as Doris deftly skinned the beast and gutted it, picking out the tumors as she went. He wouldn’t have believed it before the bombs dropped that the school’s cleaning lady would be so good with a knife.”

14 fall 2020 robot thought annoyed.

A groan sounded from behind him. He didn’t turn. This sort didn’t have money and never ordered. Probably getting out from the rain. Can’t say that I blame him; the rain melts flesh now. “Will Sir be ordering or lounging today?” He muttered with as much disdain as his programming would allow. Another groan answered, a rasping hissing sound that made the robot’s virtual brain show images of livestock being slaughtered. Another sound like thick mud sliding down a drain caused the robot to slow his slicing and turn one matte-dull steel eye- stalk backwards.

Two of them now...wonderful. It was times like this the robot wished he’d been built with eyelids so that he could give the appearance of rolling his eyes. “Will Sir’s friend be joining him?” No reply, except for more guttural noises.

Finally, he heard shuffling footsteps and the bell rang as the door was pushed and its rotation took them outside. “Thank you. Come again!” The robot said over the terrified screaming of something outside.

the new river anthology 15 “Live In Color Butterfly”

By Meghan Baskerville

16 fall 2020 Pañuelos y polen: lágrimas de néctar By Mariana Orrego Serna

Quisiera rociar mi corazón con polen para florecer mi compasión. Brotar entre capas de hojas caídas y por caer.

Danzar con el polvo de estrellas sin razón, entrelazar nuestros movimientos en espiral y cesar solo al amanecer.

Purificar mis tristezas en cálidas cascadas, hasta que de mi boca salgan solo carcajadas.

Absorber su agua energizada a través de mis poros, hasta que en mi piel solo haya espacio para vibrantes coros.

Quisiera fundirme en los colores del otoño

Revivir mi alma exploradora que nació y murió cuando era niño, sumergirme en ese espacio de asombro e infinito cariño donde con velitas coloridas y amigos saltarines alababa cada año.

the new river anthology 17 También, sumergirme dentro del lodo ligero, honrando la “suciedad” que la sociedad me condicionó a rechazar Lodo, repleto de minerales. Para la flor de loto, oro.

Eres potencial de vida, así que en ti puedo confiar.

Quiero salir con tierra terracota plegada a mi piel.

¿Cuándo perdí ese poder mágico del encanto? Para volver a mi debo regresar a ti, Pachamama.

Descalza, sentir el cosquilleo del rocío de los extensos pastos que recorro

Me entrego a la sensación y por mi recorre un escalofrió Soy salvada, sin siquiera pedir socorro.

Al ser salvada, soy selva, soy hada.

18 fall 2020 Esparcir las alas de mis ojos al activar mi imaginación mis pestañas aletean al ver a aquella mariposa aterrizar en mi nariz y sentir que ella me bendice desde mi raíz.

the new river anthology 19 Handkerchiefs and pollen: nectar tears

Translation

By Mariana Orrego Serna

Spring sprinkles our hearts with pollen, compassion blossoms.

Smiles sprout between layers of fallen leaves.

Stardust dances, we intertwine time through our spiral movements.

Warm waterfalls purify sadness, until out of our mouths we can only birth laughter.

Continue to absorb its energized water through our pores, until our skin opens space for vibrant choirs to sing of desire.

Murmur merges into the colors of autumn.

Mist resuscitates our explorer souls that died during our childhood.

Mystical mirrors immerse us in the space of wonder: we blew out colorful candles with jumping friends, we praised every passing year.

Spread the wings of our eyes, activate our imagination

My eyelashes flutter in synchrony as a queen bee land on my nose, her buzz reverberates as a sweet wish for humanity.

She blesses us from root to crown.

20 fall 2020 Barefoot, the dew from extensive pastures

we roam tickles us.

Giving in to the sensation of oneness a chill envelops us,

Nature saves us, without need for a plead of help.

Dive into the mud, let us honor its “dirtiness”

that society taught us to reject.

Mud, packed with minerals and fun.

For the lotus flower, gold & for kids a slippery playground.

You are life potential, so we wither away our learned distrust.

Terracotta dirt thoroughly spread on our skins,

yet we feel as clean, pure, and grounded as could be.

When did we lose the magic power of feeling enchanted?

To return to my inner child I must return to you, Pachamama.

“Dive into the mud, let us honor its “dirtiness” that society taught us to reject. Mud, packed with minerals and fun. For the lotus flower, gold & for kids a slippery playground. You are life potential, so we wither away our learned distrust.”

the new river anthology 21 “America”

By Cat Akerman

22 fall 2020 New York City Graffiti By Daniel Rivera Say the word graffiti in New York City today, and understand you had to look the part or get beaten you conjure up one of two thoughts: it’s a work and robbed. Many of us kids in the neighborhood of art, or it’s downright trash. The start of hip-hop knew each other. We grew up with our parents music allowed graffiti to go mainstream, while the yelling out those nicknames from the kitchen work of incredible artists allowed it to burst into a window. We’d all seen each other get beat up by cultural medium that ghetto kids weren’t supposed mom and dad in public. Many of us grew close and to partake in. Art was Picasso or Rembrandt, not did things together, sometimes stupid things like Duster or Dondi. Unless you witnessed its birth, jumping on New York City transit trains and writing you couldn’t possibly understand what it was like in our nicknames on the wall to kill time and work on the 1980’s when it blew up on music videos and was getting up. featured on MTV. It was a feeling of excitement and recognition for a street culture we called our own. Graffiti was well on its way to becoming the street Those videos represented us. way of communication when Madonna broke out and Little Boy George was all over MTV. We found Graffiti started out as a competition of name power in the recognition of our nicknames. We had recognition. The name our parents gave us at our names painted on our jean jackets with fancy birth is what we stay with for the rest of our lives colors in acrylic paint. We loved the excitement of remembered, and, in some cases, it’s how others are illegally writing our names in huge fancy letters. memorialized in the next generation. Nicknames, We called this lettering technique “throw ups.” on the other hand, aren’t so cut and dry. Nicknames Soon enough, our names had to be on more walls were important to all graffiti writers in the 80’s; it than anyone else in the city. We had to “get up”; we was our identity. “Getting up” was a term we used had to “go all city.” Our friends and neighborhood when describing how much we wanted these street crewmembers sometimes joined us on graffiti identities known. It was the ghetto version of being excursions, making sure the hood was represented famous. It wasn’t uncommon to hear someone throughout New York. called Pookie or Junior. In the world of graffiti, we had nicknames like Dondi or Futura2000. For us, graffiti was art in its purest form; for others, it was vandalism. We saw ourselves as artists; The 1980’s in New York City were wild times for a others considered us menaces to society. Over kid growing up. It was the start of rap music with time, however, New York City residents started artists like Run DMC. It was also a time when recognizing graffiti for what it was: a way to express break dancing and graffiti went hand-in-hand at who we were and what we had to say. Murals of the neighborhood rap parties (hoop earrings for family members who passed away were suddenly girls and unlaced Adidas sneakers for boys). It was an artistic way to pay homage and respect to about style and stylish clothing. Hell fell on the kid someone we all admired within our communities. who didn’t dress like the rest of the neighborhood. This was something heartfelt, and no city official Surely anyone worth living in this city would dared to stop a mural from hitting the street walls.

the new river anthology 23 As artists, we found ways around the legality and with equivalent interests. Graffiti artists in the 80’s stigma attached to the art. were a different breed of sorts; we met on the train tracks at 3am on a Saturday night. On weekdays By the mid 1980’s, New York City had produced we’d stop by a very well-known spot called the some real jaw-dropping graffiti art. We had the inner Writer’s Bench. The Writer’s Bench was an actual workings of the New York City transit authority train station on 149th street in the Bronx. We would in our back pockets. We had escape hatches that all meet up after school and show off our Black would allow us to evade getting caught while Books (sketch books). These Black Books were creating elaborate pieces of art, which sometimes filled with blank pages. They allowed us to practice took us up to five hours to complete due to the our craft at home, and show off our drawing skills intricate details we put into them. Just like our in the street, in the hopes that the work put in clothing, our names had to be drawn on walls with would impress a famous street writer, prompting style and pizzazz, with flair and originality. We grew the writer to put his name or “Tag” in the book. The to know all the Krylon paint shades and how each Black Books were the only proof we had of who we color blended with brick or steel train carts. We were. If you didn’t have a popular name or two in took this graffiti thing to the next level and got lots your book, most likely, you were a Toy. If you were of name recognition along with verbal contracts to a Toy, we weren’t putting your name in our book. do store fronts. Graffiti was in blast mode. We had a pecking order of sorts.

Now, with all that said, we did have a special Today, the New York City train line is a much cleaner nickname for those who weren’t as good or place. Long gone are the train carts with unreadable talented as we were. These folks (writers) were garbage graffiti written all over the place. These known to trash the streets with their names in days, wall writers are considered the scum of the magic markers (much like how we started). They Earth, the people who don’t have the talent to put were known as “Toys.” Toys had no style, they had ink to paper or paint to walls and create true art. no name recognition, and they were never invited No one carries Black Books anymore, most likely to anything we did. Our reputation was always on due to tablets, and smart phones having cameras the line. imbedded in them.

It’s no secret artists of all forms gravitate toward It’s great to see how we’ve come to see this art form one another. Some meet for the first time at art elevated to something special. Now we see graffiti galleries, while others meet through mutual friends from Europe, Africa, and Asia. We see extraordinary

“ Just like our clothing, our names had to be drawn on walls with style and pizzazz, with flair and originality. We grew to know all the Krylon paint shades and how each color blended with brick or steel train carts..”

24 fall 2020 murals worthy of publication. In 1984 a photo book out for us to see in preparation of the book. Many titled Subway Art by Henry Chalfant and Martha of us spent countless hours and an enormous Cooper came out. It documented graffiti at its amount of paint prior to its publication, hoping height in NYC. Anyone and everyone who was Henry would include our work in it. When it was deep into the art form wanted their work published finally printed and we saw our names or pieces in this book, including myself. Writers from all in the book, we were ready for stardom. Surely over New York went out and produced pieces we Coca Cola or Pepsi would call and offer us loads of thought were worthy. money! Unfortunately, that never happened, but we were glad to see our pieces made famous for There were times we went down to Henry’s studio the world to see. The book was published in 1984, just to see what pictures were submitted. Henry and I still have mine at home today. Finally, New was a cool guy, and his studio was always open to York City Graffiti was legitimized as a work of art, us. Henry’s studio was the quintessential mecca of thanks to people like Henry Chalfant and Martha photos from all over New York. He accumulated Cooper. thousands of pictures and had many of them laid

the new river anthology 25 North Hazel Avenue

By Angelo Lytle

My childhood stays evergreen beneath cloudy blankets of white

Two bed, one bath, for five

Sometimes suffocating, sometimes cozy

Close-knit, we made it work alright.

We hung a glass pendant from the window and when the sunlight shined through the kitchen came alive with little rainbows

The grown-ups had coffee mornings and sometimes life was good.

