Southern Voices Southern Voices

is a magazine of creative works by students at the Mississippi School for Mathematics and Science 1100 College Street, MUW-1627 Columbus, Mississippi 39701

Southern Voices is available to read on the Internet at www.themsms.org

2016

Southern Voices 2016 cover New-2.indd 1 5/2/16 9:31 AM Mary Lee (Starkville) would like to freeze time but still have Makayla Raby (Ecru) plans to get a doctorate in comparative the ability to do things. She plans to be a psychiatristTable and of literature.Contents She believes that anyone can write, but only some believes, “I can do everything through Christ who gives me will be great and that “All we have to decide is what to do with Southern Voices Staff Judges strength.” Sam Snell has influenced her through his work.Writingthe time that is given to us.”—J.R.R. Tolkien Kennedy Lewis (Greenwood) lists her favorite novel as Wrishija Roy (Columbus) says her most influential writer Things Fall Apart. She believesPoetry that all types of art and forms is Edna St. Vincent Millay. EssaysShe admires Shane Koyczan’s Volume XXVIII Editor Art Judge of writing are sources of relief that result in something beauti- perspective: “I sit before flowers hoping they will train me in ful.Allison Her mother Brown is her hero. theNathan art of opening Barlow up. I stand on mountain tops believing that Michelle Li Dr. Beverly A. Joyce is Professor and What Can I Get for You ...... 28 Chronic Town ...... 46 Makayla Raby Gallery Director in the Department avalanches will teach me to let go. I know nothing, but I am Spring 2016 Michelle Li (Starkville) says her defining quote comes from here to learn.” of Art and Design at Mississippi theJoy character Cariño she would like to meet: “Hold your head high Jenny Bobo Art Editor University for Women. and keepDaring those fists . . down.”—Atticus...... Finch. . . . Her . . .hero. is Angie 5 Priya SaniparaLeto the Shire(Vicksburg) and Dennis believes the art Goat is a form . . of. .self- . . 16 Angie Harri Harri “becauseMy Roommate’s she gives Favorite me her fig Color bars.” ...... 19 expression: you create a world where you can be yourself. She plansJoy to Cari attendño medical school and specialize in oncology. Her Essay Judge Landry Filce The Piano Teacher with No Concept of Time . . 39 Dr. Miki Pfeffer is author of Southern Summar McGee (Edwards) is influenced by writer Mildred favorite books are the Hunger Games series. Assistant Editors Extra Credit ...... 11 Ladies and Suffragists: Julia Ward Taylor. Summar echoes the admonition to “Do as much as Summar McGee you can as best as you can for as long as you can because you HadynMichelle Schroader Li (Ocean Springs) would like to have met Howe and Women’s Rights at the 1884 Reagan Poston neverZoe know Fowler who’s watching and when your life will take a Walt Disney.Tan Lines Her hero . .is . Leonardo . . . . . Da . .Vinci . . . because . . . he 34 New Orleans World Fair (University turn forPrima the better.” Ballerina She would . . . like. . .to . have . . .elemental . . . . control, 22 combined science and art. Hadyn will combine her interests in Summar McGee Press of Mississippi, 2015). She is the and her favorite book is The Cay by Theodore Taylor. math, science, and creativity for a career in engineering. Photographer 2015 recipient of The Welty Prize, a Angie Harri Headin’ South ...... 10 West Givens collaborative award given annually by ConnorMr McNamee . Lark . . (Florence)...... says . . he . wants. . . .to . .meet 12 Lauryn Elaine Smith (Meridian) says her favorite books are Connor McNamee Mississippi University for Women and Britney Spears and that his hero is himself. He quotes Kim her sister’s sketchbooks. She hopes to combine her skills in art Laurel Lancaster Momma’s Boy ...... 20 Staff Members the University Press of Mississippi. Kardashian: “I love when people underestimate me and then and science to become a scientific illustrator. Her mother is Allison Brown are pleasantlyApartment surprised.” 3C ...... 12 her hero for supporting her emotionally and mentally. Amazing Grace ...... 15 Sydney Melton Joy Cariño Photography Judge Learning to Adventure ...... 13 Madalyn Coln Sydney Melton (Meridian) wishes she could have been born Carly Sneed (Pontotoc) plans to major in Chinese and inter- Ms. Stacy Clark serves as editor of in Kennedythe 1960s. LewisShe counts MSMS art teacher Ms. Angie Jones national studies. She likes the words of Lil Wayne: “And I call Griffin Emerson Jason Necaise Catfish Alley, a quarterly magazine as her mostI Am influential . . . . . artist...... 27 it like I see it, and my glasses on, but most of y’all don’t get Landry Filce published in Columbus, Mississippi, the picturePoetry less ofthe Reality flash is .on.” . . She . . says . . .to .fake . . being. . creative44 Zoe Fowler JasonMichelle Necaise Li (Ridgeland) plans to study physics and become until you believe it, too. that is “a gathering place for the words Reagan Poston Haley Grant a researchDear or Sistercorporate . . scientist. . . . . He. . believes. . . . human. . . . creativ -19 and images that paint an authentic, Where the Heart Should Be ...... 29 Zoe Hu compelling portrait of life in today’s ity itselfTough is proof Love for the. . chaos. . . theory.. . . . He . .affirms . . . . . that “If it 41is Vasu Srevatsan (Hattiesburg) wishes she could have met Arielle Hudson South.” possible, then it happens.” Michael Jackson. She recalls her father’s admonition, “Don’t McKenzie Jones Summar McGee feel bad about your shoes when the person next to you has no Laurel Lancaster Greg ParkerThe Itis (Benndale) . . . . . will . . be . .attending . . . . .Ole . . Miss. to study 18 feet.” Her hero is DrakeShort because heStories started from the bottom Bianca Martinez Poetry Judge EnglishPickin’ education Day and . creative. . . . .writing. . . . .If . he . could. . . . have a 25 and now he’s here. superpower he would like to read minds. His most influential Sydney Melton Dr. T.R. Hummer, author of ten Joy Cariño artistGreg is LadyParker Gaga. Gianni Stennis (Columbus) plans to create in as many fields Greg Parker volumes of poetry, including Goodbye Marnie ...... 31 Skandalon (Louisiana State University Dressing Up ...... 36 and media of art as he can. The artist that influenced him the Jalen Perry Dipal Patel’s (Ocean Springs) future plans include a career most is Kanye Omari West. Gianni believes, “If nothing else, Press, 2014), is the recipient of a Griffin Emerson Wrishija Roy in Jalenmedicine. Perry She would like to have met Gandhi, and counts I’m glad I made some enemies. That means I finally stood for Haydn Schroader Guggenheim Fellowship and two her parentsBroken as her . heroes . . . .because . . . . “they . . . managed . . . . . to come to 47 something,The thatJournalist’s something Tragedy being myself.” ...... 37 Pushcart Prizes. He is a native of Carly Sneed a country where they didn’t know the language and set up a Angie Harri Macon, Mississippi, and is the father of successfulMakayla business Raby empire through their hard work.” Ella Stone (Tupelo) plans to major in business. She believes Jasmine Topps The Other Side ...... 35 MSMS alumna Theo Hummer (Class Aide ...... 5 art is a language everyone speaks and that there is no limit to Cover Art: Maliah Wilkinson of 1995). Jalen PerryTrade (Ashland) . . . . would. . . . like . . to . become. . . . a. . doctor. and 33 howLaurel many peopleLancaster it can touch. Her favorite novel is Jane Eyre. travel the world. Jalen believes that “Without creativity, there Summer Light Balancing Act ...... 42 Short Story Judge wouldWrishija be no Royprogress, and we would forever repeat the same Emily Waits (Columbus) plans to attend pharmacy Emily Waits patterns.”Mind He Adrift would like. . .to .have . . been. . . born . . .in . the . . . 1980s. 28 schoolMichelle and wishes Li she could have met Audrey Hepburn. Faculty Ms. Lisa Howorth is author of the Her favorite quotation is “Though she be but little, she is Slimy Conscience ...... 3 novel Flying Shoes (Bloomsbury WillHaydn Pierce Schroader (Columbus) says his future plans include digital fierce.”—Shakespeare Publishing, 2015), her first work of design.Puppet If he had .a .superpower ...... he . would . . . like. . .to . .have the abil 18- Summar McGee Art Contest Faculty fiction. She is the co-founder and ity to time travel. He counts the Harry Potter series as his Maliah Wilkinson (Holly Springs) loves the novel The Meanus Myles ...... 40 Coordinator co-owner of Square Books in Oxford, favoriteCarly books. Sneed Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum. She plans to become a Angie Jones Mississippi. Dancing on the Factory Floor ...... 28 speechGreg pathologist Parker and believes with President Snow from The Reagan Poston (Mantee) would love to meet Jensen Ackles. Hunger Games that “Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. Flowers at the Service ...... 45 Ishmashell ...... 16 Her favorite book is My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult. A little hope is effective.” Faculty Advisor ReaganMaliah echoes Wilkinson Henry David Thoreau: “Not until we are lost Reagan Poston Emma Richardson do we beginThe Author to understand . . . .ourselves.” ...... 33 Rummy and Rum ...... 8 1

Southern Voices 2016 cover New-2.indd 2 Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 1 5/2/165/2/16 9:31 9:24 AM AM Artwork Sculpture Slimy Conscience Rebecca Chen Michelle Li The Prisoner of Azkaban ...... 46 Drawing First Place—Short Story Competition Justin Calhoun Angie Harri The Chris Read Award for Fiction T ...... 11 The Enchanted Rose ...... 26 Mary Madeline LaMastus Penelope Carreon Einstein ...... 23 The sweltering afternoon sun beat down upon two backing away from the porch swing as if it had shocked Just a Quarter ...... 19 boys. It was the hottest day of the year, Murphy was him. Dipal Patel sure of it. He could hear his brain sizzling in his skull “What’s wrong?” Murphy grabbed at his friend’s Grant Henderson Water Lilies and Japanese Bridge Interpretation . . 23 Lady Liberty ...... 21 like the scrambled eggs he had for breakfast. Beside arm. Priya Sanipara him, Jim was lying upside down on the creaking porch A garbled noise of disgust escaped Jim’s lips as Zach Hodge Juliet ...... 15 The Snack that Smiles Back ...... 25 swing, his knobby legs thrown over the backrest, bent he pointed to the creature that had sent him into such Nocturnal Gaze ...... 43 Photography like broken twigs off the sycamore tree out front. a frenzy. Next to where Jim’s head had been moments Murphy watched scarlet blotches spread on Jim’s before sat a fat green slug. Its moist flesh glistened in Michelle Li Mayukh Datta Mimi ...... 12 Human Endurance ...... 5 cheeks, the blood rushing to cover every surface of the sunlight and a slimy path trailed behind it. Among the Flowers ...... 26 his friend’s flushed face. Whenever the swing paused Murphy was about to tease Jim for being startled Will Pierce Die, Insect! ...... 26 Ashley Dobbins with a groan, Jim would propel himself upwards again, by such a harmless insect, when he caught sight of the Jackson’s ...... 11 fingertips pushing off the sanded, wooden planks of mischievous glint in Jim’s eyes. The last time Jim gave Haydn Schroader Southern Fall ...... 27 Murphy’s porch. him that look, they had lost half of their eyebrows, and Time ...... 5 Lillian Fulgham Drop ...... 26 “Man, I’m so bored,” Jim complained loudly. Murphy was grounded for two weeks. Cypresses ...... 14 Hibiscus ...... 34 One . “You have any salt?” Honeybee on Lavender ...... 23 Two . Before Murphy could Lauryn Elaine Smith Railroad Ties and Morning Glories ...... 45 Unbroken ...... 47 First Sunday ...... 17 Three . “Murphy found that he protest, Jim was gone with a Fading Beauty ...... 19 West Givens Murphy counted drop- slap of the screen door, and he Lined Up ...... 7 lets of sweat rolling off Jim’s couldn’t look away.” found himself alone with the Ella Stone Reflections ...... 9 forehead. They landed on the doomed creature. Upon closer Blossom in the Dew ...... 30 All Strung Out ...... 14 Fan Rock ...... 24 planks below, leaving dark inspection, the slug’s skin was Painting Forsyth Park ...... 27 circles on the light-colored oak. more brown than green. Murphy watched disgusted as Half a Headlight ...... 33 “Yeah, me too.” its fleshy abdomen twitched; the slug inched forward Justin Calhoun Antique Glory ...... 45 “Can we just go back inside?” Jim pleaded, prop- gradually, ignorant of its impending fate. Its two anten- The Essence of Marble ...... 21 Angie Harri ping his hands on the floor, stilling the swing’s nae bobbed from side to side, almost as if they were Korcë Gate ...... 4 Dajah Carter Layers ...... 24 movement. Beads of perspiration collected on his nose, waving at him. Frazer Hall ...... 21 Roadside Market ...... 25 then slid off to join the others. The circles began to The screen door slammed open again and Jim Sterling Ballerina ...... 22 Navy Pier Skyline ...... 27 form a puddle. emerged, his mother’s flower-shaped salt shaker in Sailboat ...... 24 Photobomb ...... 28 The roar of the vacuum cleaner drifted through the hand. Rebecca Chen Katelyn Jackson holes in the screen door. “This is gross, Jim,” Murphy said, taking a step Strawberry Battlefield ...... 22 Altum ...... 28 Ventus ...... 41 “Can’t.” Murphy shook his head. “Nancy’s still back from where Jim was crouched in front of the poor Lauryn Elaine Smith Ari Jefferson cleaning.” bug. Morning Service ...... 21 5PM Columbus ...... 10 Jim resumed his swinging. “Aw, c’mon Murph, don’t you wanna see what Vasu Srevatsan Mary Frances Lee Murphy leaned his head back against the porch happens?” Jim poised the shaker above the slug and, Lost ...... 24 Solemn ...... 46 post, its shadow hiding him from the sun’s scorching with a sadistic twist of his lips, disposed of the salt Emily Waits Gianni Stennis rays. His eyelids drooped. upon it. Autumn Wonder ...... 23 Futility ...... 22 Murphy woke with a jolt to Jim’s startled yelp and Murphy watched with morbid fascination as the The Receiver ...... 41 turned in time to see Jim fall off the swing, crashing slug instantly curled in on itself, writhing as if it were Peer ...... 43 to the floor in a heap. He then stumbled up frantically, in intense pain. He had once heard that invertebrates 2 3