A wooden balcony with a view of the sky and the ten-car-pileups on the hill outside

The rosebushes and the towering tree

Hornets, from the crook of the roof,

26 fall 2020 hanging But there were roses, oh, there were roses.

My brother and I made up a game dropping our toys deep down, where the planks gave way a teddy, a car, a dinosaur

What happened to them, I wonder?

I’d like to think they’re still there

(they’re not, and I know this, and—why do I even care?)

The streets were littered with needles— no, not the pine kind—

North Hazel Avenue, how I abhorred and adored you.

We packed our bags one January and we said goodbye

Homesick, I grieved night after night for a death I never knew was near.

the new river anthology 27 I wish I could say my last memories were sweet but we went back to gather remnants we missed and the taste still sticks in my teeth.

Sour smell, brown pooling beneath the fridge, rotting walls like in a distorting mirror, everything was too small.

We made new memories and new mistakes three thousand miles away

I left pieces of me there, and pieces of me here, and pieces still pine for the evergreens.

28 fall 2020 “Serpens”

By Angelo Lytle

the new river anthology 29 Threads of Awareness 2019

By Cat Akerman

A solemn evening

with sudden recklessness

I surrendered possessiveness

content in stillness

I saw the patterns

universal designs co-creators reveal themselves

as perfumes in the dark.

30 fall 2020 Shallow Time Deep Impact By Christopher Campell I pick my sons up every other Friday at 6 o’clock to my elders. She gave me a simple list of ground in the evening. I have two teenagers who giggle rules. at sexual innuendoes, make ‘dees nut’ jokes, and are famished by that time in the evening. That Be home when the streetlights come on. evening, we chose to go have some pizza at our favorite place. Lazzara’s is a small restaurant and Do not do anything that would make her ashamed has limited seating. We arrived about an hour to be my mother. later, and we missed the evening rush. My oldest ordered two slices of buffalo chicken, and my Always have a quarter on me to call home. youngest ordered two slices of supreme. I ordered a slice of pepperoni with a pint of Woodchuck She told me that this world only has one of me, so beer. My youngest son picked out the high-top be careful. My mother worked the graveyard shift. table close to the door. It was a short five minutes She slept most of the time when I was out of school. when our piping hot pizza arrived. My sons were The time we spent together was from supper time impatient and had to attempt to eat right away. until she left for work. That left a lot of time to go Making “hashush hashush hashush” sounds. We on adventures. all started to laugh time, and in our moment of combating the infernos in our mouths, we rocked I grew up blocks away from the Mississippi River. the table, causing my glass to fall. Instead of my Exploring the banks of the Mississippi was one my pint shattering all over the chestnut colored tile, favorite activities. That river front and play on the it collapsed like an accordion, making a sound river’s banks. The sky was speckled with clouds, revealing a nugget of motivation that has been as if the sky were a piece of paper, and the clouds submerged in my memories. were pinched out of the paper. They looked like circular Dalmatian spots large enough for the sun From anyone else’s perspective, it was an to play peekaboo, providing intermediate shade uncomplicated broken glass. From my perspective, throughout the day. The Mississippi River always words in peripheral slowed, stretching their fascinated me with the sheer amount of water syllables into simple modulations. The sound of a that moves past at one moment. There was a glass breaking was distinct and full of meaning. It light breeze that carried the pungencies of the has been thirty-plus years since I had heard that earthworms from the mud of the river. There was sound replicated, reminding me of a promise I also a hint of ammonia from the pesticides that end made when I was a boy. up the river from all the farmland. Where I lived, the barges hauled corn feed up and down the river. **** Some people say there were catfish the size of a small sedans under those grain terminals that filled I was a free-range latchkey child. My mother taught the barges. As I watched the grain shoot out from me not to trust strangers, but to still be respectful the silo into the barge, I imagined if I were a catfish.

the new river anthology 31 Would I stay in the same area, and would I ever get long hair, yet was well-groomed. He had an athletic tired of eating the same stuff over and over? I heard build with strong arms, big hands, and no belly. It the bells on the barge sound, supper time. I felt as if appeared as if my dad were an athlete. His voice that was my bell to return home too. was slightly lower than most men I had spoken to.

Before I left, I moved closer to the barge to watch Mom broke the silence. “This is your dad.” the deckhands go into the galley. My father worked on a barge, and I hoped to catch a glimpse of him. He was sitting down on the chair closest to the door. Looking up at the barge, I role-played in my mind I stopped. I looked him up and down. He opened how my father and I would greet each other. I his arms and invited me to sit on his lap. The most would jump and wave both arms so he would know peculiar thing happened. I moved thoughtlessly to who I was. He would expeditiously step down the his lap, breaking one of my mother’s ground rules: gang plank and make a beeline to me. In my blissful don’t trust strangers. wishing, he would have a trinket from his travels. Maybe a model of the Arch from his trip to St. Louis “I know, Mom,” the words glissaded over my lips as or a Harley-Davidson magnet logo from his trip to I started to quiver. Milwaukee, but it was all imaginary. I rode home, arriving about the time the streetlights flickered “He has something to tell you,” she said, smiling on. broadly.

As I walked in the house, I heard my mom in the “Son, I am going to change. I have been here all day kitchen laughing and giggling. I heard a man’s since the barge arrived. You and your mom have voice. As I walked down the hallway, I saw a man been on my mind for years now. It is a blessing we who I had only seen in pictures my mother had pulled into Hannibal. I want to be part of your life shown me. My father was in my kitchen. and be with you and your mother.” This is the first time I could remember ever hearing him speak to The look on my face must have been one of me. confusion and astonishment. I wondered who this man was that gave me half his chromosomes and Snot ran from my nose and tears were poured from then was never around. Whoever he was, he had my eyes. I thought, I am going to have a father. He my mom smiling from ear to ear. The atmosphere can teach me how to throw a football. I can show of the kitchen went from giddy to serious the him my favorite bike trails, or how far I can ride a moment the big toe of my lead foot crossed the wheelie. Maybe we can catch a catfish the size of a kitchen’s threshold. My father’s name is Roger. He sedan together. I was full of hope. was tall, handsome, had a great tan, blue eyes, and “The atmosphere of the kitchen went from giddy to serious the moment the big toe of my lead foot crossed the kitchen’s threshold.”

32 fall 2020 “Son, things will be great,” he said, as he apologized left. He wasn’t coming back. I did not go into the in almost a whisper. His words tumbled out as if kitchen. I immediately ran outside in my Rude Dog they were the corn kernels tumbling down the silo, sweats and plain white t-shirt, grabbed my bike, filling my ears like his own barge. “I am sorry for and headed to the river front. They sky was grey missing out on you for all these years.” He then and brown, as if the Mississippi flowed over-head, put his nose into my unbathed hair and inhaled screening out the sun through its muddy dapple my redolence of sweat and Mississippi mud water. filter. Pre-storm clouds. Then he let out a long exhale and gave me a long compressing hug. I took 8th Street to 7th Street to Hill Street. From Hill Street, I could go straight to the river My childhood bed was twin size and had a spaceship all downhill as fast as my Huffy would let me. As vinyl tent that went over it. It gave the appearance I crossed the brow of Hill Street, I could see part that I could not see out of the tent when I could. of the riverfront, but not the full panorama. I kept When my parents came home from their date, they peddling down the brae as fast my legs would spin attempted to be quiet. It’s hard to be quiet when the sprocket. The Huffy went faster and faster. your mother’s bed is also next to your bed. There Then, I slammed on my brakes. The rear wheel left was a small space between her bed and mine. If an a skid mark on the pavement. The full picture was adult turned sideways, they could slide through. in view. The barge had left. I had been trying to fall asleep but couldn’t. I wanted to spend more time with my father. I lay I felt ashamed, unwanted, and exposed. I rode my there listening. I started to hear sounds, not talking bike into an alley. sounds, but more fluid sounds. Like suction cup sounds full of some type of liquid. I heard little At that moment, a boy arrived in my head. An kissing and giggling sounds with hard breathing exceptionally angry boy. This boy was me, Chris, sounds, along with the strange sound. but this Chris was full of rage, violence, disgust, misunderstanding, and hate. I thought of myself My curiosity got the best of me. I slowly found the to be a well-balanced and behaved eight-year old zipper to create a crack. I moved slowly, hoping the boy. This new Chris was the exact opposite of well- sounds I was hearing would drown out the zipper balanced. This is the first time I can remember coming undone. I got about a half inch of the door the internal struggle to control my anger. My unzipped when it made a loud “zip.” I froze and they physical body was a marionette, and this crazy evil did too. None of us moved for a solid five minutes. manifestation of me was the puppet master. For Then I heard some whispers, and those alien noises the first time, I was feeling an emotion I did not returned. I remember going to sleep happy that I know how to control. was going to have a normal family: mother, father, and son. I felt the need to destroy. I picked up a rock. It had a little more circumference than a walnut in The next day I woke up late. I rolled out of bed and the shell. I got into a throwing stance. I cocked walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. The my arm back like a loaded catapult. I saw a van only sound coming from the kitchen was my mother about to pass, but my anger instructed me to wait, crying. I knew right then and there that my dad had choose the right target. My anger was predatory.

the new river anthology 33 Selective. My anger gave me focus, concentration, Twenty-four hours is a shallow period of time, but and determination to destroy. his impact was deep. He did two positive things. First, nine months later my brother was born. My heart was galloping in my chest, filling my body Second, he set the perfect example of the type of with pressure and heat. My vision was more acute. father I would never be. There, the turd brown sedan. The sedan was the color of crap, like the crappy turd my father was. On my bike ride home, I made a promise to myself. When I had kids, I would focus my energy to be “Wait, Wait, Wait…. Now?” Like a pitcher on the available, present, and loving. I would always mound, my anger controlled my arm chucking the remember the anguish my father made me feel stone at the turd brown sedan. The rock hit center that day. I would never allow my future kids to mass on the passenger side head light, busting it to duplicate that type of hurt because of me. pieces. The driver of the car quickly slammed on the brakes. I grabbed my bike and dashed off. My anger **** fueled my muscles with adrenaline, giving me extra energy. I peddled so fast, I felt like a takeoff for a The glass breaking is a moment that will be flight to Hawaii. forgotten in my son’s minds. There was an undercurrent of motivation that brought us to that Once the momentous energy dissipated, I reflected point. A motivation to keep a promise that was on what happened. locked away for so long it was forgotten

My father lied to my mother and me. He used our …. or was it? emotions for his selfish agenda.

34 fall 2020 “Waterfall”

By Meghan Baskerville

the new river anthology 35 I Remember When Your Name was a Synonym for Happiness

By Angelo Lytle

Summer, on its deathbed, had a scent of your cologne and the breeze and gasoline.

Squeezed next to me in driver’s side seat sleeping on your shoulder, your cheek on my head.

Stoplights gleamed, yet I thought they were green.

Overhead, leaves shriveled and died, yet I still was blind.

Soon your warmth left, swallowed by September’s blight.

I think even mayflies pitied me.

36 fall 2020 “Mountain Tops”

By Meghan Baskerville

the new river anthology 37 TRANSgressions By Sarah Barnes

We allow your transgressions

But you forbid any trans aggression

You declare that it’s masculine

Another method of your suppression

You decree an angry Tgirl is not feminine

Just more misogyny you wield like a pathogen

You tell us if we’re dykes, we’re faking

You don’t just take our safety from the world that we’re living in

But it’s freedom, happiness, lives you’re taking

We scream who we are, you say it’s a mistake we’re making

You make sure our identities are under your power

You know nothing of our great undertaking

To live in a skin that isn’t ours

To feel stranded for hours and hours

We’ve struggled till we’ve gained a life

But you only want us to push up flowers

38 fall 2020 You hold up our rights with your Ka-Bar knife

You made sure our happiness comes with a price

All the identification cards are in your hands

You only like us if there’s sacrifice

You call her man

You call him woman

But if we call you cis,

You call it the end.

the new river anthology 39 “Jellyfish”

By Meghan Baskerville

40 fall 2020 The Silent Killer By Brianna Logan “Memorie didn’t make it.” The words seemed That day had started so normal, even better than so distant, slow and drawn out, as they slipped normal. I was beyond tired from the night before, like liquid from my father’s lips. At that moment but it was so worth it. The Good Charlotte concert I seemed to float out of my body as I slumped my sister took me to was still rattling in my blood, back before lurching forward like a warrior given bass so strong I could feel it pulse through my the order to attack, ready to beat the words back bones. I wasn’t even a real fan of Good Charlotte, into my father’s chest. Tears stung at my eyes, but I loved them because my older sister, my hero, my heart racing. Was I suffocating? Was I dying? and my best friend Memorie loved them. The whirlpool of emotions seemed to go on for an eternity as the room spun around and around, She must have felt the concert more than I did that making me nauseated and dizzy. Without warning, day because she rushed down the stairs yelling, my soul was sucked back into my body like a “I’m so late!” vacuum. Then it happened. I struck him with my fists. Somehow, even sleep deprived and running late, she still looked beautiful as ever. I was always “You promised me! You said, ‘she’s going to be ok!’” awestruck as to how she moved like an angel in everything she did. She was the reason I was such a My father might as well have dropped the world big fan of dancing, and every move she ever made onto my shattering heart with those words. I was perfect, like a dance. couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t feel anything but the weight on my chest, making me She looked at me regretfully. “Bri, I’m sorry. I can’t feel like my lungs were collapsing. Stomach acid give you a ride to school.” burned me from the inside out, ready to escape with the vomit I could feel coming up my throat. I I tried not to let disappointment flash across my ran outside the secluded room, ran from the facts, face or selfishness imbue itself into my stance, but and ran from the pain. Mostly I ran from the tears I I’m pretty sure I was unsuccessful. saw welling up in my father’s eyes. They were tears that matched my own— the same wet feeling, but In an instant she came over to me as I murmured, the meaning was completely different: a father “It’s ok.” She gave me that sisterly hug I always losing a daughter versus a sister losing her best loved and took for granted, kissing me on my friend and confidant. It was those tears, swallowing messy stringy head I was always teased about. up warm eyes, that normally made me feel safe; those tears are what made it real. The doctors “Happy birthday, Bri.” Then she looked at her Fossil didn’t make it real, the words didn’t, and not even watch. “I really have to go,” she explained as she seeing it myself would make me understand. Only rushed to the door. when I saw those tears in my father’s eyes did I realize what happened— and more importantly, I walked out the front door with her and continued what they meant. past her red Toyota Corolla that she loved so

the new river anthology 41 much, even with windows that wouldn’t roll down. that were wrapped up on the table. Patty, my I heard her car start up behind me and, of course, stepmother, made the best cake I had ever tasted, Good Charlotte was banging from her stereo. I and she was making it again for my birthday. I grinned, remembering last night at the concert. stood in the kitchen watching her seamlessly place Then, out of nowhere, I had this sudden urge, an cream cheese frosting over the lower layer of the urge to say goodbye again. I ran to the end of the chocolate fudge cake. Fresh cut strawberries and street and turned to hopefully catch her eye as bananas were patiently waiting their turn to be she turned down the road towards the mall. As I placed in the center before putting on the upper approached the street, I was smiling— the thought layer of frosting. of my sister always made me smile. When I got to the intersection, I saw the taillights of her Corolla With my mouth watering, I heard the ring tone of rolling down the street. Disappointment again my dad’s cell phone. I didn’t think much of it; it was stretched across my face, but this time my sister’s probably my sister letting him know that she was on beautiful blue eyes couldn’t see it and wipe it away her way home from work. My dad doesn’t get many with her hug. I still can’t explain why I felt the desire phone calls; he maybe had a total of ten people on that day, of all days, to wave goodbye to my saved in his cell phone. Suddenly my interest was sister before walking that lonely mile to school, a sparked when I heard the next few words leave his lonely mile that I would give anything to go back mouth: “Well, she has a pacemaker.” to, back to before it all happened. For clarification, “A pacemaker is a small device For a teenager who actually liked school, the end that’s placed into the chest or abdomen to help of the day couldn’t come fast enough. I found as control abnormal heart rhythms” using electrical the day went on, time moved slower. Thoughts pulses to help the heartbeat at a normal rate surrounding my birthday party filled my head (“Pacemakers”). Three years earlier, my sister had instead of the lessons the teachers were instructing. an episode where she went unconscious suddenly. My body was going through the motions like a After being in the hospital for a few days and robot instead of actually being present, but my having a lot of tests done, she was diagnosed with mind was on my party. Long QT Syndrome when she was fifteen years old. Long QT Syndrome can be explained using an Finally, I was home from school. My sister had EKG where the heartbeat is mapped in five distinct called to say that she was running a little bit late electrical waves: P,Q,R,S, and T. Between the since she had to work an extra hour. I couldn’t even Q and the T is about one-third of the heart beat; muster up disappointment when my dad told me. however, with Long QT Syndrome, this sequence is The party was going to start in a few hours, and all slower, causing dangerous and deadly arrhythmias I could think about was the cake and the presents (“Long QT Syndrome”). From the time Long QT

“I still can’t explain why I felt the desire on that day, of all days, to wave goodbye to my sister before walking that lonely mile to school”

42 fall 2020 had showed its ugly face, my sister was placed on my dad was maneuvering the 4-Runner over the medication to prevent tachycardia, “a heartbeat curb and sidewalk like a dune buggy over hills in that is too fast,” and had the pacemaker implanted the sand past traffic, I still felt that I could have run to help prevent bradycardia, “a heartbeat that is to the mall where my sister worked faster than we too slow” (“Long QT Syndrome”). were moving. Frustration and panic started to set in. Understanding what Long QT Syndrome is and hearing the statement my father made over the As soon as I saw the mall, everything turned into phone made me quickly realize that it wasn’t a blur. A whirlpool of colors and shapes were Memorie; however, it was about her. I walked out all I could see as I ran through the mall towards of the kitchen, leaving my stepmom oblivious American Eagle where my sister worked. I imagine to the conversation that was taking place about what it must have looked like to a passerby: this twenty feet away from her, and stepped into the young girl running with these two adults trailing living room. My father, instead of rocking in his after her. chair like he normally does, was listening intently to what the person on the other end of the phone Looking back on it, I’m surprised that nobody was saying. I watched the color drain from his face stopped us to try to find out if I needed help from as he demanded an answer: these two people that seemed to be chasing me, not following me. We were frantic, and that mindset “Is she conscious?” That’s when I felt the color drain took hold even more as my heart sank realizing we from my own face. Before my dad could even say went the wrong way. How did I get lost in a mall anything, I was already grappling with my shoes, I went to every weekend? Confusion? All I could struggling to do the most basic task because I was think in the moment was, I need to get there first so I shaking with fear of what was going to be said next. can turn to tell my dad she’s ok. I kept playing it over and over in my mind: my sister would be sitting on “We gotta go” was all my dad could muster to say a stool drinking water— pale, but alive and well. to my stepmom. Then I saw it! Relief filled my blood as I lengthened In one sweeping motion we were all in the car my stride to close the gap between me and pulling out of the driveway. My dad might as well American Eagle. All at once, the scene surrounding have been speaking a foreign language as we the store came into view instead of the store sign drove. I could hear the words, but in that moment, that I was so focused on. It was too much to take I couldn’t comprehend even the most basic in, and I felt my feet falter beneath me. Security sentence. Was it because I was in the back seat that guards were taping off the surrounding area with traffic was moving faster than us? I felt like I was yellow caution tape, and passersby stopped to in a dream, a dream that no matter how fast I ran stare, covering their mouths in shock. I turned or how hard I tried, I couldn’t move fast enough. to see what they were staring at. The three or At fourteen I couldn’t drive yet. If I could have, I maybe four people I saw were not just people, but would have told my dad to move over so I could paramedics, and they were surrounding something mow down every vehicle in my path. Even though —no, someone— on the ground.

the new river anthology 43 Cardiac Arrest is a deadly and silent killer. grabbed me was that same security guard I saw According to the American Heart Association, sectioning off the area. Everything was a blur, Cardiac Arrest “is often fatal, if appropriate steps moving too fast for me, or I was too slow to make aren’t taken immediately” (“Emergency Treatment sense of it all. The security guard walked me gently of Cardiac Arrest”). Also, “95% of individuals that back into a wall, and I slid down it as if it were a have sudden cardiac arrest die from this condition” narrow slide. since it stops blood from pumping into the body or to the brain (“Sudden Cardiac Arrest Facts”). With I whimpered to the guard, “That’s my sister.” I don’t the notification that Memorie had a pacemaker, know if he heard me. All I saw was my father push it should have been clear to security to take more past another security guard rushing towards my drastic actions than just utilizing the basic CPR. sister’s side as they lifted the stretcher. Nothing Such measures include using an Automated could have stopped him from reaching her at that External Defibrillator (AED), since there is a ten- moment, not even the Great Wall of China. minute window for people to survive if their heart goes into Cardiac Arrest (“Defibrillators”). Though It seemed like I skipped a moment in time. Perhaps CPR can be an effective tool used up until receiving I was numb with what I was seeing, or perhaps I was an AED, or in the case of one not being present avoiding what I was feeling. All I know is suddenly at all, it is impossible to replicate the benefits we were in the elevator. My dad’s hands were that an AED has since these lifesaving tools are clamped on my shoulder, yet it wasn’t comforting. “special defibrillators that untrained bystanders It was like I could feel his teeth clenching through can use” (“Sudden Cardiac Arrest Facts”). AED’s are the grip he had on my shoulder. I couldn’t even look programmed to send a shock wave by detecting to my right for fear of what I would see. I wanted the heart rhythm prior to giving the prompt to to wake up from this nightmare, hoping that when administer a shock; it prevents giving a shock to those solid metal elevator doors opened, so would someone who is mistaken to have gone into Cardiac my sleepy eyes to the ceiling in my room, waking Arrest but has just fainted (“Sudden Cardiac Arrest from a dream I wouldn’t have to re-visit, the day Facts”). starting for real this time. Sadly, all I saw as those doors parted ways was an even more dreadful sight. Upon realizing that paramedics were surrounding In the basement of the dimly lit parking garage was my sister, my struggling feet found their speed the ugliest vehicle I could have ever imagined: the again. This newfound strength was short-lived as ambulance, bright and white, sterile and uninviting. solid hands abruptly pulled me back, as if I were It might as well have been a third world hospital on caught by an invisible hook. Taken aback, I looked wheels. As they lifted the stretcher up, I watched around confused, and realized the man who had as her boot on her foot fell off the stretcher in slow

“It seemed like I skipped a moment in time. Perhaps I was numb with what I was seeing, or perhaps I was avoiding what I was feeling. All I know is suddenly we were in the elevator.”