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 2 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 3 5/2/16 9:24 AM don’t perceive pain as most other animals do, but he The awful noise broke him out of his trance and he found that hard to believe as the slug twisted sharply became dimly aware that Jim was still applying salt to Aide on its side. Its body began excreting a yellow mucus his shriveled-up, half-dead victim. Makayla Raby and its soft flesh shriveled, turning dark brown in some With a grunt, he shoved Jim out of the way and areas. Murphy found that he couldn’t look away. stomped on the slug, hard. His new tennis shoes landed She bathes others of relief when families have Moments later, the slug excreted a spurt of thick with a sickening splat. for a living, washing her shift is done. left behind. milky substance, coating the floorboards, and shrank He stumbled down the porch steps, tears stinging the elderly’s paper- She washes to half its original size. That’s when Murphy heard the his eyes, and fell to his knees, spilling the remnants of thin skin, wrinkled She is always them with hissing, like water on a stove or his father’s calloused his lunch on the freshly-mowed lawn. like fabric kept careful to place gentle strokes palms rubbing against each other. It was as if the slug Jim was yelling somewhere behind him, but the too long in the blue latex and calming were screaming. sound grew fainter, fainter, until Murphy couldn’t hear hope chests over her pristine scents and The slug was screaming . him over the hissing in his ears. s and treasure French manicure, warm smiles, The Chris Read Award For Fiction troves. and she comes with warm to work with water and The Chris Read Award for Fiction, instituted with the 1994 issue of Southern Voices, honors a member of Human Endurance the Mississippi School for Mathematics and Science’s Class of 1991. Christopher David Read was an active Mayukh Datta She cleans them, false lashes soap suds leader at MSMS as a member of Emissaries, the Debate Club, and the Southern Voices staff. Chris’s first love, Photography feces and urine on and her she sees however, was writing. Southern style. and bedsores hair curled. them Chris often wove his Southern tales late at night. Chris would compose either on the computer or on (his favorite) the old, brown Royal typewriter he had bought from the pawn shop down 13th Street South. and rotting skin. vulnerable, Faking sleep, I would watch the grin on Chris’s face as he worked out the next great story. When he finished, She wrinkles her But she bathes childlike, Chris would always “wake me” and excitedly read his new story to me. He never knew that I had been Daring nose in disgust them, tender and loves hiding, watching his creative process with admiration. I was not the only one to admire Chris’s work. This at their smell, and affectionate, them award stands as testimony to the admiration that we all held for Chris and his work and as a memorial to the Joy Cariño Southern writing tradition which Chris loved. dying smell, and placing love on like her Chris had the potential to become a great writer. Unfortunately, Chris never reached this potential: he was “You can’t beat me. You’re a girl,” breathes a sigh them whose children. killed in a car wreck on January 17, 1993. Though Chris will never attain his dream of writing a great novel, said a tall and haughty boy, all of those who loved and respected Chris hope that the recipient of this Award, as well as all the other aspir- ing writers at MSMS, will achieve their dreams. undefeated among our timid five-year-old class. But I believed my bamboo-thin legs Michael D. Goggans and dirty sandals could outrun any boy. Class of 1991 I took my mark and waited for dust to settle.

“On your mark … get set … GO!” The sun reflected the joy in me, sprint raced across the playground, brushing weeds with petals, disrupting dandelions. I passed my opponent, a tall and haughty boy —who smirked with the arrogance only a five-year-old could muster— and reached the end before he did. I bet he was ashamed.

Korcë Gate Time Angie Harri Haydn Schroader Photography 4 Pencil 5

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 4 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 5 5/2/16 9:24 AM leaned against a fencepost, crying with her. Then, I aged goats. I got scalpel and gloves down from the farm Leto the Shire and Dennis the Goat blamed myself for not researching her affliction and medical box, asked Daddy to straddle Dennis, doused Jenny Bobo watching her die, and, sometimes, I still do. the bulge in chlorohexidine, and sliced. The half-inch Honorable Mention—Essay Competition Daddy got me a goat when I was two because he cut spewed brown fluid onto my boots. And Dennis was afraid I’d strangle a kitten. The kid was an African breathed. Paralyzed. Leto slipped prancing through an after- improvement. For two weeks and three days, I hardly pygmy that ate enough to be a cow. I named him When you live on a farm, you meet Death early; noon summer squall, then couldn’t stand. It’s been slept; when I did speak, it was only to coo softly to Dennis the Menace, perhaps the best pet I’ve ever had, then you become well-acquainted, almost familiar, with known for Shires to break bones, being clumsy crea- mare and foal on my daily visits or bombard my parents but picking my favorite is like choosing among one’s him before your tenth birthday. You kill for food or tures, but she was young and strong. Her neck bowed with questions of Leto’s condition when I didn’t under- children. I spent the better part of fourteen years losing helplessly watch animals die from old age or disease. out from its base at her withers to her grass-stained stand the veterinarians. I only wanted to know: better head-butt matches, making clover salads, and happily I have learned the balance between resigning myself cheek, her white downy hair stained with watery mud. or worse? Shaking their heads, they would silently dragging the Menace away from Mama’s flowers. to inevitable death and fighting to save a life when Of the four foals born that spring, Leto was the last, blink away away tears of pity. Then, he started dying. there’s still hope. I’ve accepted the existence of pain but and she was my first baby. That afternoon, two hours Leto was euthanized on a Monday morning, Mama noticed the lump first. Small, golf-ball sized, still combat it for helpless creatures like Dennis. With passed with Leto sprawled on the ground, intermit- three days before I started the seventh grade. During only apparent if you crouched level with his chin and no cure for CL, I lance Dennis’s abscess every two tently writhing towards her mother’s whuffling lips. the necropsy, it was discovered that she had Equine looked down at his throat. Once it reached tennis-ball months. When he breathes, I see Leto, standing, and Nauseous and weak-kneed, I watched her. Protozoal Myeloencephalitis, dubbed “possum disease” size, Dennis developed a cough. A few weeks later, smile. s I cradled Leto’s head in a pink starfish beach towel after its most common host; the disease attacks the he couldn’t hold food down, retching up his cud with as my parents heaved at two ropes looped around nervous system and causes irreparable damage. Leto panicky wheezes. His breath came in gasps. In him, her back legs and pulled her up the ramp of the horse had probably cropped some grass contaminated with I saw Leto slipping again. Wiping my hands of goat trailer. Her mother, Kiri, scrambled up after me, and we possum feces and died because of it. Kiri, distraught, bile and half-digested bermuda grass, I sat down in left for Starkville. was brought home and quarantined for a month; she the shade and researched goat diseases on my phone. Blood tests, urine samples, MRIs. Dose upon spent that month galloping from end to end of her It took an hour to diagnose Dennis with Caseous Lined Up dose of antibiotics. No definite diagnosis and no pasture, nickering mournfully for her baby while I Lymphadenitis (CL), an abscess disease common in West Givens Photography

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Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 6 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 7 5/2/16 9:24 AM never forgave himself for not teaching her how to swim.” Mind Adrift Rummy and Rum “That’s terrible,” I say, and she flips the page and Wrishija Roy Reagan Poston nods. Third Place—Short Story Competition “That’s life. Your gran used to tell us, ‘even if you die today, someone’s tire will still blow out tomorrow.’ We tread along the sapphire stream, ost my parents in the First World War. Daddy The next morning when I approach my mother “L That was his way of saying, yes, life is tragic, but it’s Feet skirting the shallow water enlisted, even though he had seven kids and a farm about the enigma that is my grandfather, she smiles not a tragedy.” We flip through the rest of the shots in As limpid as a looking glass, to tend; said it was cowardice to sit at home on a and pulls a chair to the closet before perching atop it to relative silence. Gran shows up on every page, either The muddy bottom sticky like honey. plow when there were kids dyin’ over in Europe. retrieve an old and dusty album from the top shelf. with a harmonica in hand or his latest whittling piece, Poor bastard thought he was invincible, and when he “Come on,” she encourages gently, dragging the and I opt to close the book. This gran is the one I know, We see horses among the cloud formations, died, Mama decided she didn’t wanna live no more chair back to the table and motioning for me to sit the one whose endless streak of poker wins has become Majestic in their modesty. either. After she got the news, she just laid on down beside her. When she flips to the front page, I see a Rummy with his grandchildren, each one called Reptilian creatures, beautifully strange, and never got back up.” Gran lays a seven atop my picture of nineteen-year-old Gran and seventeen-year- “darling” or “sport” because he has all but forgotten our Causing us to accelerate out of fervor. eight and picks up his cup, ice thumping against its old Nana smiling, holding hands as rice rains down names. plastic sides. I know for a fact that there is rum in it, around them. S .J . and Eva Hawkins, reads the caption Gran does not live much longer after my excursion We dash, arched feet quick in the meadow, for he cannot tell the stories of the past without the in Nana’s flowing script, and I smile. I stare at them for into his past, a month at the most, and they ask me to Knee-deep in overgrown verdure. social lubricant of alcohol. “Well … ,” he continues, a moment, both grinning ear to ear as they run through speak at his ceremony. Standing there watching all the The evening chill raises goosebumps, swallowing and squinting against the sharp light the rice, colors faded from black and white to some people gauging me for my sincerity and representation Snaking up our bare arms. filtering in through the windows of our living room. gray space in between. Gran looks happy, and I have of the S.J. Hawkins they all knew, I stare at them all “Hard times pass, ya know. I raised ’em all the best I to remind myself that he is more than the illness that and open my mouth to let the silence out. I didn’t know We scrape our skin on stumps and trees, could, and it all turned out alright. Your nana raised is overcoming him today. He is thousands of moments my gran, not really, and all of these people probably As we invade the impressive forestry. your mama good before she passed, and your mama’s that have built him up and worn him down to who he is knew something different of him than I did. I say the The leaves ever so chameleonic, raisin’ you good.” today. I turn the page, and he sits before me as a child, only thing I knew of him for certain. Dotted with raindrops, yet to vaporize. A six falls atop his seven. His hands shake, as they staring in wonder at the camera before him. “My gran lost his daddy in the First World War.” s often do these days. His hands are practically useless; “You look like him,” my mom says, running her We creep away from advancing shadows, he breaks every glass he holds, and he has started fingers over the page, finding me in him. I smile, and Brought on as the day’s glow tucks away. wearing boots or slippers to hide the fact that he can the page turns. Picture after picture fills my mind, Stars twinkle like city lights, no longer tie his shoes. He wears t-shirts ragged with story after story. He himself was a war veteran, World Gleaming alongside the lunar orb. holes he can no longer stitch shut, but he thinks them War II, and he has pictures to prove it. He was an better than shirts with buttons he can no longer fasten. Air Force pilot, a regional champ motorcycle racer, a We pass by a splotch of lilacs. Mother must help him button his pants despite his master poker player, a thief, a saint, a sinner, and by the Its smell brings back memories, greatest protests, pride, and pinking of his cheeks. He end of it, I feel like I don’t know him at all. Reminding me of a foreign world can still play Rummy, though, and play he will. “He was adventurous,” I say of him finally, my With exhaustion and no excitement. My cousins and I trade out days to sit with him, to mind swimming with impossible stories captioning keep him here and not floating in the past. Tomorrow, each fantastic picture. I don’t want to go back. my sister will sit with Gran, and he will tell her the “He was free,” she corrects with a smile, and story of how he lost his father in the First World suddenly, my gran comes back into the focus amidst He takes my delicate hand War, the story of how his father enlisted despite his the soldier and the racer and the gambler. The one thing And embraces me tight, seven children and farm in need of tending. We’ve all my gran and these things have in common is the insa- West Givens Assuring that our escape heard the story before, and we will all hear it again. tiable thirst for freedom. “He wanted to be, at least,” Has only just begun. My mother believes it is one of the only stories about my mother says, flipping the page and coming to a Reflections himself he remembers, and as I lie awake in bed that picture of him and his littlest sister. Honorable Mention—Photography night, I begin to wonder what he was like before the “Is that Faye?” I ask, and she nods. tremors and the forgetfulness. I resolve to ask tomor- “He was so attached to her, what with her being row and drift into a placid sleep. the littlest sibling. He lost her in Hurricane Camille and

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Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 8 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 9 5/2/16 9:24 AM Headin’ South Summar McGee

It’s Friday, 3:15 p.m., and I scan the parking lot for With Ms. Skiffer, guessing her radio station is the silver 1992 Crown Victoria. Just as I am about to like playing musical Russian roulette. There are three Extra Credit sit down on the steps of Goen, Ms. Skiffer turns the stations that seem to be her favorites: 95.5 Hallelujah Landry Filce corner. Rides with Ms. Skiffer are always interesting. I FM—which almost always means a ride of raspy take one last gulp of fresh air hoping that it will coun- sermons, Bible verse recitation, and stories of her four Curly blonde hair cascades past teract the impending second-hand smoke and smile grandchildren, all of whom she wants to find the love Shoulders to the small of her back. as Ms. Skiffer pulls up under the canopy. For me the of Jesus; Y101 Jackson’s #1 Hit Music Station—the I’ve seen her every weekday for the past two years— journey down Highway 25 is long and less-than scenic, kids’ favorite according to Ms. Skiffer—which means We have all the same classes. my only source of entertainment—the driver, Ms. Faith a ride of faux ageist cultural assimilation that borders But I have only had one, maybe two conversations with Skiffer. a midlife crisis; or Soft Soul Kixie 107—which means her. She hops out the car and with a raspy cough, a slow but peaceful ride with in-seat swaying and Ms. Once I saw her in a ballet, apologizes for being late. She pops the trunk, shuffles Skiffer’s occasional soft humming. “The Nutcracker.” around her miscellaneous knickknacks, and shoves 95.5 Hallelujah FM causes Ms. Skiffer to be overly I didn’t expect to see her there. my torn navy suitcase into the trunk of her Crown cautious with her driving. On these days you can I went because it was an extra-credit opportunity. Victoria. I open the door and contort my body enough always count on three to four backward glances, turn T. But then she arabesqued and grand jetéd and pirouetted to slide into the back seat, forcing my arthritic knees to signals at fifteen hundred feet, and not a single missed Justin Calhoun until bend at a ninety-degree angle. stoplight. On Y101 days Ms. Skiffer usually wears Honorable Mention—Drawing the audience cried from the beauty of it As Ms. Skiffer makes her way to the driver’s seat, something loud, tight, and covered in sequins. You can Graphite and it didn’t feel like schoolwork anymore. I wonder what radio station she had been listening to. count on a lead foot, abrupt stops, and a few “tests of The next Monday, I caught up with her on the way Ms. Skiffer’s driving ability heavily relies on the type faith,” also known as traffic violations. On Soft Soul to our first period class. of music she listens to. Kixie 107 days Ms. Skiffer’s driving is just as mild and “Hey,” I called, “You did a great job on Friday night.” mellow as her mood. I wish I could have said more, In one swift motion, Ms. Skiffer slides into the could have explained how her grace car, and fastens her seatbelt. She sticks the key into the made me feel such powerful emotion ignition and takes out two unfiltered Marlboro ciga- that it scared me, but rettes. She tucks one of the cigarettes behind her ear before I could articulate, along with a flyaway strand of hair. She lights the other she smiled and replied, and takes two long drags before she turns the key and “Thanks.” the engine roars to life. Soft jazz plays in the back- I don’t think we ever spoke again. ground assuring me that there is a slow smooth ride ahead of us. I fasten my seatbelt, say a short prayer, and await the journey as the Mississippi School for Mathematics of Science fades into the distance. s Jackson’s 5PM Columbus Ashley Dobbins Ari Jefferson Photography Photography

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Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 10 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 11 5/2/16 9:24 AM Mr. Lark Apartment 3-C Learning to Adventure Angie Harri Laurel Lancaster Sydney Melton

Knife scrapes charcoal pencil. A woman moved into the apartment next door. I. Secret Garden II. Northeast Lauderdale Wood shavings drop to linoleum floor, Apartment 3-C. She drives a clunky Jeep Wrangler, like an onion being stripped of layers. he teeters on the red brick edging the winding Trumpets roar and tubas bellow to the tune of tires caked with mud in every shade of dirt. S The lead elongates one centimeter path. Sprawling oaks and unkempt woods lash thorn “Can’t Help Myself” that fills the stadium. The high Everything she owns can fit inside. before it meets wood again, bayonet sharp. vines at her wobbling ankles. Her feet are tucked into school JROTC members lower an arch of swords one I watch the pencil in his hand move along paper. a weathered pair of black penny loafers; wiry locks of at a time as girls in enormous dresses float across the The woman in apartment 3-C is an art teacher. He draws a circle as smooth as the one on his ring Comes back covered in charcoal and clay. golden hair stray from tight pins. The dewy Mississippi fifty-yard line. A young girl stands on the sideline of finger, Smock stained with every shade her students used that atmosphere weighs down the first sprouts of spring. the field next to her grandmother waiting for Principal and starts to shade it. Layer, upon layer, day. Her eyebrows crinkle, remaining focused on the bricks Wilks to announce that year’s Homecoming Queen. upon layer of charcoal shades, Blue flowers bloom under her eyes, before her, one foot in front of the other. A rugged After a long drumroll, Ivy Castleman wins, just as never smudged with a finger, or else that’d be “break- but I’ve never seen her without a smile. novel is tucked tight under her arm. A brick turns under everyone had expected. Principal Wilks hands the ing art.” her foot and Nini tightens her grip on the young girl’s young girl a bouquet of white roses and a tiara. The The charcoal blends in with Mr. Lark’s dark skin, One day, she invites me over for tea. arm to steady her. They make little girl stands on her tiptoes floats everywhere, but the atmosphere of focus he is in Apartment 3-C smells like cinnamon and patchouli, their way through the wild, an in stubby one-inch church does not allow any distraction to penetrate it. Walls covered in paintings and pictures. adventure leading to their own “… she and Nini heels to set the tiara on top Preserved moments in time stuck to the plaster. His eyebrows rest over his eyes like mustaches, secret paradise. planted peace roses of Ivy’s snowy white crown. scrunching in concentration. We sit in awe From around the curv- Her white dress shimmers A globe sits on her kitchen counter, covered in as a circle turns into a sphere right before our eyes, ing path, nearly a hundred under the stadium lighting. pushpins. that bloom with the as if we could pick it up off the paper. yards down the trail, the white She hurries back to her grand- She carries her passport with her at all times arbor peeks into view. The colors of a sunset.” mother’s side. Her wide eyes because she never knows where she will go next. young girl flies across the scan the scene: bright lights, One night, Apartment 3-C is dark. ground, her slick-soled penny loafers skimming the loud commentators, and loud, obnoxious fans from the I find her outside, fingers caressing a canvas with rich dirt-covered path. Nini paces not far behind her. The opposing team all vie for her attention. Nini always Mississippi mud. arbor is the gateway to a getaway the little girl calls takes her to the Northeast High School homecoming. With pen and paper in hand, I join her. her secret garden. Vibrant lime ligustrum bushes line Nini has been teaching Government and the white picket fence, holding all of the secrets inside. Economics for twenty-five years at Northeast High We sit for hours, in total silence, creative energy Together, she and Nini planted peace roses that bloom School. She brings the young girl to her classroom billowing around us with the colors of a sunset. Nini taught her to pick away full of anxious, unruly teenagers that finally have the like a cloud of her favorite incense. the weeds, fertilize the flowers, and how to prune the opportunity to relax in the safe haven of Nini’s class- With poems and paintings, we both become ligustrum bushes—to take care of the garden room. Nini has tutoring sessions every day during storytellers, A splintered wooden swing hangs on the left side seventh period. Nini teaches her students Article II of trail blazers of our own paths. of the garden. Gnarled vines of lavender wisteria drape the Constitution, ways to calculate the Gross Domestic overhead; rich blossoms hang like a ripened bunch of Product, and the Constitutional Amendments; the little Last week I got a letter in the mail. grapes. The two sit on the bench to rest and read. The girl scribbles pictures on the chalkboard sending chills Inside the envelope, a compass little girl hands her book to Nini, the binding coming throughout the classroom with the screech of the chalk. Accompanied by a note: loose. The spine has etched letters, The Secret Garden . She plops into Nini’s tan leather swivel armchair and “Good Luck.” Nini reads the novel trying her best to emphasize the shuffles through the papers, making stacks on the desk. When I came home, Apartment 3-C was dark. life lessons the book presents to the reader, but at the The dream of becoming a teacher floats in her head. Mimi But I knew I wouldn’t find her outside. time the young girl is more mesmerized by the descrip- * * * And I hope she won’t get lost out there. tions of rose trees and wick. The stories bring to life the Ever since I was young, Nini has shared with me Michelle Li Without something to be her guide. magic in adventure in everyday life. her passion for adventure and teaching. Even though 12 Best of Show 13 White Color Pencil

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 12 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 13 5/2/16 9:24 AM she has been retired for a few years now, every time that there is always something new you can learn from we are together she runs into a former student of hers a person. She says, “The best way to teach someone is Amazing Grace th who tells her how much she misses her class. Nini has to let them teach you.” Nini’s never-ending willingness (After the Supreme Court ruling on June 26 , 2015) always had a knack for communication, especially to discover has inspired me to search beyond the obvi- Laurel Lancaster with high school students. She never failed to show ous to learn things a book cannot teach. She inspired Second Place—Poetry Competition genuine care for her students. She told me that every- me to make my own adventures reading The Secret one has a job she is meant for; she just has to find it. Garden and in the process taught me how to maintain Maybe we should’ve stayed home. Nini’s contentment in her career has driven me to find a garden, a skill I still use today. Through Nin’s expe- Maybe we should’ve kept our heads down as we walked through the chapel doors. a career in which I will be able to naturally excel, one rience I know that adventure is everywhere, whether Should’ve stared at our shoes, heels clicking on the cold marble tile. that fits my personality and qualities. She has taught in interacting with new people or taking time alone to me to consider every situation with an open mind and appreciate the beauty of nature and a classic novel. s Shouldn’t have looked them in the eye, trying to cool white-hot stares with brimming baby blues. Shouldn’t have heard their whispers that whipped across our skin, stained-glass swears cutting deep into our souls.

We should’ve sat in the back row, out of sight but not mind. Instead, cheeks flushed with hellfire, we marched straight to the front, to our usual pew. As I knelt before my God, starving for spiritual strength, a beggar for my daily bread, I thought about my family.

Would they care enough to come claim me? Or deny this disgrace their daughter had become? Because my kind of love is not allowed.

When we rise to raise our voices towards heaven, we still stand alone. No one dares to come closer, to offer the compassion they so praise, provided it stays on scripture’s page.

All Strung Out But I pray neither for mercy nor for forgiveness. West Givens I refuse to confess my so-called crime. And I will endure whatever death they wish upon me. Second Place—Photography

Because I know.

I know there are those who want to clip my wings. To lock the Pearly Gates and send me spiraling down the staircase. To condemn their sister as a sinner and throw me out onto the stones. This I know.

I know, but I do not care. Because she is holding my hand.