44 fall 2020 motion, hitting the floor of the ambulance. They very traumatic experience.” didn’t even have the courtesy to lift it back up, at least not before shutting the ambulance door and I could feel his gaze move towards me as I shook screeching off, leaving my dad and me to listen to my head back and forth. “I don’t want to watch,” the wailing of the tires echoing through the lower I whispered, as if I was going to have to convince level of the garage. them not to make me watch. I didn’t have to look up to feel the relief radiate off my father. It was Once again everything was a blur as we rode in unspoken, but I knew that he was thankful, so he the car to the hospital. My father has a mindset he didn’t have to attempt to argue with me in order to has always bestowed upon me, and that mindset try to save me from that pain. revolves around the idea that what you think is what you create. The minutes seemed like hours. How long was it going to take for them to save my sister? I “She is going to be ok. Everything is going to be attempted to pass the time; I prayed, I walked, fine.” These are the words my dad repeated the I prayed again, and then I found myself looking entire way to the hospital. It sounded like a chant, through magazines, not actually comprehending a broken record, but words I held onto with all my what I was looking at, just going through the might. I wanted to believe him— I had to believe motions. Suddenly the title “Chasing A Miracle” him, because at that moment, I couldn’t attempt to grazed my eyesactually chasing a miracle in that believe anything else. moment. I looked around like I was a child stealing candy, coughing to mask the tearing sound the As we entered the hospital, my mind raced back magazine was making as I ripped out the page and to those blinding lights in the ambulance. Instead folded it up before stuffing it into my pocket. I had of being a hospital on wheels, in my mind this was to keep moving. M long. an ambulance, secured to the ground. At least it seemed as big as the ambulance. Excruciatingly I peeked out into the ominously bright hallway. white walls surrounded me, making me feel How could a place so bright still feel so dark? I trapped, and claustrophobia set in. I felt sick. At turned down the hall and saw my dad turn the least the secluded room we got placed into was corner with my stepmom. I looked at him, almost a little more comforting than the halls with their stared. He looked like my dad, but something was fluorescent lights. There was some color, instead of off. I smiled, knowing that he would smile at me in sterile whiteness surrounding and blinding me with return and I would know everything was as planned. pain and fear. His reaction hit me like a stun gun. I found myself shaking my head like a dog who just had their face I remember someone coming in, but I couldn’t look blown into, trying to re-assess what that half-smile at him. All I could do was stare at the floor as he meant that seemed pursed across his lips. It wasn’t spoke with my dad. a half-smile; it was a sad smile, perhaps even a pity smile, a smile that means the opposite of what it Unlike when my dad was talking in the car, I heard is trying to convey. As he walked into the room, this doctor’s words loud and clear: “Would you like he sat me down, and choked the words out that to watch us try to resuscitate her? This can be a not only did I not want to hear, but words I hadn’t

the new river anthology 45 even imagined entertaining throughout that entire go back to any moment besides this. Instead I found night leading up to that moment: “Memorie didn’t that I had to give her a kiss on her head this time, make it.” like the one she had given me that morning. Her smell resonated into my nose as I inhaled deeply After sitting out in the hallway for what seemed like a few times before letting go. How was I supposed all night, my dad finally stepped out and gingerly to do this thing called life without my best friend? lifted me up off the ground, so I was no longer Who was I without my sister? Where did I belong crumpled into a ball. now?

“Do you want to say goodbye?” His question was Somehow, we got home, all of us numb, reality not almost timid, as if he were a schoolboy asking a girl actually setting in. I pulled out the magazine article; to dance. I knew in that moment I didn’t want to, I had no more need for it since my miracle was but I also knew if I didn’t, I would regret it. I don’t gone. As I read the words from this crumpled up even think I walked down the hall to where she piece of paper, I realized it actually said “Changing was. It was like I was teleported into that room. The a Life” on the title. I decided to keep it instead of doctors had explained to stay on the left side of her throwing it away, for that title was what my life was because the right side of her had a lot of different becoming. This event, on my 14th birthday, would tubes. I assume since she was a donor, they were shape me and pave each path I took for the rest attempting to keep her organs alive while giving of my life. Whether it was good or bad, there was us time to say goodbye. Goodbye? Was that even no doubt that losing Memorie was a painful bridge possible? It was always “See you later,” never that I would never fully cross. “Goodbye.” A child, a sister, and a friend were taken too soon This was goodbye though. I remember seeing the from Cardiac Arrest because preventative measures flat line across the screen; I knew what that meant were not utilized and put into place. One life is too from movies, but there was no sound. I reached out many, yet 95% are lost due to Cardiac Arrest. Only and touched her hand. It was still warm. I waited with the proper knowledge, equipment, and the for her to squeeze back like they do in the movies, public being more aware of the facts surrounding but nothing happened; her hands were lifeless. All Cardiac Arrest will we be able to stop this deadly I wanted to do was curl up with her and fall asleep killer that continues to strike down those whom we like we used to when we were kids sharing a bed, love, a killer that tortures, torments, and terrorizes sharing our stories, sharing our own inside jokes, those left behind for the rest of their life. People giggling in the middle of the night. I wanted to who have to look at that old Fossil watch next to an go back to last night when we wrapped our arms urn instead of the smile of a sister or a daughter. It around each other, crying to a song at the Good is the survivors of the silent killer’s victims who will Charlotte concert. I wanted to go back to the never see justice for a life taken too soon. Halloween party two weeks prior when we danced until we couldn’t dance anymore. I just wanted to

46 fall 2020 Works Cited

“Defibrillators.”National Heart, Blood and Lung Institute, National Heart, Blood and Lung Institute, https://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health-topics/defibrillators.Accessed 24 Sep. 2019.

“Emergency Treatment of Cardiac Arrest.” Heart.org, American Heart Association, 31 Mar. 2017, https://www.heart.org/en/health-topics/cardiac-arrest/emergency-treatment-of- cardiac- arrest. Accessed 24 Sep. 2019.

“Long QT Syndrome.” Heart.org, American Heart Association, https://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health- topics/long-qt-syndrome. Accessed 25 Sep. 2019.

“Pacemakers.” Heart.org, American Heart Association, https://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health- topics/ pacemakers

“Sudden Cardiac Arrest Facts.” Emedicinehealth, WebMD, 2019, https://www.emedicinehealth. com/ sudden_cardiac_arrest/article_em.htm#sudden_cardiac_arrest_facts. Accessed 24 Sep. 2019.

the new river anthology 47 “Reflect”

By Angelo Lytle

48 fall 2020 Triple Meter

By Sarah Barnes

I’m gonna write a poem.

Did you know that the original Animal Crossing was on N64 before GameCube?

I want to write about something people can relate to.

When I was a child, I almost got ran over before my Tio grabbed me out of the street.

I’ve had this idea for a poem in my head for a while.

SMAP is the best-selling boyband in Japan.

I prefer to hand write; it makes it easier to focus.

My Tio died a few years ago.

I wish I could write as a career.

The best cassette Walkman Sony made was the WM-DD9.

Sometimes writing even a sentence feels impossible.

I didn’t go to his funeral,

But I’ve written novels in my head though.

The members of the Fantastic Four are: Reed Richards, Sue Storm, Johnny Storm, and Ben Grimm.

I don’t know why I can’t focus.

When I was a kid, I was diagnosed with ADHD,

And I need to take a breath, and try again.

The most famous car from Lupin III was a yellow 1957 Fiat 500,

the new river anthology 49 I wrote one sentence.

I was undiagnosed and the doctor said I was just manipulative.

I’m close to done with the first paragraph.

I don’t feel like I’m manipulating anyone,

I wish I could focus on command.

Why does my mind do this?

50 fall 2020 “Tiny Einstein”

By Cat Akerman

the new river anthology 51 There Is No Rain

By Angelo Lytle

I remember a warm Washington day.

There is no rain.

I curl, all eighty pounds of me, up on a flower-pattern sofa against the wall-length window soaking up puddles— no, not rain— of sunshine like kittens do.

I am soft, and safe.

There is no rain.

Bees meander lazily through a blue sky-sea they sit and sip on the roses, tittering grandmothers, talking about the weather today:

Haven’t you heard?

There is no rain.

52 fall 2020 The dog whines

‘til someone lets him outside to fly across the wooden patio singing that summer’s alive.

There is no rain.

No dreary, no drizzling, no thunder or lightning, just for today, there is no rain.

the new river anthology 53 “Floating Shades”

By Ashley Ferguson

54 fall 2020 Sticks and Stones By Shaniya Fisher November 15, 2013: my birthday. My throat burned 200mg daily to control blood sugar. I opened the as I choked on my sobs. With every ounce of my bottle, dropping some of the white football-shaped being, I tried so hard to be quiet. The commotion pills on the ground. I listened to the soft tapping as of the world pounded against my head. I sat in they connected with the the corner of my room, weak and defeated with nowhere to turn. I know you’re there, God. Where wood floor. are you? My thoughts, just like everyone else, had turned their backs on me when I needed them the I’m sorry... most. The words cut me to my core so effortlessly, like a knife cutting through butter. Life drained … from my wounds until there was nothing left but a hollow shell. My soul was gone. On August 25, 2001. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words won’t.” - Author Unknown. “There’s no room in the world for a fat pig.” One of the most repetitive lies told to children for generations to come. It offered a non-existent “Damn, you’re fat as hell!” shield to the very existent forms of insults as they hurled at you like a high-speed chase. I groggily “Just go die already.” opened my eyes as my mother’s warm smile brightened the room. I sat up, my head throbbing The insults were like salt being smeared in my from the fresh braids my mother installed the night freshly opened wounds. Tears blinded me as I before. looked at the bottle of pills before me. Think about it. Take these and we’ll never have to see those “Good morning, Boo- Bop!” I smiled as she kissed monsters again. The voice in my head was loud and my forehead. The burgundy crimped dress laid clear, as if someone was sitting right next to me. It flatly over my white button-down, which felt coaxed me to do the one thing I thought I’d never starchy. It rubbed against my skin as I walked to have the nerve to do. I was hopeless. The thoughts the living room to retrieve my shoes. The plastic in my head grew louder and louder. slipcover crinkled on my mother’s all-white Victorian furniture as it supported my body weight “Alright! Please be quiet. Please, I’ll do it. Just be while I ducked down to look for my shoes. Finally, I quiet.” found the black penny loafers that were customary with the uniform. These shoes are so hideous. In that moment, what I wished for came true. The voices of my bullies stopped; their taunts and “Shaniya, we’re going to be late!” My mother’s laughter that had played in my head over and over voice rang through the house as I replied, subsided. It was silent. My hands shook violently as I grabbed the pill bottle. Shaniya: Metformin, take