She with stars for eyes and sunshine for a smile She with the voice that puts angels to shame She is the one holding my hand. Juliet Priya Sanipara Cypresses And when we are linked together, We cannot be broken. Honorable Mention—Sculpture Lillian Fulgham Ceramic Third Place—Photography 14 15

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 14 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 15 5/2/16 9:24 AM “Well, you see I am in a bit of a predicament. As “Oh,” Adam said, trying to hold in his giggles. Ishmashell you can see I am a shell. Shells are found on land, yes, “I’m not sure who this fellow is, but they are not Greg Parker but I long to return to my home in the ocean depths! very fond of him. They also never made eye contact I loathe the sun’s rays burning my shell and crave the with me, so I assume they did not realize I was a shell. taste of saltwater that used to be so familiar!” Then after years you two came along! My saviors!” mma and Adam were strangers to each other; down the board onto the shore. The men pulled up the E “Why’d you leave in the first place?” Emma asked. “I’d be glad to help, but what can we do to fix all neither of them had seen the other’s face, worn the board and the ship sailed away. “The natives of this land are very inconsiderate, the littering?” Adam asked. clothes they had on, or been to the land where they met Emma and Adam were not sure what they were to you see,” Ishmashell started, “They have these contrap- “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far.” Ishmashell Ishmashell. They were on a ship with what looked to do, but decided to introduce themselves. tions called ‘plastic’ and we sea creatures are, at this was silent for a moment, “I’m not sure. Make a poster be other people talking in a language they had never “I’m Adam,” he said. point, scared of it. My turtle friend, Crush, told me or something! Just toss me back into the ocean!” heard before. Adam woke up before Emma. His blond, “Emma,” Emma said. about a few of his family members getting caught in Adam was not sure what to think, but he picked up greasy hair stuck up at random places all around his “So what are we supposed to do?” some sort of plastic used to hold metal cylinders. The Ishmashell. Ishmashell screamed in delight as Adam head and he wore a white cloak with red swirls around “Walk around in hopes we’ll find something that plastic wrapped around their necks and put them in threw him back into the ocean. his hips and mysterious runic letters on his sleeves and can lead us to civilization.” terrible condition! This plastic wouldn’t be a problem, “Well,” Adam said, looking at Emma, “That was torso. He heard the other people below deck with them And that’s exactly what they did. They walked but the natives of this island throw them into the ocean interesting.” and above, speak their strange language. There was no close to the water because they were too frightened without a care! They just throw trash into our home “Yeah, but what do we do to fix the problems with emotion behind their words; it sounded like a casual to enter the jungle. The vegetation was too thick; they like it’s nothing, and the saltwater tastes like garbage; littering in the ocean?” conversation. couldn’t see beyond the outmost layer of green. So it’s almost impossible to breathe!” “Let’s make a poster.” s Emma awoke minutes later, her brown, pixie-cut the two walked for what was only thirty minutes, but “So why are you on the shore?” Emma further hair as perfectly slicked back as ever. Her face was seemed like hours, until they came upon a rocky part of questioned. stiffly symmetrical, with hazel eyes that shone even in the water. “Well, I was trying to talk to a few of the natives, the dimness below decks. She was startled after realiz- “Why, hello there!” they heard a British man but many thought I was someone called Satan.” ing she was not in a familiar place and stared at Adam exclaim. for a few moments before she spoke. Unable to see anyone, Emma and Adam first “Where are we?” Emma whispered. looked at each other in confusion, then looked around Adam shrugged, “No idea.” in search of another person. They sat in silence. Adam knew they couldn’t be “Hello? Am I speaking loud enough?” the British prisoners because they weren’t restrained in any way. man asked. Still, neither of them moved until a man dressed in “Yes, but where are you?” Emma asked the voice. black shorts ripped above the knee, a white poet blouse “Well, I’m right here!” and a leather vest walked over to them and waved his “Where?” Emma yelled, frustrated. arm, motioning them to approach. The two hesitated “Right HERE!” but walked over to the man. When they were stand- Adam stuttered, “Is that you?” ing less than a yard away from the man, he didn’t “Who are you talking to?” Emma asked, speak, but pointed up the stairs that led to the upper flabbergasted. deck. Emma and Adam froze and looked at each other, Adam pointed to a large seashell. unsure what to do, until the man pointed over and over “Righto, yes right on the dot! Just perfect!” the to the stairs. Taking the hint, they walked up the seven seashell cried out, thrilled to be acknowledged. stairs to the upper deck, blinded by the summer sun for “But you’re a seashell! How are you talking?” a moment, and saw that they had docked on a beach. Adam questioned. There was only one man present standing by an “Never mind that! I am in desperate need of your opening on the side of the ship. There was a wooden help!” board resting on the opened side leading down to the “Well, do you have a name?” Emma asked. First Sunday beach, and the man held his hand out in front of the “Call me Ishmashell!” the shell said. Lauryn Elaine Smith board. Assuming they were no longer welcome on the “Well, Ishmashell, what is it you need?” asked Graphite men’s ship, Emma and Adam walked by the man and Adam. 16 17

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 16 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 17 5/2/16 9:24 AM Puppet The Itis Dear Sister Haydn Schroader Summar McGee Michelle Li

To the little girl with straight black hair Raspy coughs give way to In the bottom left corner of my heart Cut precisely to the middle of her back, Bloodshot eyes, next to Dad’s so-awful-they’re-almost-funny jokes, Bangs tied up with a pretty pink ribbon, Labored breathing, and I keep the sparkle in your eyes Perfect posture, chin up, Sudden realization of the inevitable: shrouded in tinkling laughter, Spine straight, and toes in line: hidden behind rows of crooked teeth. I see you. There is Do you remember clutching the right side of your chest To the little girl with fair skin and faint freckles No cure when I shot you in the heart in Princess vs. Pirates? For Like a porcelain doll, Gasping for breath after The Itis. Glassy eyes and long dark eyelashes, games of who can jump the highest (you always won), Icy irises, piercing periwinkle around her pupils, we would lie on our backs, No salves yet soothing enough Cold stare cutting into people’s skin: rusted trampoline groaning under our weight, To cure hives of irrationality What’s going on behind your placid pretense? and trace pictures in the clouds. No ointments proven potent enough To the little girl, always quiet and polite, Do you remember muffled giggles after midnight? Just a Quarter To clear rashes of infatuation Who walks past plush toys You would crawl in my bed, Not a toddy strong enough Penelope Carreon Without even glancing their way, cold toes searching for warmth in the crevice under my To slow throaty hacks of insanity Charcoal Who comes when she’s called, knees. And always obeys: Nothing to stop And on nights Mom worked the late-shift, My Roommate’s Favorite Color Do you know how to have fun? Creeping bouts of yearning tremors— we would make peanut butter-banana sandwiches Joy Cariño To the little girl who dances Lurking and dance around the kitchen in the refrigerator light. Polished pink slippers always on point, That sparkle in your eyes is now buried “I don’t want to stand out,” Tight leotards and frilly tutus, That leave you— under clumps of mascara she says as she dons her gray jacket Constricting buns and heavy make-up: Pushed and I can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh. ready to face the world Do you even like ballet? To doctoral visits of cupidity. You were so relieved and its laws of physics and numbers. To the little girl who shares a plight with Pinocchio, to get your braces off last week, She knows, she’s calculated that gray doesn’t attract the eye, More like a puppet than a person, The treatment: but I miss your crooked teeth. doesn’t commit to left or right, Pulled on strings like a plaything, Produce embolisms of compassion doesn’t offend, doesn’t shine. A proxy for parents’ expectations: ’til fondness leaves you bedridden. But watch: her eyes shine Are you happy? Revel in toxemia of endearment like pencil graphite, scratching To the little girl pirouetting through life ’til adoration renders you incapacitated. against numbers that define our world. Obsessed with perfection, But listen: her voice commits to belief Seek no treatment. Good grades and good impressions, that, when time comes to fight or fly, The Itis— Only purpose is to please, she will fight with every ounce of strength, Trying to make it seem effortless: It is a part of you. bounce of curls and spring of wit. I saw you stumble, then tumble, and crumble; But remember: she possesses the fierceness But that’s okay. Let it engulf the ship of rationality, of a gray wolf, the kindness of an elephant, I think that you’ll find Leaving you a lone survivor— loyal in all dangerous terrain, such as That when the pieces fall away, An island of psychosis. scorching asphalt or school hallways. And you’ve lost your outer rind, But know: gray does not mean It will be a better day. For to be slaughtered by desire dull, subdued, uncertain. Is the sweetest sort Fading Beauty Because you’re no longer just a toy, For she stands, not too noticeable, Of melancholy. Lauryn Elaine Smith You are a real boy. but as sharp and brilliant as silver Watercolor in the corner of your eye. 18 19

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 18 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 19 5/2/16 9:24 AM Momma’s Boy Connor McNamee Honorable Mention—Essay Competition

Momma’s boy. That’s what Daddy used to call me my love of science as it was able to show me the beauty when I didn’t act like the other boys. When I attracted of the world. Through the laughter of Emmie and looks in McRae’s for dancing and singing along to Annie, the girls I sat with at lunch, I learned the value Britney Spears, he’d tell the gawkers, “What can you of making others and myself happy. Most importantly, do? He’s just a momma’s boy.” When I’d cry, Daddy through Kori Weaver, the girl who stood up and yelled would say to my judging family, “He’s just a momma’s at those making fun me, I learned that I am worth boy.” I never saw the bad in being called a momma’s something. Lady Liberty boy; in fact, I took it as a badge of pride because I In my sophomore year I made the decision to leave Grant Henderson my small Christian school and attend my junior and knew I was a momma’s boy. While the other boys were Second Place—Drawing out in the woods learning to kill deer, I was learning senior years at the Mississippi School for Mathematics Clay Board how to make my great-great grandmother’s pecan pie and Science. Momma accepted this decision with more The Essence of Marble recipe. When the other fathers were teaching their than a grain of salt. She was “losing her baby boy” Justin Calhoun sons to play football, Momma would tell me to study but knew this was the best way for me to pursue the Acrylic and learn and read and be the best I could because she love of learning she’d put in me. The only person who “wanted the best for momma’s took this decision harder than she little boy.” I took this advice was the momma’s boy who had from my mother—as I’ve taken “I couldn’t walk the to leave her behind. What helped the advice and inspiration from halls without being me make the decision easier were many other women in my life. the advanced classes I’d be able to When grade school was pushed.” take. Even though the classes were over the other boys decided difficult, I made Momma proud to give me a new name: Sissy and excelled in all. From this new boy. This name followed me through most of my time school I wanted to get the best possible education, in high school. The other boys never saw me as the but I got so much more. For once in my life I wasn’t boy at the top of the class or the boy who always liked renamed; I wasn’t momma’s boy, or sissy boy: I was to smile. They just saw me as the boy who sat with Connor. My feminine mannerisms were no longer my girls at lunch and listened to pop music. The sissy defining trait; finally I was seen as the kid who does boy. I couldn’t talk in class without being mimicked; whatever he can to excel in academics and does what- I couldn’t walk the halls without being pushed. All I ever he can to see others happy. could do was what Momma had taught me to do all This isn’t to say that I resent my names, because my life: Learn. I buried myself in my studies and rose they are true. I am that momma’s boy who couldn’t stop to the top of my class like cream on milk. Again, the crying when my favorite “America’s Next Top Model” Morning Service most valuable lessons I learned during this part of my contestant was eliminated, and I am that sissy boy who Lauryn Elaine Smith life didn’t come from my books, but instead from the listened to pop and soul instead of rock and country Third Place—Painting women in my life. Through the lessons of Mrs. Holder like the other boys, and I am Connor, the boy who loves Pastels, Watercolor, Ink Frazer Hall and Mrs. Porter, my first science teachers, I discovered who he is no matter what anybody has to say. s Dajah Carter Acrylic 20 21

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 20 5/2/16 9:24 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 21 5/2/16 9:25 AM Prima Ballerina Zoe Fowler

Dull eyes lined with kohl, False lashes fluttering to the brow, Lips glossed a cherry red, Brush swiping lids with glitter, Hand painting cheeks a deep rose.

Long hair fastened back with thick pins, Bun adorned at the base with a jewel comb. Pale leotard fitted over a slim, strong body, Frilled tutu reaching ends of fingertips.

Movements as fluid as water gushing out of a fresh spring. Strawberry Battlefield Movements as smooth Rebecca Chen as the glass surfaces of opaque icebergs. Movements as elegant Second Place—Painting as a swan gliding across still waters; Watercolor, Pen, Ink Water Lilies and Lofty white wings outstretched, Japanese Bridge An aura of grace and beauty. Einstein Mary Madeline LaMastus Interpretation Tired eyes gaze at the reflection First Place—Sculpture Dipal Patel offered by a stained mirror. Clay Second Place—Sculpture Frayed pink ribbons unravel, Paint, Wire, Mesh revealing bruises and crimson wounds. Makeup swiftly erased, Specks of glitter the only indication that there was ever anything more.

Futility Gianni Stennis First Place—Photography Autumn Wonder Emily Waits Honorable Mention—Painting Sterling Ballerina Acrylic Dajah Carter Honeybee on Lavender Lillian Fulgham First Place—Painting Melted Crayon and Acrylic Photography 22 23

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 22 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 23 5/2/16 9:25 AM Pickin’ Day Summar McGee Honorable Mention—Poetry Competition

Plunk! Okra echoes in neon orange bucket—

Swarms of insects bombard my face and I am drenched in sweat. One by one, we strip each hardy stalk:

Roadside Market It’s pickin’ day with Big Mama. Angie Harri A well-oiled machine, Photography Sailboat Her gnarled hands pick, pick in rhythmic motion: Dajah Carter Grab. Acrylic Twist. Pull.

Lost Grab. Vasu Srevatsan Twist. Pull. Honorable Mention—Painting Acrylic Big Mama hums off-tempo gospel between chews of tobacco. Her slate-blue polyester dress hides mud-caked work boots.

She trods forward with hefty hips swaying, Moves with just the right amount of Southern sass.

The weeds between the rows of okra tower over Big Mama. Like clockwork, she hacks away with Rusty pocket knife hidden in her bosom, A deep and present feeling.

The scorching heat of Mississippi sun sears my flesh. The Snack that Smiles Back Layers My hands—red, swollen, callused Zach Hodge My skin—covered in bumps from furry okra leaves Angie Harri Third Place—Drawing I long for a break, Photography Markers But I don’t stop. ’Cause when it’s all said and done, The okra don’t pick itself . Fan Rock West Givens Photography 24 25

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 24 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 25 5/2/16 9:25 AM I am Kennedy Lewis Third Place—Poetry Competition

I am black coffee with curves of sugar, I am the rich melanin infused in my skin, Glistening and shining in the light, I am soul food, Cleaning collard greens with Grandma for Sunday’s dinner, I am plump pink speckles in my lips singing of the Among the Flowers stony road we trod, I am the sweet honey stare in my eyes, Mayukh Datta Glittering like precious opals and gold, Photography I am coily locks, Southern Fall Beaded, Braided, and still as thick as lamb’s wool, Ashley Dobbins I am undeniable confidence, Photography Head held high and each foot falling firmly behind the other, This self-assurance stems from a place of security, The Enchanted Rose Security composed of mahogany, ebony, caramel, Angie Harri chestnut, and toffee, There is abundant history etched into our skin, Third Place—Sculpture Plaster Not just years of slavery but years of black excellence and grace, We are a people of substance, strength, elegance, and nobleness, We are the multitude and finesse of blackness.