the new river anthology 55 “Coming!” I grabbed my shoes and my Lisa Frank smile on my face showed off my excitement. As she bookbag before I ran out the door and to the car. looked up at me, a disgusted look came across her face. The bright white lights reflected off the white marble floor as I made my way to my first- grade “Woah! You’re a big one,” she chortled. My head, classroom. My shoes tapped with each step I along with my smile, fell to the ground. “Is that took. It echoed down the hallway almost as if to apple for me?” alert others of my presence. I looked down at the shiny reddish-yellow apple clutched in my two I nodded, still looking at the navy-blue carpet small hands. I was so excited to give my teacher beneath me. She reached for the apple and placed the apple. I had picked the honey-crisp apple out her index finger under my chin. She pushed my myself. As the fall started, they had just made head back up so that my eyes met hers as she their debut at the grocery store. I just knew my smiled at me. My smile peeked briefly as she put teacher would love the sweetness that came with the apple to her lips as if to take a bite. This is it! each crunchy bite she took. That was always my Time for the sweet crunch! Her smile turned wicked favorite part of those apples. I eagerly sat down at as she threw the apple in the metal trashcan next my seat. The familiar faces of those who were in to her desk. She had thrown it with so much force my kindergarten class made me smile even harder. that it made a loud bang and caused the class to jump in fear. “Good morning, everyone!” The light-skinned woman wore a smile that matched mine as she “Now sit down.” Her brows furrowed and a deep extended her arms as if to hug all of us at once. wrinkle came across her head as she scowled. I sat at my desk as tears fell onto the coloring She introduced herself as Ms. Bell and that she was sheet below. At least I get to color. I reached in my so excited to be the one to “mold our young minds.” backpack and grabbed the 48-count of assorted I was so anxious to give her the apple that I didn’t colored crayons. My mom had done well that year even realize she had placed coloring sheets on our in the school supplies department. desks. We get to color on the first day?! I watched as she walked over to her desk and took a seat. It “Oh no. Fat crybabies don’t get to color in my was now or never. I slowly walked up to her, careful classroom.” Her words stabbed my heart. She not to damage the apple in any way. It was clasped snatched the coloring sheet off my desk so hard, securely in between both of my hands like it was she knocked over my crayons. They rolled in made of gold. all directions as if they were afraid of her too. I watched in horror as her cheeks turned red with “Ms. Bell?” my voice was soft and timid, but the fury. “Now, look what you’ve done!”

“Woah! You’re a big one,” she chortled. My head, along with my smile, fell to the ground. “Is that apple for me?”

56 fall 2020 But it wasn’t me! She stalked over to the chalkboard ... and picked up the yardstick. Like an evil villain in a Marvel movie, she tauntingly raised the yardstick August 2011. Relief washed over me like I had been as if to hit me, only to stop herself when she was baptized in it. Shiloh had let me out of its deathly just inches away from my face. grip, and I could breathe again. It was the first day of middle school, and I was ready. “Pick them up!” Her screech sent chills up and down my spine as I dropped from my desk to my knees “Are you going to give your teacher an apple?” My on the floor. Panicked, I crawled around frantically mother asked as she peeked her head in my room. trying to retrieve my lost crayons, but I guess I didn’t move fast enough. My body tensed up from “I just might. Thanks, Mom.” I replied as I smiled at an immediate pain across my back. A burning her. Hopefully, you like apples, Ms. lash caused me to scream out in pain as it echoed through the room and down the hallway only to fall Rafferty.I grabbed an apple on my way out to catch on deaf ears. My eyes burned while the salty tears the bus. clouded my vision. I tried to draw in air, but every breath I took only added to the searing pain I felt “How cool is this? You’re finally going to public all over my back. Frozen, on my hands and knees, school!” I looked at my best friend. It was crazy that all I could do was cry. Unable to move, my nose ran we had met at Shiloh’s daycare program. She just profusely. I watched Ms. Bell cackle. didn’t go to the institute with me.

“Oh, come on. That didn’t hurt.” My classmates “Yeah, tell me about it. This is long overdue.” sat in silence, struck from fear that they would be Yay me! I replied as we walked side by side down next. I fell completely to the floor. My forehead hit the street. I secretly envied Navine most of our the concrete under the thin carpet as another lash childhood. She was pretty and had a beautiful swiped at my back. I never would have thought she voice, but most importantly, she wasn’t overweight could have swung any harder than the first one. I at all. I looked at our shadows on the sidewalk and crawled into the fetal position, gasping for air, but winced at the sight of mine. The bus roared down the tears that came non-stop conflicted with my the street, and we looked on in excitement. Good breathing. What did I do? Maybe she doesn’t like things are coming. apples. She chuckled to herself as she strutted back to her desk. She looked down at me with pride, as ... if she was David and she’d just conquered Goliath. “I’ll see you at lunch! Don’t forget where we’re “If you tell your parents, they’re going to Hell,” sitting!” Navine called out. We were swallowed by she hissed. my parents. I don’t want them to go to the crowd of fellow students as we tried to find our Hell. The eager little girl who loved school was now homerooms. gone, never to return. But day after day, the empty shell of who I once was would be forced to return “I won’t!” I replied as I watched her disappear in to my personal Hell known as Shiloh Institute of the crowd. As I walked down the hallway, I was Learning. completely blindsided by all the movement that I

the new river anthology 57 didn’t even realize a tall dark-skinned boy barreling I turned to the feminine voice that had just spoken at me. Everything seemed to go in slow motion to me. Her hair was short and unhealthy— years of as he crashed into me with so much force that my perming will do that to you. I smiled weakly. head slammed into the lockers. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” I’m a good liar. She My ears rang as I looked up at him. I felt my heart looked down at my desk and saw how tightly it sink when I realized it hadn’t been an accident. He squeezed my abdomen. Laughter erupted from her had a sinister smile that terrified me because I’d mouth like a volcano. I watched in disbelief as she seen it before on the faces of the devil’s advocates I tapped the boy next to her and pointed at me in had encountered in the past. It was like déjà vu. My the chair. stomach jerked in fear, and I felt nauseated. He looked up at me and snickered before turning “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” I tripped over my back around and saying “Danaysia, you’re a words like a toddler learning how to walk. dummy.” They cackled together in my face, not even trying to hide their amusement. I’m a damn “Watch where you are going, fat bitch” he barked. pushover. His voice was so deep for a middle schooler. He stared me down as he walked away. An entourage “That’s enough, you two!” Our teacher’s voice trailed behind him, laughing at his remark. Great, boomed over all the commotion in the classroom. just great. I managed to lift myself up, but as I got She walked over to me and placed a hand on my to my feet, a sharp pain ran through my head like I shoulder. had laid on a pillow of needles. I picked up the apple and examined it with my hands. The apple was now “Are you okay, dear?” Her words were sincere brown and bruised from the scuffle. I know your and thoughtful. She pities you, idiot. You’re truly pain, Mr. Apple. I walked into my classroom at the pathetic. I just nodded as I fought back tears. Just end of the hallway. that one question made me want to break down in her arms and cry. I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t “Welcome to Ms. Rafferty’s Class!” I smiled slightly okay, and I hadn’t been okay for a while. But I at the greeting written on the wall. The classroom couldn’t. Something inside me wouldn’t let me. was so small, that it didn’t look like it could hold the I just returned to the window where I stared at number of desks that were in the room. I saw a desk the rain. I was jealous of the sky. It could cry all it isolated in the corner of the room and took that as wanted, and nobody would give a damn. an invitation for me. I sat quietly and watched as other kids filled the room followed by a Caucasian ... woman with straight blonde hair that bounced with every step. I looked out of the window and watched November 15, 2013. “Happy Birthday, Shaniya!” a dark cloud overtake the sunny sky as rain pelted my parents screamed as I came out of my room down furiously. about to leave for school. A fake smile plastered on my face. “Are you okay?” I could tell it was another student because her voice hadn’t reached maturity. “Thanks, guys.” I wrapped my arms around them both.

58 fall 2020 “So, what do you want to do for your birthday?” My On my damn birthday, too! “Later.” She turned mom asked as she sipped on her coffee. My mom on her heels and proceeded down the road while always made the best coffee; the sweet aroma I tried to process what had just happened. I had danced in the air. Become invisible. just lost my best friend of thirteen years. The one person I thought would never leave had just left. “We can just chill here.” She looked baffled. Tears streamed down my face as I walked home. My world was crushed; this was too much. I closed “You sure?” My dad’s face matched my mom’s. I the front door and walked down the hallway to my nodded, taking a bite of a banana I had grabbed. It room. I was trapped. Completely lost with no sense was a bit tough because it wasn’t ripe, but I didn’t of direction, I sobbed uncontrollably. care. My hands shook violently as I grabbed the pill bottle. “Okay then.” My mom smiled as I walked out of the Shaniya: Metformin, take 200mg daily to control door. I put my hood over my head, so it partially blood sugar. I opened the bottle, dropping some covered my eyes. Let’s get this day over with. of the white football-shaped pills on the ground. I listened to the soft tapping as they connected with “We can’t be friends anymore.” Navine’s words the wood floor. pierced me as I turned to her as we walked down the road to our homes. “Shaniya, what the hell?!” my dad yelled, running over to me putting his hands on my face. He “What? Why?” I was genuinely lost. It was so cupped my mouth while patting my back violently. random, and it completely blindsided me. “Spit them out! Now!” I spit the pills into his hands as I sunk to the floor. I sobbed loudly as he held me “Because I don’t want a fat friend anymore.” Her close to his chest. His heartbeat was racing as he words hit me like a ton of bricks. I stopped and rocked back and forth, rubbing my hair. turned to her, need that in my life.” She spoke as if she was in the right. “No offense, but you don’t “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.” His voice quivered. Every make me look good when you’re next to me.” word sounded like it was so difficult for him to say. What part of that whole statement was not meant Time froze as he held me close. For the first time to be offensive?! “I mean, look at your clothes!” in a long time I felt at peace, like my world was in What’s wrong with my clothes? I looked down at my control again, and I loved it. I hoped that feeling the fabric print shirt I was wearing and the slacks would stay forever. After some time, I looked up at that came with it. “You dress like my grandma.” I’m my dad, his eyes bloodshot red from the tears he so sorry that skinny jeans stop at a size six! I stared shed with me. in disbelief; I couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Tears streamed down my face as I walked home. My world was crushed; this was too much. I closed the front door and walked down the hallway to my room. I was trapped.”

the new river anthology 59 “Why did you do this?” I opened my mouth to said yes. speak, but nothing came out. “It’s okay, you can tell me when you’re ready.” I laid my head back on “Good! Because I’d hate to lose you.” She squealed his chest and just listened to the pitter patter of his as she clapped her hands. She’s adorable. heartbeat. Astonishingly, our heartbeats matched. We were one. I almost lost this… The bell rang as I took my seat. People piled in, excited to see who their partner was. I looked ... around anxiously in a desperate search for my partner. The final bell rang, informing people that August 2014. I sat in the classroom of the first class had started. building. Journalism? I might like it. I fidgeted in my seat as I waited for my class to start. I was the “Guys, I’m Ms. Ransom, but call me Kathy if you only person in the room. I glanced at the stack of want! I’m so excited to be your teacher. Please Jacksonville High School yearbooks. They dated converse with your partner while I hand out some back to 1970, the black and white photos of the papers for your parents.” She passed around the students as their senior year was captured with a information forms, and we each took one. I sat few photos. silently as everyone else cheerfully chatted with their partner. Well, this is awkward. “Oh, hi! I’m Ms. Ransom, but you can call me Kathy.” She extended her hand, and I shook it politely. Her “Shaniya?!” I turned around to face the person short blonde hair complemented her small face who had called my name. A huge grin broke out and bright smile as her green eyes twinkled. on my face as Cally ran over to me with her arms extended. I stood up and hugged her tightly as we “Hi, Ms. Ransom. I’m Shaniya,” I replied. rocked back and forth.

“Welcome to Yearbook One, Shaniya!” Whoa! Wait, “Cally, where have you been? I haven’t seen you yearbook? Her expression changed as she looked at since fifth grade,” I asked as we sat down to catch me. up.

“Problem?” she asked as she picked up a file from “I know it’s been forever,” she said as she removed her desk. her knit hat.

“I just thought this was Journalism.” My tone My smile fell when I saw her bald head. I couldn’t expressed my confusion. contain my face as I realized where my friend had been. “Cally…” Tears clouded my vision. The words “Journalism, yearbook— pretty much the same refused to come out. When she wrapped her arms thing,” she said as she waved her hand dismissively. around me, I could no longer hold back the tears. I “You’re not considering leaving, are you?” Her eyes sobbed on her shoulder. I wiped my eyes with the got wide with worry. Kleenex that Cally offered.

“I guess not,” I said, afraid of her reaction if I had She nodded, “Yeah, stage four ovarian cancer

60 fall 2020 sucks!” She giggled through her tears. she said, her eyes wide with shock. “Things happen and people change,” I answered vaguely. “Look out, you’re messing up my makeup!” she said, playfully shoving me as we laughed together. “That’s good for me. I don’t have to fight her for you,” she said as she squeezed my arm. “I’m sorry, Cally. I didn’t know,” I said as I wiped my nose. “Not a lot of people did. I wanted to keep it I smiled at Cally. Her eyes were bright with joy as secret,” she replied. she spoke about how excited she was to turn in her sports page for the yearbook. Is that happiness “Why are you here? You should be resting.” A quick we’re feeling? I think it is. Every day, Cally ran up to wave of worry hit me. I began to lecture her when me with a warm hug before class. I hadn’t felt this she placed her hand over mine. loved by a friend in a long time. It felt good.

“I’m in remission,” she whispered through tears. “Shaniya, look!” Cally screamed as we sat outside We both began to laugh and cry. “That’s amazing, after school. The sun felt so good on my skin, and I girl. Congratulations.” I held up my hand for a high bathed in it. five. “What’s wrong?” I turned to her panicked. “Thank you,” she said as she lightly tapped my hand. I think I’m going to stay in this class. “My hair’s growing back!” She squealed as she rubbed her scalp. I smiled at her. As the semester went on, Cally and I rekindled our friendship. It was like she had never left. I missed “It’s growing fast, girl. It’ll be back down your back her so much. in no time,” I said while I shielded my eyes from the sun. “What happened to that girl you hung out with a lot? Navine!” Cally asked as she snapped her fingers, “You think so?” she asked as she turned to me. remembering her name. My smile fell slightly as we walked arm in arm down the breezeway. “I know so,” I replied with a smile on my face. She smiled cheerfully at me. “Hey, Cally?” I asked, my “Oh, we’re not friends anymore.” I expected to feel smile now gone. saddened by this, but I didn’t. It was strange. “What’s up?” She answered as she messed with her “What? Why? You two have been besties forever,” hair.

“My smile fell when I saw her bald head. I couldn’t contain my face as I realized where my friend had been. “Cally…” Tears clouded my vision. The words refused to come out.”

the new river anthology 61 “When you were in the hospital, how did you stay “I’d be honored. I’m free after school today.” She so positive?” She stopped and turned to me. beamed from ear to ear.

“It’s not without difficulty.” Her smile never left her “Perfect! I’ll set it up in my room.” I watched as she face. I looked at her puzzled, and she giggled as she walked to her building. read my face. “Shaniya, there is always someone in the world who has it worse than you. That alone is The ending bell rang as I walked down the reason enough to wake up and smile.” breezeway to Ms. Ransom’s class. I saw her in the hallway. “Hey, Ms. Ransom,” I greeted as she At that moment, a light bulb went off so bright it walked up to me. was blinding. It didn’t matter anymore: the bullies and their taunts, my life with diabetes, being “Hello! He’s right in there. I’ll be right back, okay?” isolated from everyone else my own age. I had I nodded as she walked out of the building. Just found my shield that would protect me. All of the relax, girl. Breathe. I put on a smile as I walked to people who had hurt me up until this point didn’t the door of her room. matter because I was my own shield. “Hello, I’m…” My words trailed off as fear struck my ... heart. I stared at the same boy who had tortured me so ruthlessly in the past. Memories flashed in Cally’s words of positivity stayed with me every my brain of him calling my fat, knocking me over, day. I began to break out of my shell. I offered my and the overwhelming fear I felt every time I saw positivity to whoever would accept it. Cally and I him. My stomach turned at the sight of him. Shake sat at our table outside while we ate lunch, and we it off. If things go wrong…RUN! laughed as we talked. I cleared my throat and walked over to him with a “Shaniya!” Ms. Ransom called across the walkway. nervous smile. “Hi, I’m here to help you with your I waved her over. “Hey, Ms. Ransom what’s up?” I paper.” My voice was shaky as I sat down across said as she approached us. from him.

“Hello, ladies!” she said cheerfully. “Okay, let’s do it,” he replied as he eyed me. I learned that he was writing about forensic science “Hello!” Cally answered as she ate her salad. and whether it was foolproof or not.

“Shaniya, I have a favor to ask,” She said as she sat “What do you think?” I asked as I looked at his next to me. “Of course!” I said happily. rough draft. “What?” He asked with a lost look on his face. “Would you mind assisting an older student? If he doesn’t pass his senior paper, he won’t graduate. I smiled at him. “Your paper, is forensic science Even though you’re only a freshman, I think you’re foolproof?” a very talented writer.” I smiled at her. He smiled back at me. “Oh, most definitely. Get the

62 fall 2020 wrong person on the crime scene and it’s a wrap.” my life. Actually, I’ve been more than blessed—I’ve been divinely favored. I laughed at his response as we worked together on his paper. “I think you’re going to ace it now,” I said as I packed my things.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” he called from behind. “Sure!” I answered, my attention still on my things.

“Why did you help me?” I stopped and looked at him. He continued, “I mean, I was so mean to you before. I wouldn’t help me.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “The old me probably wouldn’t help you either, but I didn’t want to be her. You targeted me for some reason, and I honestly thought you broke me, but you didn’t. You made me stronger. It just took me a while to realize it.” The air was thick as we looked at each other. My heart skipped beats like it was double-Dutching. A tear rolled down his face as he stepped toward me. I watched in terror as he raised his hand at me. I could’ve sworn my heart stopped. Oh, you’ve done it now. Then, he extended his hand to me.

“I’m Kendu, and I’m sorry.” Wait, what? I sighed in relief as I shook his hand.

“Hello Kendu, I’m Shaniya, and I forgive you.”

...

There’s a saying that goes “Always check on your happy friends,” and it is so true. I walked around with a fake smile for so long that I eventually believed it was real. I appreciate those who stuck with me through this tough trial of tribulations. So many people don’t get rescued like I did, and it’s sad how many lives we lose to bullying. I’ve been blessed to bounce back from this experience with

the new river anthology 63 “A Novel Graveyard”

By: Slayde Rascon

64 fall 2020 The Book By Susan Lavin

I spied you on a thrift store shelf crushed between two bestsellers that still had their dust jackets. You lost yours when that careless woman spilled her cup of coffee. I can see that you have a little age to you or maybe that’s just from all the abuse. I see that your spine is broken and your edges are frayed.

How many hands have held you close? Did the hands of the cancer patient find comfort between your pages? Were your words the last ones read? Or did the new mother cling to you like a life preserver as she kept a vigil by her baby’s side? Did you travel to faraway lands or ride on planes and trains? Oh, I know there are stories you could tell!

the new river anthology 65 How many eyes have skimmed over your words like stones skipped across the water? Have you sat on a bench in the most beautiful of parks? Have you gone on vacation and soaked up the sun on the beach.

I can smell the lives of the readers who have held you. Did your words inspire someone to do great things? Did they pick you up and learn something new? Did your words jump from the pages and imbed in their hearts?

66 fall 2020 “Dino”

By Cat Akerman

the new river anthology 67 Sleeping Dog Lies By Angelo Lytle On the wall there’s a list of rules everyone used That’s how it goes these days. “Couldn’t take the to break: no shoes. No outside food or drinks. No snoring,” you say. “You?” more than one person to a court. Now, there’s only one rule: you don’t look out the windows of the “I had to pee.” trampoline park. The bathrooms are back by the trampoline courts, You lie across the front desk, where the cashiers where everyone is curled up sleeping. used to stand and hand out no-slip socks, and your eyes wander. Neon lights used to fill Altitude. It’s But, if Abel won’t call you on yours, you won’t call dingy and humid now. The candy machines are him on his. crushed up against the doors; their glass smashed and their contents stolen. Long tables with chairs Abel leans up against the desk, fingers curling stacked on top block the windows, but slivers of lightly around the lip of it. He’s always loose- dark glass still drip through gaps. You don’t look. limbed and easy-going. You almost wonder if he’s You don’t look. high, but you’ve known him since freshman year, and you’ve never seen him with a joint. His senior You flick your thumb against the wheel of your hoodie hangs off his lanky frame, the strings all lighter and the flame flickers to life, chasing away chewed up at the ends. the unsettling silence and darkness. Maybe it’s stupid, maybe you should save the lighter fuel, but “I’ve been thinking,” he pulls himself up on the desk you’ll lose it without something to keep your hands beside you, eyebrows drawing down low under his busy. beanie, “we gotta go out there.”