Die, Insect! Will Pierce Pen and Ink Drop Forsyth Park Haydn Schroader West Givens Navy Pier Skyline Colored Pencil Photography Angie Harri Photography 26 27

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 26 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 27 5/2/16 9:25 AM “What Can I Get for You?” Where the Heart Should Be Allison Brown Reagan Poston First Place—Essay Competition There’s a lady at the counter Who stands taking orders all day. he road home is elusive and foggy. What the road “Remember when you got stuck in the laundry Kind and rude, young and old, T looks like depends on where I’m heading. If I’m head- chute?” I ask, hands clenched tight around the steering “What can I get for you?” ing back to my house, the 1024-square-foot lodging wheel. My brother laughs. She’s finishing another coffee But she’s failing her classes my mother works hard to make home, the road is not “Mom had half her body in so she could hold my Her rent needs paying, so: unbearably long. Only fifty-four miles stretch between hand while the carpenter cut me out.” I was less than Photobomb “What can I get for you?” where I am and where I’d rather be, and the distance is three at the time; all that the memory is, is blurry colors Angie Harri Breathing by heaving usually bearable. If I’m heading to my grandparents’, and sections of stories I’ve heard other people tell, yet, Photography Through cancerous lungs the homey stretch of land on which I took my first steps still I laugh as the memory swells up around me. Their coffee needs stirring, and learned to ride a bike, the drive takes barely half an “You deserved it,” I tell him without pity. “You “What can I get for you?” hour. Even so, if I’m headed home, home to Onaga, the were trying to convince me to get in there.” My brother, She works twelve-hour shifts a day little Kansas town where my dad built his business and nuisance that he was—is, forever will be—had all Dancing on the Factory Floor Struggling to make a way, the two-story masterpiece we lived in, the drive takes a kinds of awful ideas to get us in trouble. Carly Sneed No customer knows her story, bit longer. Eight hundred and seventeen miles separate “You wouldn’t have gotten stuck,” he says with “What can I get for you?” First Place—Poetry Competition me from Onaga; eight hundred and seventeen miles a shrug, and I cannot help the incredulous laugh that The lady at the counter made my coffee, swell between me and that old wrap-around porch, the leaves my lips. Drooping eyes, and her silent cry, Working with my dad on sticky August mornings, tree that brandishes my initials like “You’re right! I would have Muted by: we swayed and sweated to the beat of heat presses. a tattoo, and the people who would fallen the three floors from the attic The screens for shirts lifted with hydraulic hisses, “What can I get for you?” still know my name if I pulled my to the cellar!” He shrugs, a smile like cats in the night but steadier. “I hope it doesn’t hair back in pigtails and walked on his face. “Remember Rory from With the whir of a thousand paper airplanes cutting through air, boards of shirts swung exactly sixty degrees left. down the street singing about little feel like home down the street?” I ask, half a state Then massive metal arms plunked down, Bo Peep and her lost lambs—yes, and two candy bars later. dropping with the heavy groan of grandfather falling into recliners. lambs. Eight hundred and seventeen anymore…” “I remember Rory’s hot older The reluctant clang of metal provided beats to the dance. miles covering nearly ten years sister,” he replies, grinning ahead at wait between me and Onaga, but the road. On the edges of the shop floor, people would gather. Mayberry towns like that never really leave a person on “Gross,” I toss back, and we go back and forth “Now, I just heard they were moving churches!” their own. from there. might rise above the rhythm of the presses, echoing off the high-domed ceiling and reaching our corner. My family and I have lived in many places: Dancy, “I wonder if my room is still blue.” “You know, she’s behind on her paperwork. which I swear is a real town; Olive Branch, in a house “I hope they left the tire swing.” Been drawn up in a knot about that boyfriend of hers.” walking distance from the Tennessee line; Inverness, “I bet they finally had to pave the driveway.” Their gossip was to our ears with mosquitos as big as my palm; Memphis, with one “I wonder if our heights are still nicked into your what movement is to the corner of your eye. king-sized bed for five kids; Conway, for a short busi- door frame.” ness bankruptcy; Mathiston, when we could not stand “I hope it doesn’t feel like home anymore,” he says Dad and I just focused on our dance. on our own; Mantee, when we could; and Onaga, the when it is his turn, and strangely enough, I know what As the hydraulics lifted, I folded a printed shirt onto a belt, while he smoothed one onto the press with meticulous motions. friendly little town to which I was first brought home. he means. Onaga still feeling like home would mean With the whirring rotation we paused and swayed, Atop the hill that is Leonard Street sits the house my having to rip ourselves away again and face the hurt maybe bent our knees to test for stiffness. father built from the foundation up, and now, I am with as much difficulty as the first time. Even so, the As the press clunked back down with a bang, heading back with my brother next to me. We’ll take time to change our minds is drawing short as the 817 we moved on the beat, Dad grabbing another shirt to load Altum the thirteen-hour drive in shifts so we do not have to miles become nothing but town blocks. while my hands found the corners of a printed one. stop, and to keep the other awake on the endless roads, I am driving again, coasting along the roads I no Then, like the circling swing of the press, Katelyn Jackson we tell stories. longer know, the roads I realize I never knew. They we just went round and around. Photography 28 29

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 28 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 29 5/2/16 9:25 AM have changed in the ten, thirty, one hundred years I the post, E-R-I-C, in blocky handwriting. He smiles a have been gone. The little library at the end of Main bit, but I begin to cry, the ache in my chest deep and Goodbye, Marnie Street has since burned to the ground, and the park painful. I am not staring at his bed; I am staring at our Joy Cariño where I spent many afternoons playing with my brother heights nicked into his door frame. I am staring at the Second Place—Short Story Competititon and sister is unkempt with trash and overgrown grass. years of memories that no longer live here, no longer andy didn’t know why Marnie was packing her were thankful for. Just the day before, Marnie had I glance at my brother, but he is staring at the broken live anywhere. S things. She watched Marnie from the hallway, through picked her up from school and had taken her to a frozen swings, the rusted jungle gym. He is staring at the When we leave the house, we check into a motel an opening in Marnie’s bedroom door. She wanted to yogurt place, a rare occasion. Usually, Marnie had band broken and rusted symbols of his childhood, but when room a few hours away because neither of us feels able ask if Marnie could take her to the frozen yogurt place practice after school or a math club meeting. Marnie he looks back to me, he forces a smile. to stay in Onaga, not when my favorite Sunday school again next week, but most importantly, Sandy wanted was always busy. Three more minutes along the hilly and haunted teacher offered to buy us coffee, not when the owner of to ask if Marnie was okay. Sandy understood that Marnie was her sister, roads, and at last, we are there and staring up at the the hardware store called Eric by name after ten years. It was late evening after dinner. Sandy saw that twelve years older and twelve years wiser. Marnie had house, The House. My brother steps out of the car As we lie in our respective beds that night, I know my Marnie only had her desk lamp on, the light bathing the brown hair and wide eyes, while Sandy had black hair first; I am too shocked, too horrified even to breathe. brother is not sleeping. I can hear his thoughts from room in a dim green tint. Marnie tied her long brown and thin eyes, but that didn’t change the fact that they I am staring up at it through the glaze of dirt on the across the room. hair into a tight ponytail and grabbed her suitcase were sisters. Sandy also knew that Father was married from the closet. It was the suitcase Sandy loved to sit to another wife before Mother, but Sandy wasn’t a part windshield, but there is no mistaking the house before “It didn’t feel like home,” I murmur finally, and inside while Marnie rolled her around the house. Sandy of that life. me, as much as I wish I were mistaking it. The house through the darkness, I can see his eyes flick open. watched as Marnie ripped the flower patterned sheets Maybe it had something to do with Mother yelling. before me is not my home. My home was sprawling, “Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks, and I turn from her bed, the ones she said Mother and Marnie yelled more white, clean, open and loving, warm, and never dull. away. she’d give to Sandy when she left “Marnie had brown often now. Yesterday when they ate The house before me is broken; its porch sags overhead, “I thought it was.” A moment passes; an eternity for college. Marnie stuffed the suit- at the frozen yogurt place, Sandy and its doors hang off-center from the hinges. Cigarette passes. “It’s worse knowing I don’t have a home,” and case with clothing from her closet hair and wide eyes, asked Marnie why she and Mother butts and broken beer bottles cover the steps of brick by the slow shutting of his eyes, I know he knows what along with hastily folded sheets. yelled so much. leading up to the front door. The fresh, white paint my I mean. s Mother would scold her because while Sandy had black “She just doesn’t like me,” father coated atop the wood is yellowed and cracked; she always wanted the sheets folded hair and thin eyes, but Marnie shrugged. “I’m different the windows I spent Saturday mornings watching my with a crisp crease. Mother would from you, Sandy, and I’ve made also scold Marnie for ravaging different choices for myself, now mother scrub clean to the cadence of her voice have that didn’t change the through the color coded closet, that I’m older. Mother doesn’t like fallen victim to the rocks of neighborhood kids. throwing clothes here and there. fact that they were things that are different. It’s out of As the lump in my throat threatens to choke me, Then again, Mother has been scold- order for her.” I brave my first step inside the house. The interior is ing Marnie more often lately. sisters.” Sandy didn’t understand, but not in much better condition than the exterior. Where Sandy didn’t understand why she knew Marnie could handle our family photos once hung, there is now a barren and Marnie was leaving now. Maybe Marnie was going anything. Marnie could drive, and she did well in dusty stretch of wall, riddled with nail holes and termite for a sleepover. But why would she need such a big school. What else could Mother ask for? hollows. Where there was once our coffee table and suitcase? Plus, it was a Tuesday, and there was school Even so, while Sandy sat in her room to read a couch covered in Mom’s hand-stitched pillows, there tomorrow. Sandy watched as Marnie packed textbook book or arrange her LEGO houses, she could hear after textbook into her backpack. Marnie had told Mother and Marnie yelling. Their household happen- now lies an abandoned and broken bookshelf along Sandy she was going to college next year, and Sandy ings occurred in a predictable schedule. If Marnie with a rug of crumpled newspaper covering what was remembered Marnie telling her that college would be didn’t have band practice, she would pick Sandy up once a shiny, ever-waxed floor. My brother takes my like school, except you live there. Sandy would miss from school, and they would both go home. Sandy hand, and together we make our way through the rest of her older sister’s bright smile in the mornings. would ask to play LEGOs with Marnie. Marnie would the house. The kitchen is water-stained and ruined. The Marnie looked up and caught Sandy’s eyes. Marnie say no with a sad smile, reply that she had to finish her hallway is scuffed and sticky with smoke stain. The Blossom in the Dew walked to the door and opened it wider. Sandy looked homework, and retreat to her bedroom, door shut. laundry chutes have been boarded up on every level of Ella Stone up. She could see Marnie’s unemotional expression Mother would come home shortly after and prepare the house, and I am running out of faith. But at the top Honorable Mention—Drawing behind the glint of her thick glasses. Marnie slammed dinner in the kitchen. Sandy would play LEGOs in her of the stairs, my beacon of hope: one room remains. Scratchboard the door. room, and sometimes, Mother would come upstairs The door creaks as it is pushed open, but the walls The white door was decorated with Marnie’s name and yell. Once, they yelled about Marnie’s room being in sparkling letters and a crayon drawing that Sandy messy. are still blue beneath the layers of dust, and the bed that drew of Marnie today in school when the teacher “It’s filthy in here! But what else should I expect…I we could not take with us still has his name carved into instructed the class to make a card for someone they didn’t raise you myself.” 30 31

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 30 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 31 5/2/16 9:25 AM But Sandy knew Marnie kept her room neat and “I’m old enough to make my own choices,” she tidy like Mother liked it. Sandy loved looking through said. There was silence. Father put down his spoon, his Trade The Author her sister’s closet and counting the colors in order eyes closed. Makayla Raby Maliah Wilkinson from red to violet. Lately, however, they yelled about “Not until you’re out of this house,” his voice Honorable Mention—Poetry Competition Marnie’s school grades. boomed, “Sandy, go upstairs for a bit.” The smell of oil and dust waft through the air as the pensive “Why aren’t your grades as good as they used to be, Terrified, Sandy slipped out of her chair and ran Daddy smiled scowl on his face deepens into a discouraging frown and hah?! What are you doing with your time up here? But up the stairs. She looked down upon the scene, the as he stuffed the finally into a look of overwhelming disgust. rusted trunk full what else should I expect…I didn’t raise you myself.” blue checkerboard tablecloth with a flower vase in the His balding head, sprinkled with the few strands of hair of green, frayed But Sandy knew Marnie worked hard every day. middle, the dining room light creating a soft golden remaining from his youth, shines with sweat even though the suitcases and Marnie always completed her homework, and she went glow on the table. It looked so peaceful. She watched window sits ajar. The winter wind seeps through the cracks plastic Walmart to math club meetings every Tuesday and band practice Marnie stand to place her half-empty bowl into the sacks, double bagged. in the floor and, like the Reaper’s hand, chills his spine and sink. Mother’s thin lips parted into a yell. She called every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. He spit out clutches his hand in its icy grip. Yesterday, Mother’s yelling included another Marnie wasteful and disrespectful. These were the black sludge Years upon years of writing have taken their toll and gnarled matter. Cell phones and another name, a boy’s name but yells that Sandy had heard from her bedroom, but she onto the dry, once straight fingers into animal-like claws with swollen not Father’s name. never thought they were this loud or this real. Sandy cracking dirt blisters and yellowed callouses. Disgusted with his inability to “Who is Ethan? Why won’t you let me look through backed away. She wanted to say something but didn’t and muttered, properly maintain his grip on the quill, as the cold continues your cell phone? Nothing in this house will be hidden know how. Sandy knew Marnie. She was the best sister “Don’t go city to set in, he swings his arm wildly scattering papers onto the from me!” in the world. She shouldn’t be yelled at for something on me, girly.” floor and clutching his throbbing hand close to his chest. They would argue, back and forth, angry voices so small. Besides, Marnie was twelve years older and He grabbed One page sits aloft on the aged desk. The light flickers and the rattling and muffled between Sandy’s light pink twelve years wiser. my pale, uncovered shoulders candle begins to dissolve into a liquid wax; he doesn’t have bedroom wall and Marnie’s green bedroom wall. Sandy Sandy thought of all this while staring at Marnie’s much time to complete his life’s work before his only source of didn’t know what to do, but she wished they would stop, closed door. Questions racing through her mind, she and pulled me tight against him. light escapes him. but the schedule would continue. As soon as Father’s car returned to her own bedroom and waited. Maybe His sweat soaked Ignoring the pain in his fingers as it begins to creep up his arm lights shone through the window, the yelling stopped. Marnie was just upset . Maybe Mother will feel better my shirt and he snatches the nearest quill and dips it into the molten ink Then the family would all come downstairs and eat after Father talks to her . Maybe everything will go back I sniffed one coating the tip and begins to write. the dinner Mother prepared: rice and fish soup, curry to normal again, and Marnie can take me to get frozen last gulp of him. The fluidity of the letters caresses the page forming thoughts and rice. Everything would go back to normal, calm yogurt or play LEGOs with me again, Sandy hoped. Pine, sweat, and beer. of love, sorrow, apprehension, and pain. Still gripping the quill and collected. Sandy would take the placemats from After a few minutes, Sandy heard the suitcase roll- He released me his hand begins to bleed as his nails dig into his palm. the kitchen drawers and arrange them in a neat square ing down the hallway, clicking on the wooden floor, and I hopped into around the table. Marnie would set the table with clean clunking down the staircase, banging with each step. the decaying A raven caws in the distance, ships dock at port, lives end, and white bowls and silverware. Mother would bring the Sandy ran out of her room. Marnie stood at the bottom Buick Century. the author continues to write despite the blood oozing onto the food, steam rising from the rice, spicy aroma filling the of the stairs with loaded backpack on her back, suitcase Momma slapped on page. air. They would sit together and tell each other about in one hand, red umbrella in the other. her sunglasses their days. Father would talk. Marnie would reply. “If it were up to me, I would have left a long time and lit up her Mother would reply, then Sandy would reply. Mother ago,” said Marnie. She faced Mother. cigarette, pulling would complain about Marnie, and Father would reply “You never belonged here anyway,” said Mother. onto Highway 15. I watched as the with a shrug. Father always listened to Mother. Father stood behind them, his face without emotion. trees were traded “You’re right, I guess,” he’d say, chewing on his Marnie looked to Sandy, “Sorry.” for towers, the Sandy didn’t understand why she was saying sorry; spoon. flowers for cars, Tonight’s dinner was different. Mother and Marnie she hadn’t done anything wrong to her. Mother should and the animals talked to each other, arguing about something silly. be saying sorry to Marnie. for people. Sandy was reminded of the fights schoolchildren have “Sandy, maybe we’ll get frozen yogurt again some I traded my during recess over who had the most friends or who had other time.” down-home roots the nicest clothes. There was no point; they just wanted Sandy nodded. Maybe Marnie was coming back for opportunities to make each other mad. later, “Come back soon, okay?” not found amongst “Marnie has been keeping secrets,” accused “I’ll try,” she replied. the deer, the oaks, Mother. Marnie looked up. Father slurped soup from his With that, Sandy looked on as Marnie opened the or the Indian Summers. bowl. Sandy looked at Marnie, confused. Marnie’s face front door, hoisted her suitcase behind her, and walked Half a Headlight was calm. out into the night. s But I never went city on him. West Givens 32 Photography 33

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 32 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 33 5/2/16 9:25 AM Tan Lines The Other Side Michelle Li Angie Harri Third Place—Essay Competition Honorable Mention—Short Story Competition June in Mississippi is hell on Earth. Heat bounces off ceremony. I am standing next to my mother hugging the steaming sidewalks, creating an illusion of waver- my two “Highest Average” certificates to my chest The seawater flirts with the shore, testing out the “Because I know what it feels like not being able to ing images. Even the birds are silent and the grass and smiling at the camera, while my mother is smil- sand, retracting a second later. Jesse’s feet skim the breathe underwater.” The pain would start in his lungs, stands still as if too hot to move. ing at me. If I squint my eyes and look closely, I can frothy white water that uncovers crabs from a thin begging him to relieve them of the torture. His body The sweltering sun beats down upon a small child, just make out the faint tan lines that mar her arms, layer of grains. The crabs shimmy back into the sand would try to take over and take a breath, but he’d have heating her rosy cheeks until they are as bright as the arms that shielded me from the scorching Mississippi then surface seven seconds later. Jesse’s always been to stop it or water would fill his lungs. That’s how it felt cardinal that has caught her attention. A young mother sun, arms that carried me across the Pacific. Those mesmerized by the way the crabs keep digging after not to breathe underwater. Suffocation; that’s how his scurries behind the child, catching her daughter’s arms have guided me all my life and those tan lines chubby fingers before she can chase after the bright red remind me of the dream she gave up so that I could being discovered by the water time and time again. brother died, so how could he experience that during bird. They wait for the bus. follow mine. If she had the courage to leave everything Jesse’s wearing his swim trunks today, the ones practice and act like it didn’t affect him? How could he The woman takes a flyer off the bus-stop billboard she’d ever known and move across an ocean, then I can with the blue flowers. His fingers trace the outline of go to practice when his brother wasn’t in the lane next and uses it to fan the child’s burning cheeks. Her other muster up the courage to run for SGA President. If she, a flower, and then spell out his brother’s name. Peter. to him? hand bunches up the silk fabric of her own shirt— a forty-one year old immigrant, can return to school His brother bought the trunks for Jesse last year, before “Come on, Jesse, you’re making it too easy for bought across the ocean in a life she left behind—to and earn an A on every Public Speaking assignment it happened. Jesse takes a sharp step backwards as the me,” Peter said as he dunked another two into the gently wipe the child’s sticky forehead. given in a language she hasn’t yet spoken a decade, memory is brought to the front of his mind. Why did basket . Jesse grabbed the rebound but only made it The bus is taking longer than usual, and the child then I can manage taking one more AP course. Her becomes restless. Sweat beads on the young woman’s unwavering faith pushes me to believe in myself, and we have to move to Florida? They had moved from halfway across the court before his brother snatched forehead and slowly trickles down the sides of her face, her actions inspire me to be the best I can be in all my Southern California after his brother drowned in an the ball back . Peter ran to the 3-point-line, took a shot, stinging her eyes. She angles her body to shield the endeavors. With every A on my Chemistry lab reports, open water swimming accident. and turned around to look at Jesse child’s sensitive skin from the scorching rays, her own every medal I earn at piano recitals, and every dollar I His parents believed it would be before Peter heard the swish of arms bearing the brunt of the sun’s anger. raise for Operation Smile, I am slowly paying tribute to best to leave behind anything that “Because I know the net behind him . Their laughter Despite all this, the child whines softly, squirming every shade my mother’s skin has darkened. reminded the family of his broth- echoed in the court . in her mother’s grasp, “Mama, it’s hot.” So whenever I struggle with a Calculus problem or what it feels like not er’s passing; so why did we move Jesse snapped out of his “I know, baobei.” Sensing the child’s mounting my backhand in tennis, I grit my teeth and remember distress, the woman smiles and says, “How about I tell the sacrifices a woman with uneven tan lines has made to a state surrounded by water? being able to breathe memory and saw his friends’ heads you a story?” for me. s Jesse snapped out of his thoughts underwater.” bobbing up and down between The child brightens immediately. “Tell me about as a shriek of laughter pierced his the waves as they were swimming when you lived in the tall tower!” thoughts. Cara. He twiddled his back to the mainland. Watching So the woman begins her tale of a land far away. fingers. people swim made him nervous; he found himself She stands on her toes and stretches her arm as high as A group of Jesse’s friends had decided to swim to spelling a word out on his thumb with his pointer she can to imitate her family’s apartment on the twenty- an island 500 meters from the mainland; basking in the finger: drowned. first floor. She talks of the street vendors that crowded every corner and the scent of roast duck and steamed sun got boring after a while. He didn’t have the cour- Cara was the first one out of the water. buns that permeated the alleyways. Her eyes mist over age to enter the sea, though, and his newfound fear of “Hey, Jesse, we’re going to run to our houses and when she speaks of family and friends whom she may sinking beneath the weight of the water conquered any get some things so we can camp out on the island. never see again. tug of valor he had. Back in California, Jesse used to Interested?” The child’s eyes widen in alarm and she reaches for be one of the best on his swim team, never missing a “I don’t know…I think I’m just gonna go back her mother’s face, “If you miss the tower so much, why practice and always encouraging the other swimmers. home.” did you leave?” He stopped practicing the day his brother drowned, and “Oh, okay.” He hated hearing the disappointment The woman smiles through wet eyes, “Because we will have a better life here. Because I want my baobei it was like losing a part of himself. No more two-hour in her voice. Cara had first caught his attention when to grow up in a land of freedom and opportunity.” practices, weekend swim meets, or casual locker room he moved to Florida; her eyes, small oceans, hooked Befuddled, the child simply wraps her arms around conversations. A big part of his life ended, with no him in. He wanted to know everything about her: her her mother and buries her face in cool silk. She is too Hibiscus promise of returning. doubts, her fears, her biggest secrets. He’d see her ride young to understand, but someday she will. Haydn Schroader “Why are you scared of drowning if you can her skateboard to town, just to get an ice pop, which I keep a photograph in my dorm room at school. swim?” people would ask. usually marked a spot on her shirt seconds after the It was taken just a couple years ago at an awards First Place—Drawing 34 Pencil 35