“Ain’t it lonely out here by yourself?” “What?” Your head whips over to him so fast your hair lashes your face. “Don’t joke like that.” You jerk up and almost fall off the desk. You didn’t hear footsteps, but Abel stands there in those “I’m not. On God. We got, what, 20 people in here? stupid purple socks. He’s gonna cut himself on all A week or two tops and we’re out of food.” the broken glass lying around from the vending machines. You hug yourself and shake your head against the truth. “One week’s all we need. “Don’t do me like that.” You shift and sit cross- legged, sighing like it’s, well, the end of the world. Someone’ll come and evacuate us.”

“My bad. Alright?” That’s how it goes, right? A natural disaster comes through and then helps on the way, like You shrug, jerky and one-shouldered. No one is. when Matthew and Florence hit. Everyone comes

68 fall 2020 together. Everyone pitches in. This isn’t like any arm around your shoulders and messes up your natural disaster you’ve ever seen. Still, you know hair. “Bet you taste like a burnt chicken nugget, help is coming. It has to be. anyway.”

“And if they ain’t coming?” asks Abel. “Don’t say “Fuck you.” Out of everything, somehow, that’s that.” what gets a snort out of you. Must be the morbid Gen-Z humor. You elbow him off and agree, “They “Maybe they don’t got time for a little city like won’t get me. I can run faster than you.” Jacksonville. Maybe this . . . whatever it is, is happening all over the place.” “I see how it is.”

You hunch your shoulders in and you don’t answer. “Yeah. Yeah, I hope you do.” You slip down from the Instead, you pass Abel the lighter to hold. You claw desk and give Abel a meaningful stare. “When do your phone from your pocket, power it on, and try we go?” for the thousandth time to catch a bar. Just a single bar, that would be enough. You leave in the night. Metal screeches from behind the door as the others push the candy machines Abel smacks a fist against his open palm, back into place. You’re armed with false bravado, punctuating his words, “All I’m saying is, we gotta a glass bottle, and a secret knock to get back in. At survive as long as we can.” least that part is a little cool.

No signal. You hit the power button, your eyes full Slimy pollen swirls in the gutter puddles with the of fear in the dark, reflective screen. cigarette butts, the water kicking up around your ratty sneakers and soaking your socks. Abel’s at your You shake your head and lower your voice, “Those side. The other two trail behind you. Emi, with the things are out there, man.” “If it makes you feel any smile that used to be bright, the Japanese accent, better, Peyton’s got a knife.” the band-aid-covered knees, and the chipped cyan nails—the birthday girl from the trampoline park It’s good news, but you raise your eyebrows. “Why party before everything went to hell. Then there’s the hell did she bring a knife to a trampoline park?” Peyton, the girl with the confused frowns, baggy hoodies, and buzzed hair. “Maybe she took the ‘jumping’ part the wrong way. Like getting jumped.” Others offered to go, but the four of you convinced them to stay. Your lips quirk up, but you can’t quite manage a laugh. Abel tries to keep it well- supplied, but “We’ll be back before y’all know it,” you told the lately, humor is another valuable resource running rest of the kids, unable to stand their wide, scared low. You glance at the barricaded doors. There’s a eyes and pale faces. “We’ll check next door. That’s good reason everyone’s miserable and terrified. all.”

“Hey. I wouldn’t let them get you.” Abel throws his

the new river anthology 69 Not really. If the grocery store is cleared out or you Inside, you can’t even see the silhouettes of your can’t get in, you’ll check every last store in the strip own hands. Taking a step closer to the others, you mall if you have to. They don’t need to know that. turn your phone to flashlight mode, reluctant but Your grandmother used to call these kinds of half- resigned to use up the last of your battery. Your truths - these little white lies told to keep the peace hand tilts from side-to-side in a slow pan, your - “sleeping dog lies. heart thrumming. Something could be hiding down any of those aisles. You expect something to jump It’s so quiet outside it unsettles you. You never out at you. realized how much silence the ever- present hum of electricity drowned until the day the power died. “What the hell?” Peyton marches forward, ignoring Darkness swallows each building’s windows. The Emi’s hiss of her name. Her hand sweeps the patchwork parking lots stretch on, empty except shelves. Empty. for some abandoned cars. A few are crashed into poles or other cars, windshields spider-webbed Peyton takes off down the aisles, and you exchange with cracks and doors dented. You make out stains glances with the others before setting after her. You across the glass. You don’t look for too long. You shine your light at your feet, sidestepping broken don’t linger. glass and murky spills. Abel takes up the front, and you take up the rear, with Emi in the middle. Your Abel leads the way, and you move in his footsteps exposed back prickles. like a hunted animal, darting from cover to cover and scanning the area. Silhouettes watch you from The aisles are bare as bones, picked clean by the the power lines, staring, staring, staring. The birds vultures. All that’s left lies in pieces on the floor. tilt their heads as if their necks are broken. Peyton swears and rams her boot into the glass door of a refrigerator filled with cartons of sour You approach the dim doors of the grocery store milk. With a frantic glance around, you shush her. and catch your apparition-like reflections. Emi has her fingers curled in the strap of Peyton’s backpack “What now?” Emi questions softly, wrapping her like it’s a lifeline. arms around herself despite the humidity. “Should we go back?” Abel waves his hand in front of the glass as if the automatic doors will slide open, but of course, “We’re not going back empty-handed,” Abel sighs. nothing happens. “At least, I ain’t.” “Me neither.” Peyton shoves her hands in her pockets and scowls. “Move,” whispers Peyton. As Abel steps aside, she pries the doors open until the gap widens enough “I’m not leaving you,” you agree, and Emi nods, for you to slip in one-by-one. though her teeth worry her lip raw. “Darkness swallows each building’s windows. The patchwork parking lots stretch on, empty except for some abandoned cars.”

70 fall 2020 “Then we’re agreed.” Abel stands taller and uses grip your glass bottle tighter. No street lamps. No his “leader” voice—the one he uses for organizing light streaming from windows. No headlights. Just group projects in class. “Let’s check the pizza place blackness. That’s all there is to it for a while. You and the Chinese buffet.” Trudge along in the darkness until your feet ache and your lungs burn around stretched breaths. “It’s not just food we need,” Peyton points out. “Okay, what about Sam’s Club?” That’s when it comes.

“We’re not going that far,” you object, grimacing at The rumble of an engine rolls in, faint at first, then the thought. stronger and stronger. You whip your head in the sound’s direction and find yourself blinded by “It’s gotta be cleared out anyway.” Peyton folds her searing lights. Your heart jolts. arms over her chest. “Hey!” you shout, throwing your free hand up as “Or maybe there are people staying there, like the car comes closer and closer. “Hey, help!” us,” says Emi. She pauses. “What about the gas station?” The driver doesn’t slow down. You catch a glimpse of a red truck with shaded windows as it speeds Your stomach sinks. It’s still so far. You’ll be moving past. No, no! targets out in the open. “But if we go all that way for nothing—” You race into the street after it, waving your hand and yelling at the top of your lungs, “Stop! I said “Then we split up,” Peyton interrupts. “Me and stop!” Emi will check Sam’s, see if there’s people there or anything left. Y’all check the gas station.” There’s only so far you can chase the truck. You double over and pant, and gets farther and farther “What? No!” That’s a bad idea if you’ve ever heard away, disappearing over the horizon. A fist tangles one. “We’re not splitting up.” in your shirt. Abel pulls you out of the street, resistance. Five minutes later, you’re splitting up. You part ways with quick but crushing hugs. “What are you doing?” he asks, casting an anxious glance around. “Why didn’t they stop?” As you cross the parking lot beside Abel, you resist the urge to look over your shoulder and watch Emi “Maybe they didn’t hear you,” Abel offers. and Peyton go. They’ll be okay. You just need to have faith. You shake him off and cringe away. “Let’s just go,” you mumble. Every living thing for miles must have You and Abel make it to the sidewalk by the road in heard you screaming like a fool. You don’t want to uneasy silence. He herds you toward the inside of stick around and find out. Abel keeps going, and the sidewalk like it’s out of habit, despite the lack you follow him at a quicker pace now. of cars. The darkness gives you the creeps, and you

the new river anthology 71 Before long, the Exxon comes into view, a muddled with strange equipment and countless cages filled but distinct shape. You could cry from relief. with malnourished animals including cats, dogs, rats, raccoons, and even a black bear. You make it there. No cars sit by the pumps, but there’s oil spilled all over the ground as if someone “‘It was the worst animal abuse and hoarding case made a mess in their hurry to get the hell out of I’ve come across,’ said Officer Michael, one of the dodge. first on the scene. When asked if one of the animals could have escaped and killed Foley, he stated, ‘Two “Careful,” Abel says, though you’re already steering of the larger cages were open, so we’re not ruling out clear of the puddles. You’ve heard enough tales of the possibility. However, this was far more brutal static electricity from sweaters and spontaneous than any animal attack I’ve ever seen. If anything, combustion to be put off from taking your chances. the teeth marks on the body are closest to a human’s . . . Or some sort of unknown species.’” You head up the sidewalk to the glass doors of the Handymart, peering into the shadows inside. With furrowed eyebrows, you set the magazine Abel’s hand swings the door open, and the chiming aside with an unsettled feeling in the pit of your bell almost makes you jump. You ease in after him, stomach. You turn, ready to help Abel gather turning your phone’s flashlight back on, and take supplies. Something catches your eye in the stock of the store. window.

It looks almost . . . normal. The shelves are emptier A dark mass stands outside. Face pressed to the than usual, but you still spot some items like black glass. Watching you. licorice and oatmeal raisin cookies. Chip bags lie forgotten on the floor. The front counter is still You freeze. It’s grinning and grinning and grinning. stocked with magazines, gum, and lotto tickets. It is wrong, too tall, too thin, teeth stretched too wide to be natural. You can’t move. Your feet stay “Thank God,” Abel exclaims in a low voice. stuck stiff. Your whole body is burning, but ice drips down your spine, and you can’t look away from it. While he busies himself with stuffing his pockets, Can’t blink. Can’t breathe— you pick up one of the magazines. “MAD SCIENTIST KILLED BY NEW SPECIES?!” reads a subheading on “Abel,” you whisper with your l. “Look.” He looks. the cover in bold letters. It lunges. You flip to the article. “Brenna Foley, age 31, was found deceased in the basement of her home in A lot of things happen. First, the bell chimes as the Virginia. When Foley never showed up to pick up her creature charges through the glass door. Second, two daughters and failed to answer her phone, her everything in Abel’s arms spills to the floor. Third, babysitter became concerned and called the police. you hurl the bottle from your hand at the thing, but it misses and shatters on the ground. Fourth, the The police arrived to find Foley’s front door open. creature is hurtling straight at you. They discovered her remains in the basement, along

72 fall 2020 You bolt for it as Abel shouts, “Over here, ugly!” He’s right. Waiting them out in there is your best and slams open one of the refrigerator doors. option. Your eyes stay locked with the creature’s as you back away step-by-agonizing-step, still He seizes a beer bottle and throws it. A dull thump brandishing the lighter. It doesn’t blink. and a horrible screech let you know he’s made his mark. Abel throws open the bathroom door too hard in his haste, and the draft blows out the flame. You skid to a stop as you catch a glimpse of the creature changing direction toward him. You yelp and dart inside after Abel. “Close it, close it, close it!” he yells. “Abel!” you shout and stumble after him with your guts in your throat. You fumble for a weapon and You slam the door in the creature’s grinning face come up with nothing but your lighter. What the and lock it. Jesus Christ, those things move fast. hell? You jerk your thumb across the wheel until it spits out fire, and you throw yourself in front of The door jumps as the thing rams into it over and Abel before that thing can get him, holding out over again. You and Abel stand with your backs to that stupid little flame as if it will do anything— the door and hold it steady while you plead, please don’t break, please don’t break. The thumping gives The creature stops, screeches, and backs away, way to scratching, claws grating on wood and knocking over a stand. making an awful sound.