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 34 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 35 5/2/16 9:25 AM coins were dropped in the register; she didn’t care. Her knees were scarred from mistakes Dressing Up The Journalist’s Tragedy on the concrete; the white scars made a stark Greg Parker Griffin Emerson contrast against her tan skin. Cara had a sense Honorable Mention—Short Story Competition Sometimes I can’t walk around six times in my phone’s of adventure that drew others to her and when without catching someone staring. front camera she spoke, no one wanted to end the conversa- The Alpha Delta Phi fraternity had hung a “No you’re not. J-Journalists don’t do this.” and stare at my reflection tion. Was the adventure worth the risk? Confederate flag in pointless defiance. A pleasant “Well, I do.” I never know for sure why they stare, when I get to a bathroom His friends returned with tents, sleeping breeze ruffled the flag, causing it to fight against the Blam. The door swung and fitted into the frame, and I know I shouldn’t care, but … for ten minutes bags, food, and other supplies needed for an pole. Nikka climbed the marble steps and tapped on blocking out the small woman. Click. Click. Click. The until I find something overnight stay on the island. Jesse sat watch- the white oak door, ignoring the flag. The door swung door locked in three separate places. Nikka uttered, Maybe I’m just paranoid. wrong. open to reveal a monstrous football player wearing a “Typical.” She turned and descended the marble steps. ing the crabs dig into the sand as his friends baseball cap with brim turned back. Slightly surprised The blaring sun was blocked out by her overhang- paddled out on a boat full of supplies for the This attention so many give me Then I don’t think about it at seeing a small woman, head wrapped in a burka, his ing burka. She climbed into her rusted Nissan Ultima, overnight island escapade. He’s wanted to can’t keep me down, though, until meaty head turned and roared, “IT’S NOT MAGGIE” reviewed her notes, tightened her seat belt, and sput- talk to Cara for a while, and the perfect but because I spent years being put down. someone asks me why I into the depths of the Fraternity House. Soon after- tered away. impossible opportunity was now right in front changed. wards, a loud “Thank god,” echoed from somewhere —— of him. Is it really impossible? His fingers I spent years and years in thundering in the building. Nikka did not have his attention. His The sun dunked below the horizon, casting an spelled out her name while his feet led him storms of Because what do you care head swung back around to the small notepad-wielding array of golden light across the cloud-rimmed sky. into the water, past the crabs and up to where “weird” and “faggot” and of what I wear? woman at the doorstep. Before he could breathe, she Nikka sat inside her apartment, prodding the keys of the water lapped at his knees. “blasphemous” and disgusted looks Of this sweater to whether prompted a simple question: “Jack Mitchell, what can her keyboard, occasionally taking swigs from the glass His legs moved as if they had minds of and “that’s gay.” this god-awful weather you tell me about your mother?” bottle to her right. Around her were stale, white plaster their own; left, right, left. Jesse stopped before because with these colors The massive football player walls covered in framed newspa- he reached the downward slope of sand that So I endured the decade-long storm together was transformed into a weak, help- per articles, all detailing horrific dipped two feet, where he had to start swim- less boy as he staggered, eyes “Nikka yanked open of homophobia pouring down on me I feel just fine. circumstances. Two emails had ming. Now or never, man . Now or never. He wide open. Obviously, he was not been sent from her email, both in a littered ocean of old blue jeans, her desk drawer and pushed off the sandy bottom and started swim- expecting such an emotional bomb to the Iranian newspaper “Aftab and dark clouds of graphic tees You have no power of what ming towards the island. His arms strained to come from such a small woman. Yazd.” Nikka was a reporter, she and muddy Nikes I am, removed a snub-nose against the salty sea but muscle memory She had his attention. “Wha- What had told the unfortunate frat boy, so I would not fit the stereotype. no control of me hour to helped him swim without having to think do you mean? Why- Who are you?” revolver.” but she was not employed by any hour about what he was doing. The waves threat- “It’s a simple question, Jack,” United States business. Tracking But then at my new home because I will allow myself ened to overtake him, but he forgot about she retorted monotonously, “I’ll break it down; do you down and reporting on devastating and horrifying the Blue Waves washed away to cower as you tower over them once he heard her laugh. So close . His know what happened to your mother?” news stories in the United States was her job, and those the litter and the mud, me. feet were able to touch the bottom again and “Ye-yeah.” reports went on to remind the Iranian people of how and I dressed as me. he breathed a sigh of relief. The tug of valor “And what was that?” terrible life in the United States must be. She couldn’t I will wear what I want made it through this time, though he was “…” complain, despite the anxiety, she was paid well and I dressed with a white button-up, with any color, thankful there was a boat he could ride back to “What was that, Jack?” was able to leave her native country. Her husband and a purple V-neck sweater over it, with no other’s say; the mainland. He came up onto the sand and “She sh-shot my stepdad in the n-neck. Twice.” son called her on occasions. In this new connected age, and a yellow bowtie I will not change noticed crabs digging their temporary homes Nikka was quick to note the boy’s shaking on her 11,000 kilometers is nothing. with my best brown slacks because it is gay. on the island also. notepad, “Now, how does it make you feel that your Nikka exhaled a deep sigh of relief; she had met and my hair combed back. Because gay is not a “You came!” Cara said. mother was acquitted?” her quota for the day. One case of domestic homicide synonym for crappy. “Yeah,” he said. “S-she’s my mother.” He stated this as if Nikka was and a school shooting, or maybe school bombing would And all I can think about is your smirk “Will you stay ’til the morning?” His meant to understand something. be more appropriate wording. Nikka took a drink of the when you look at me. “As for the government, are you angry at the fingers said yes the same time his mouth dark liquid from her glass bottle. She leaned back into It’s not a friendly one, American Government for not imprisoning your her chair and her dark brown eyes darted over the rows did while the moonlight glinted off the navy and I shouldn’t let it bug me, mother?” of framed articles. One featured the story about a four waves. The ocean didn’t seem so scary from but all I can do is look at myself “W-who are you?” year old found in a ditch and another a double homi- this side. s “I’m a journalist, now-“ cide in Overland Park. She took a drink. To the right 36 37

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 36 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 37 5/2/16 9:25 AM was a burglary, a robbery and a rape combined. Drink. “You look like you got punched or something, your Following that was a triple homicide and a story on the eyes are all black and blue.” The Piano Teacher with No Concept of Time homeless of Los Angeles. Drink. On the next row was “It’s just work,” she stated. Joy Cariño a mass suicide and a horrifying outburst of domestic “Oh, yeah, what do you do?” Second Place—Essay Competition violence. Drink. The next frame… Normally, Nikka would have walked away if some- ou’ve got to learn to listen. No, you’re not listen- to Beethoven concertos, Mrs. Dixie reserved her deep- Suddenly, a loud creak echoed through her house. one had asked her that but there was nobody behind “Y ing,” interrupted Mrs. Dixie as I dove headfirst into est love for Jesus Christ and never hesitated to tell her She wasn’t alone. Nikka yanked open her desk drawer her in line and the court was more or less empty. The “Clair de Lune.” I always thought that playing piano students this fact. and removed a snub-nose revolver. Both this handgun guy behind the counter seemed innocent enough, and involved listening by default, but apparently I was not. For a music teacher who could juggle rhythms and and the one under her mattress had never been fired. this was her chance to get all of this off her chest. She “See, Mother was blind…” she began, launching into time signatures with mastered skill and poise, Mrs. The apartment was only two rooms, the living room/ let loose. For a little over ten minutes, she ranted about a lengthy story of her childhood that somehow related Dixie had no concept of time. My parents no longer kitchen and her bedroom. Nikka slowly and stealthily, the propagandists back home and the terrible things to the dynamic quality of Schumann or Debussy. bothered with picking me up at the planned “end of like a cat, walked to her room, revolver in hand. She she had seen or heard, the life that she left in Iran with We would continue, but I still did not understand the got closer to the dark bedroom: Images flashed into her family and the terrible, lonely world she lived now. lesson” hour. They knew Mrs. Dixie would keep me her head of what she had seen throughout her career. Most importantly, Nikka finally admitted to herself and concept of “listening.” It seemed like something only forty-five minutes late, pointing out my sloped back, The nasty, the depraved, the horrific. They flooded into to this random stranger that she, Nikka Karimi, had a Mrs. Dixie Clark could teach, but now that I live away drooping fingers, and lack of musicality. I couldn’t help her head as if a dam broke. Her burka was damp with drinking problem. By the time her rant came to a close, from home in a public residential high school, there that my fingers would fall and my strained eyes would sweat. her sweet & sour chicken was sitting at the takeout is only so much time I can dedicate to listening. For fail after an hour of staring at black and white keys or The door flung open and Nikka stood with revolver counter, already cold. She hadn’t even paid the cashier having studied under a teacher who devoted her life to faded sheet music. Yet, Mrs. Dixie’s southern drawl extended in both hands. Her other hand struck the light yet. “You know what, you seem like you’ve had a long teaching wonders of the piano, I urged my fingers forward and into switch and an empty room was exposed, empty besides week; it’s on me,” he said, while handing back her card. wish I’d been able to stay, to listen pages of Chopin nocturnes. the solitary mattress and a few stray stacks of clothing “What? No, it’s fine.” For the first time in months, to her longer. “Mrs. Dixie’s house When I reached ninth grade, in the corners. A leafy branch clawed at the window, Nikka was taken by surprise. When my parents decided Mrs. became a second Mrs. Dixie trusted me enough to let emitting a screech. Nikka examined her revolver before “Seriously, take your food. Have a great day, and do Dixie would be my piano teacher, me clean her house and make her clicking the safety and tossing it aside. This job was not consider leaving your job; it’s doin’ nothin’ for you.” Mrs. Dixie insisted I receive hour- home.” gluten-free sandwiches. Perhaps working out for her. She thanked him, took her bag of greasy Chinese long lessons although they cost she merely needed the extra hand —— fast food and took a seat in the food court. The cashier twice as much. In unending gener- when her husband died the summer The next afternoon, instead of pursuing a new was correct; this journalism lifestyle was a disaster for osity, she agreed to let my parents pay half the price for after my eighth-grade year and her breast cancer story, Nikka stood in the dining court of the local her. While munching on her chicken, she thought to three years. Soon, Mrs. Dixie’s house became a second returned. I remember having to Velcro her arm into a mall. After persistently calling through the night, her herself about the public perception of harm. The cashier home. Every week, I’d check for a glass container full cast that hindered her from playing the instrument she husband didn’t pick up his phone. Emotion and depres- had done something great for her, and that would most of chocolates on one of the wooden tables scattered loved. Despite her troubles, Mrs. Dixie held her head sion had welled up in her, so she decided to treat likely never be recorded. If he had done something throughout her tiny, homey living room. The tables high, smiled, and insisted that I practice more often herself. Chic-fil-a didn’t agree with her stomach but terrible, it would have made the news. She ranted to were crowded with Southern Living magazines, various and pay attention to what was written in the music. Her Panda Express certainly did. As she stood in line for herself, If we want society to improve, maybe we should versions of the Bible, and important files that should comments never dwindled in honesty or ferocity, and sweet & sour chicken, her mind drifted to her career. stop focusing entirely on the negatives, the abuse, have been turned in months before. If something got neither did she. the pain, and focus more on the positives . Maybe the The world was screwed up, and it was her job to expose lost in one of those piles, it might as well be lost in I realize that the path I’ve taken may not involve how corrupt it could be. But then again, seeing so much government of Iran should be less scared of its citizens space. For a music teacher who could organize musi- the piano as intimately as I would like, but I strive to death and destruction must take a toll on people. She sympathizing with the United States and try to actu- cal thoughts and phrases into beautiful melodies, Mrs. hold onto what Mrs. Dixie has taught me. I’m learn- could really use a drink. ally improve . For once, maybe they could base their Dixie could never organize her belongings. ing to practice more often, to make time for polishing. Nikka stepped up to the counter, addressed the government off something that radiates well-being and Mrs. Dixie kept her appearance neat, prim, and as Mrs. Dixie taught me to pay acute attention to what’s young man behind the counter, and requested her not something as horrendous as a theocratic repub- upstanding as any Mississippi woman could. Her hot- written, instead of skimming through assignments to sweet & sour chicken. He peered at her for a moment, lic . Her mind was made; a letter of resignation would pink jewel earrings swung back and forth as her fingers check off a to-do list. Most importantly, I am learning before typing in the order. His red Panda Express hat be drafted by the end of the day. After finishing her rolled across the piano, playing her original gospel to “listen,” whether to calculus equations, to Beowulf cast a shadow over his blue eyes. “That will be $12.87. chicken, Nikka stood up and walked out of the Mall’s arrangement of “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” lectures, or to a friend. In remembering Mrs. Dixie’s Ma’am, are you doing alright?” food court with purpose. Her yellow notepad was left She sang the lyrics in magnificent warbling soprano. stubborn emphasis on listening, her insistence for She handed him her Iranian debit card. on the table. s Though she loved teaching music theory, telling minute excellence, and her bright attitude, I strive to be the by minute stories of her exercise progress, and listening pianist—and listener—she would want to hear. s 38 39