What? You’re shivering so hard you’re sure Abel can feel it where his arm presses to yours. You exchange “I-I think it’s scared of the fire,” Abel says, stunned. fearful glances.

“Let’s get out.” You take an urgent step toward the The scratching stops, and you remember to breathe door only to stop. Oh God. There are more of them again, sucking in a desperate lungful. outside, waiting. Fingers wrap around your ankle. “Restroom!” Abel yanks at your sleeve.

“You freeze. It’s grinning and grinning and grinning. It is wrong, too tall, too thin, teeth stretched too wide to be natural. You can’t move. Your feet stay stuck stiff. Your whole body is burning, but ice drips down your spine, and you can’t look away from it. Can’t blink. Can’t breathe—”

the new river anthology 73 With a yell, you jerk your foot free and stomp on have whispered conversations about your families the long, spindly fingers slid under the bathroom or whether they think you’re dead back at the door. It screeches and yanks its fingers back. The trampoline park. sound trails off into silence. Your hyperventilation echoes off the walls. It takes some time before you notice the noises have stopped. You stand against the door with Abel, catching your breath. You drag your hand against your face “Listen,” you say, and let the silence stretch on. and meet his brown eyes. He’s ashen and clammy. “You think they’re gone?” Abel presses his ear to His own breathing short. the door and waits.

“What now?” you pant. “We wait.” “Maybe.” Uneasiness still lingers in his tone. “Maybe we should—” You put your head in your hands. If that thing comes back with its friends, you don’t know if the You’re interrupted by a sound. It’s not coming from door will hold. You never should have split up. the door but from the wall. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, so you get up and squint. There’s a “Do you think Emi and Peyton are alright?” your vent low on the wall, a large one, strange and old- palms muffle your voice. fashioned. You crouch and put your ear to it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know it. Peyton could send these Nails shrieking on metal, coming closer and closer. guys running.” Abel’s hand settles on your shoulder “It’s in the vent,” you whisper. and squeezes. They’re ice-cold, but you still find some semblance of comfort in the contact. You’re frozen. It’s Abel who hauls you to your feet and reaches for the bathroom door, turning the As you lower your hands, the tiny single-occupancy knob and easing it open. bathroom comes back into focus, with its dark silhouettes of a toilet and sink. Thuds and bangs Nothing but empty space on the other side. You come from outside as those things wreak havoc in slip out into the store and hold your breath, eyes the Handymart. darting from shelf to shelf.

You sink down, and Abel follows suit. You don’t “I think—” know what else to do. You put your hands together and pray. You’re going to need a bigger God for this. Abel claps his hand over your mouth and shoves you down behind the front counter. He gestures. The two of you stay awake, too afraid to do more than doze off for a few seconds at a time before The things stand outside. Waiting. A shudder runs snapping back into wakefulness. Sometimes down your spine. You look at Abel with wide eyes you’re silent for long stretches. Other times you and ask with no words, What do we do?

74 fall 2020 It’s going to come out of the vents and find you. Sweat drips down your back, and your pulse pounds like feet on the asphalt.

“Run,” says Abel with the slightest trembling breath, so quiet you almost think you’ve imagined it. “I’ll distract them.”

He starts to move. You seize his wrist and grip it hard. “No,” you say. “No.” “Listen—”

“We’ll both run,” you lie.

Abel sizes you up with hard eyes and pursed lips. You expect he’ll argue at first, but his eyes lower— no one wants to die alone. So, he nods a quick sharp jerk of his chin.

“On three,” he whispers. Your hand slides from his wrist to his palm and you death-grip his hand. He squeezes back.

Three. You close your eyes and say your prayers, your goodbyes, your I love you’s. Your lighter weighs down your pocket as you imagine the glint of moonlight on the dark spills outside. You catch your reflection in the windows one last time.

Two. Your breath sticks in your throat like something rotten is lodged there. You feel your heartbeat in every inch of your body, your hair standing on end, your eyes wide open, every muscle in your body coiled tightly. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

One.

the new river anthology 75

Contributors

Cat Akerman Cat Akerman is a Fine Arts student at CCCC. She is also a yoga teacher and volunteer in Onslow County. She believes in promoting community wellness through accessible self-expression and discovery opportunities. Sarah Barnes Sarah Barnes is a second year student at Coastal Carolina Community College. She is an English major and a transgender woman who wants to showcase queer themes in her writing. Meghan Baskerville Meghan Baskerville is 28 years old and graduated May 2020 with her AA Degree, with honors. Pho- tography has helped her see the beauty in the world and her goal is to help others see the beauty in themselves, others, and the world around them. Michael Bean Michael Bean is a student working towards an Associate in Science. Specifically, he want to get an IT job. He enjoys playing video games in his spare time. Christopher Campbell Christopher Campbell is a father of two boys. He is retired from the Marines and plans to perpetu- ally stay in college. He enjoys learning, cigars, writing and hanging out with his dog. Paul DeLong Paul Delong served in the Marine Corps for 10 years and recently got out to pursue his dream of becoming a lawyer. He is a father to a four-year-old. Harry Potter is his favorite book series, and school has shown him how much he enjoys writing. His goal is to attend Harvard. Ashley Ferguson Ashley Ferguson is a single mother to a special needs child. Photography has always been a pas- sion of hers. Currently she is living and attempting to help her parents out while improving herself by going back to school.

77 fall 2020 Shaniya Fisher Shaniya Fisher was born in Jacksonville, NC. She then grew up in Wakanda, Africa where she flourished as a writer. Her mother and father have been married for twenty-three years. Shaniya is currently studying science at Coastal Carolina Community College. She later plans to transfer to UNC Chapel Hill where she will pursue a Doctorate in Endocrinology. She loves writing because she loves the way she can trap her emotions on paper. Casey Kirkendoll Casey Kirkendoll is a student anticipating on transferring to UNCW, to hopefully become a high school teacher. She loves to write as a hobby, along with going to the beach and spending time with my dogs – Annie and Sweetpea. Guadalupe T Lail Guadalupe T Lail is a 26-year-old mother of four crazy boys, the oldest are seven and five and the youngest are one-year old twins. She is married to my wonderful husband, Brad, who is an active duty marine. They are from Hickory, NC and enjoy spending time together traveling as a family. Susie Lavin Susie Lavin is a 2013 Graduate of Coastal Carolina Community College. She went on to complete her education through the UNCW Extension Program at Coastal. She is a part-time employee and a part-time student and enjoys writing, canning and helping the students at Coastal. Brianna Logan Brianna Logan is a Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. She is pursuing her own educa- tional dreams of becoming an engineer while teaching other Marines and Sailors as a mentor and instructor at Center for Naval Aviation and Technical Training for aspiring MV-22 Osprey mechan- ics. Angelo Lytle Angelo Lytle was born in Washington state and moved to North Carolina in 2012. He is currently a Visual Arts student at Coastal aspiring to become a teacher, and he is a self-published fiction au- thor. He loves drawing, painting, writing, and his cats. Daniel Rivera Daniel was born in New York City and raised in a one-parent household. Due to economic stresses of the time, he joined the military in 1989. After retirement, he decided to take one more shot at earning a degree at Coastal Carolina Community College, Then the University of North Carolina Wilmington. He has two sons currently at UNCW and ECU.

the new river anthology 78 Mariana Orrego Serna Mariana Orrego Serna is an aspiring research scientist and writer born in Colombia, Pereira. She is currently Studying at Camerino University in Italy pursuing a biotechnology degree. She profound- ly believes in the power of art as the most sublime form of catharsis and rejoices any time she is able to express her emotions through creative writing. Zoe Smith Zoe Smith is an Architectural Technology student who also has a passion for drawing. William Smith William Smith is a Coastal Carolina Community College student.

79 fall 2020 New River Anthology Coastal's Student Literary Magazine 2021

Submit poems, stories, essays, and artwork to be considered for inclusion in the 2021 magazine by Friday, April 30th .

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES

Poetry — up to 5 poems

Fiction/Nonfiction — up to 5 pieces of fiction or nonfiction up to 15 pages per submission

Artwork — up to 5 scanned files of artwork or photographs at 300 dpi

Names must not appear on your manuscript. Please attach a separate cover sheet that lists your name, titles of pieces; genre (artwork, poetry, fiction, or non-fiction); complete contact information (address, cell phone and alternate number, email); and a 25–50 word brief biography of yourself.

Send submissions via Internet as attached MS Word or .rtf document for text, and .jpg for artwork

Our Email address is- [email protected] Place the genre (poetry, fiction, non-fiction, or artwork) in the subject line of the submission e-mail.

If you have any questions or concerns about submissions, please contact the English Division Office in CA111, Monday through Friday, 7:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.

Manuscripts or artwork not following these guidelines will not be considered for publication. All work to be judged by the New River Anthology Board and student editors.

Notification of acceptance — May 2021 Anthology Distribution — November 2021 The New River Anthology is a publication of the English Division of Coastal Carolina Community College. All works contained within are the sole copyright of the authors. New River Anthology Coastal's Student Literary Magazine 2021

Submit poems, stories, essays, and artwork to be considered for inclusion in the 2021 magazine by Friday, April 30th.

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES

Poetry — up to 5 poems

Fiction/Nonfiction — up to 5 pieces of fiction or nonfiction up to 15 pages per submission

Artwork — up to 5 scanned files of artwork or photographs at 300 dpi

Names must not appear on your manuscript. Please attach a separate cover sheet that lists your name, titles of pieces; genre (artwork, poetry, fiction, or non-fiction); complete contact information (address, cell phone and alternate number, email); and a 25–50 word brief biography of yourself.

Send submissions via Internet as attached MS Word or .rtf document for text, and .jpg for artwork Our Email address is- [email protected] Place the genre (poetry, fiction, non-fiction, or artwork) in the subject line of the submission e-mail.

If you have any questions or concerns about submissions, please contact the English Division Office in CA111, Monday through Friday, 7:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.

Manuscripts or artwork not following these guidelines will not be considered for publication. All work to be judged by the New River Anthology Board and student editors.

Notification of acceptance — May 2021 Anthology Distribution — November 2021 New River Anthology Coastal's Student Literary Magazine2021 The New River Anthology is a great way for students to share their fiction, non- fiction, poetry and artwork and gain community-wide publication. Find out more about how you can submit your work by following the link below. OASTAL AROLINA CCOMMU NIT CY C O LLEGE