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 38 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 39 5/2/16 9:25 AM for an embrace—hoping she would be overcome by Meanus Myles his sincerity and forgive him. Pat stopped flailing in Summar McGee Meanus’ arms, her breath hot against his ear as she whis- Delta blues floated through the air. Mr. Meanus Four hours and six shots of whiskey later, Meanus pered something soft and slow. Just as Meanus pulled Tough Love hummed B.B. King’s guitar solo through scattered was loose and fumbling. He found himself eyeing a her in close—believing things had turned around for Michelle Li teeth. He sat on the railing of the dingy white porch as woman in the corner whose blouse was cut a bit too low him—he felt something clamp down on the top of his he reached into his worn leather boots and pulled out and whose eyes looked a little too willing. Regardless, right ear. Sudden, explosive pain pushed him into uncon- The limp vegetable floats in murky broth a balled-up church program defaced with hieroglyphic Meanus walked toward her as if he was being pushed sciousness. Meanus was alone; beside him on the floor like a bloated corpse in swamp water. scrawl. Popping the collar of his tobacco-scented flan- by an invisible force. Even knowing this, he continued. lay a bloody piece of gristle. “Eat it now,” you demand, nel shirt to shield his neck from the heat, he wiped the As he drew closer to the woman, he recognized her by Now Meanus rocked back on the porch railing grit- words staccato, tone harsh. sweat from his brow with wrinkled brown fingers, the scar on her left leg. The woman in the corner was ting his teeth and humming louder than ever to drown I scrunch my nose, lips pressed together tight. squinted at the yellow paper, and pulled a cordless “Juicy Jane,” one of Bubba’s Juke Joint’s famous attrac- out his thoughts, his body shaken and worn from the phone out of his bleach-stained Levi pocket. He dialed tions. Meanus found himself scattin’ to the beat with memory. This time, though, it was just him and the Thwap . s the number and leaned back against the wooden Jane. He put his hands around her robust waist and Blues. No Pat. No whiskey. No Jane. And no ear. Chopsticks smack the back of my hand column, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for a dipped her. Jane’s legs went flying in the air as Meanus sharp and severe response. No answer. He scowled. leaned in for a sloppy kiss. By then it was nearing like your eyes when they gaze upon “ I hate when boys call for hay an don’t come pick midnight and Meanus was drenched in sweat; he wasn’t the first “B” I make in Biology. it up,”Mr. Meanus mumbled under his breath. quite sure whether it was from scattin’ or the whiskey, I try to tell you it’s the highest grade in my class As Mr. Meanus slid the cordless phone down his but he didn’t care. All Meanus knew was what felt good but the furrow remains between your brows, face, his pinky finger brushed the top of his right ear. here and now—scattin’ with Juicy Jane. and I lose my phone for two weeks. He stopped. He stood statuesque moving only to run Meanus scanned the dim, musky room for his “Again,” you command, his finger on the forked portion of his right ear again brother, Bobby. Mid-search, Jane slinked a chunky as my sore fingers protest against ivory keys and again. Meanus finally let out brown hand around two of Meanus’ and my vision swims with F-sharps and half-notes. a phlegmy cough and flinched, fingers and guided him to the bar. I hit the right chords, finally, ever so slightly, as he began to “…he was hit with Meanus was just about to take but you just point to the next measure. reminisce. another shot when a short, stout, the scent of Pat’s “Claire’s mom let her go to the party!” I whine, Forty-four years later and he shadowy figure pushed open the Ventus fingers fisting the new dress I bought for the occasion. still remembered. He remembered floral perfume and a back door of the juke joint. He Katelyn Jackson You shrug, voice cold, every detail of that day as if he squinted to try to make out who it strong left hook.” Photography were still there. He remembered was. As the figure moved closer “You are not Claire.” the deep-set rage in Pat’s glare. He Meanus spotted the familiar hue Mascara streaking down flushed cheeks, remembered the pain that accompanied the wet, hot of bright pink sponge rollers. It was then that he real- I run from the living room, blood that poured down the side of his face, but most ized that the shadowy figure was his wife, Pat. A “I wish I was, so I wouldn’t have you as a mother!” of all he remembered the feeling of horror he felt when wave of belligerent explanation began to spill from You slip into my room later that night, he came to and saw it lying there on the floor—cold, his mouth. Before Meanus could get out a coher- and I pretend to be asleep foreign, and unattached. ent sentence, he was hit with the scent of Pat’s floral as you tuck the covers around my chin, Meanus and his brother, Bobby, had ridden to the perfume and a strong left hook. Wailing and begging press a lingering kiss to my temple, juke joint to “get a lil whiskey.” Meanus knew that “Pat for forgiveness, Meanus struggled to get Pat off of him. and in the darkness ain’t like him going to no juke joint,” but he thought Meanus attempted to grab Jane hoping that she would framed by slivers of moonlight, to himself, “I’m a grown man. A grown man can go help him fend off the spastic punches. As Meanus I understand the words you can’t say. to a juke joint an get a little whiskey if he John Brown started moving towards the door, Pat’s punches began The next day, Claire is sick with alcohol poisoning. please. I been on that plow all day, I ain’t gon let no to slow, which in Meanus’ experience meant that Pat woman tell me I can’t do nothing.” Meanus and Bobby was calming down and would be willing to talk over The Receiver pushed open the back door to the juke joint and walked the situation soon. So naturally Meanus headed back Gianni Stennis up to the bar. toward Pat and wrapped his hands around her waist 40 Honorable Mention—Photography 41

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 40 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 41 5/2/16 9:25 AM spirit. Without Order’s guidance, the fabric of society darkness and light, order and chaos became one in a Balancing Act unraveled. Without logic, fear ran rampant, destroying burst of flame. Laurel Lancaster hope in everyone’s heart. Each day brought uncer- After, it was Harmony who rose from the ashes. tainty and unrest; they went to bed wondering if the sun They looked upon the fragile, blue ball their mother Her name is Order. When she smiles, her white teeth they built or destroyed, treating life and death as noth- would rise again. There was no peace to be found, not had left them and was moved to tears. They cradled the shine like stars against the midnight darkness of her ing more than a game. How do you fear death when in this place where the moon and the stars might move planet with their spirit and began to rebuild their moth- skin. Each hair on her head forms a perfect spiral, curl- you cannot die? Together, they made their mother sick on a moment’s notice. er’s creation. Day by day, year after year, Harmony ing down to rest on her shoulders, not daring to stray with grief. The Earth was her world, her creation, but Balance was in anguish. Her children banished, healed the planet and the people who lived there. The from its place. Her voice, smoother than silk, never her children seemed bent on tearing it apart. As they her world in turmoil, she could not bear the sight. spirit wielded Order and Chaos, painting with passion wavers. Each sentence she speaks sounds like a pond got older, things only got worse; childish curiosity and Time went on; she grew weaker and weaker, trying to and precision to make a world perfectly imperfect. that never ripples, completely undisturbed. She keeps mischief transformed to reckless abandon and untamed sustain humanity on her own. When she had exhausted For they realized that true Balance was impossible. her head up and her shoulders back, steadfast, unbreak- will. everything, the spell broke, but her children would not Both sides of their story could not be told separately, able. Hers is a quiet power; every motion, every word When they fought, volcanoes erupted, seas return in time. Balance would die, her spirit dissolving but as one. They became as fire and ice, impossible that passes her lips is motivated by one thing: control. thrashed, overturning even the mightiest ships. Chaos into the stars, leaving her creation behind. The twins, for one to exist without the other. To this day, they Control supplies her strength, it gives her breath, it is would lash out in anger, and so would the people of reunited after so many years, embraced each other in rule. Not as warring siblings, destined to destroy woven into her very cells. From the rising of the sun the world, destroying each other for money, fame, and their grief. Chaos held his sister, sharing his love, his one another. But together as one heart and one spirit. till its setting, control holds onto her. And her name is power. He could not imagine everything being still strength. Order held her brother, sharing comfort in the Together, in perfect Harmony. s Order. and calm, with so much darkness and evil in the world. inevitable work of fate. In that moment, their spirits His name is Chaos. His copper hair mimics a There was no time for control when lives were at stake; fused together. Passion and peace, control and emotion, campfire, sparks of spikes flying he was blind to any flaw in his every which way, unwilling to plans. With a frantic mind and a obey. His skin shines brighter than “When they were gentle heart, Order would try to his blue eyes, like a star waiting to clean up her brother’s mess. She explode. His heart pounds a drum- children, they toyed stopped war, all wars, even ones beat into his chest, echoed by his with the world, fought for justice or freedom. She boots against the ground. Each wanted peace, direction, preci- Nocturnal Gaze thought that enters his mind only playing with the sion, no matter the cost. She did Zach Hodge adds to the noise inside his head; not understand that some things are fragile blue sphere White Charcoal silence is foreign to him, even worth fighting for; peace cannot be when he is alone. He is a raging like a cat with a wished for, it must be worked for, storm, bright lightning lashing out, with conviction and tenacity. voice booming like thunderclaps. ball of yarn.” Finally, their mother could take His aura is freer than the winds, no more. With one swift stroke, she driven by passion and emotion. separated the twins, casting them Everything we feel is magnified a thousand times in to opposite sides of the cosmos, rendering their powers him; emotion burns inside him like a wildfire that useless. Brother and sister were pulled apart for the first cannot be quenched. His is a power wild and free. And time in an eternity, cursed to lonesome exile. For the his name is Chaos. first time in a millennium, the world was still and quiet. Together, they are twins. Immortal siblings, Everything appeared to be fixed. conceived from Conflict and born of Balance, they are But Balance could not have been more wrong. The destined to rule together. When they were children, world, left to its own devices, was tearing itself apart. they toyed with the world, playing with the fragile There were no wars fought in the name of the fallen, blue sphere like a cat with a ball of yarn. They batted no rock concert crowds joined in song, neither love nor and tossed it around, sending the planet into turmoil. anger moved their hearts. The fire that runs through Peer They did not understand the consequences, the people man’s blood had burnt out without Chaos’s energy and Gianni Stennis 42 43 Photography

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 42 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 43 5/2/16 9:25 AM astronomy and mineral analysis, but I had grown up Flowers at the Service Poetry of Reality on the creation story in Christian mythos. Here lay Carly Sneed “Science is the poetry of reality.” – Richard Dawkins the most stressful piece: I wanted to believe what I Jason Necaise did before, but I couldn’t escape that I didn’t believe Yes, they had a very lovely service for her, in Christianity. I agree. Did you notice all of the flowers they had out? I have always been a quick study. When it came to were sure to instill in me the same values that they Like that girl said in third grade, I am atheist. Why, there were more flowers than people. academics, I never struggled to put ideas together; I grew up with, molding my belief system to be as But I learned while analyzing myself that usually found myself steps ahead of my teachers in narrow as theirs. I took what I was surrounded by as summer that I am not cold. No, I don’t think there Bouquets upon bouquets of fresh from the shop, class. From the properties of water in freshman biology simple fact: of course God is my lord, and Jesus his is a supernatural realm, but I do believe that there is fresh from the shop’s freezer, flowers . to vector field operations in calculus-based physics, son, the messiah. Of course the Bible is true and the real beauty in the mess that has unfolded since the They were in all array of colors, some more artful than learning is my comfort zone. When my physics class final authority. Of course Noah built the Ark to save Big Bang. others, some not even real .

started electromagnetism, I pieced together the induced the animals from the flood, and of course all mankind It didn’t make sense to me when I first asked There was a lovely bouquet of bright oranges and reds, electromotive force in a closed wire loop by resistance comes from Adam and Eve. I remember clearly being myself what I believed, but it does now. A creator loud and filling the room, but, you know, I think to change in magnetic field before my teacher had in third grade when a classmate heard I didn’t go to is not needed to give my life meaning. Friends and those started wilting first . Started pulling away gone over more than the definitions of a loop and church that Sunday. She gasped and asked, pointedly, family, playing percussion, learning new physics, the from their upright and righteous posture . flux. Chemical kinetic dependence on mole ratios of “Are you an atheist?!” Of course, I was quick to deny poetry of reality—these are what make my life worth products and reactants in single such an accusation, knowing living. These are what make my world make sense. s It wasn’t long before someone at the funeral home fixed ’em together with some string, pulling replacement reactions clicked from various social cues that it them tight together, making a presentable picture as soon as I saw the differential was ineffable to be atheist, what- for the guests . I wonder how tight they were pulled, equation describing reaction rates “Are you an atheist!?” ever it was. No room was left for in class. Throughout school—it all skepticism. I wonder how close they were to losing just made sense. Yet there I was, no more than the color in their leaves . They had The summers for me have been bittersweet: I often six years later, learning exactly what atheism meant. been laid so artfully next to her tombstone, enjoyed relaxing with nothing to do, but sometimes I The concept of not believing in God had been a distant but the next day they had fallen to the ground, would climb the wall to be occupied. Particularly in concept to me: something that I figured that someone the summer before high school, I felt confined within could believe, but not something I had thought about. their petals scattering amongst each other, like someone laid out the tiles for a mosaic, myself. Quickly this video led to another video, and then to one but of course no one would ever put it together . Just after my father retired in mid-winter four years more, all about people explaining why they were nonre- Did you know her favorite colors were orange and red? ago, my family made the pilgrimage back to his home ligious. Being raised with strongly conservative values, state of Mississippi, where my brother and I would these videos scared me. Not because they offended me, finish high school. I was fourteen, and the summer but because they made sense to me. brought to me the first time where I preferred to stay All of the things that made academics comfort- inside, alone with my thoughts. I had something to able—logic, rationality, and objectivity—were now think about that didn’t make any sense. putting my faith in jeopardy. The points raised both Like all the other times moving to a new city, in these videos and my head appealed to my logical I experienced a period of initial isolation. I hadn’t side, but my desire to conform to my family’s religion been settled long enough to make close friends in kept me immovable. My world view was thrown into Ridgeland, Mississippi, and I didn’t like the sticky disorder. summer heat outside anyway; so I spent my free days I agreed that the world obeyed physics, and that on the computer inside, surfing YouTube for clips that if you had enough information, you could determine caught my attention. Among those videos were shots of the end state of any system after any time. But I had Antique Glory upcoming games and physics lectures by Michio Kaku, been told that humans could never understand the West Givens Railroad Ties and but one of them caught my attention particularly: a world around them as part of my Christianity. I under- Photography Morning Glories comedian video blogger discussing why he was atheist. stood the evidence of the (roughly) four-billion year Lillian Fulgham Growing up, that word had been taboo. My parents history of Earth, as described by modern observation of Photography 44 45

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 45 5/2/16 9:25 AM Chronic Town Broken Nathan Barlow Jalen Perry

ver a melodic, arpeggiated guitar the lead singer “Can’t Get There from Here” borrows a Southern O The cold triumphed the morning. croons about the red spheres that prevent crop dusters expression to identify a common Southern sentiment: from getting snagged by power lines and describes being from nowhere, coming from a one-stoplight The flickering of the sun’s light shimmered past the many leaves from the granddaddy willow tree. unincorporated towns like Philomath, Georgia— town. Or consider the title to one of my favorite albums, A hard thrust of wind irritated the leaves of the tree and sent them spiraling down to the cold, hard ground. images all too familiar to someone who has lived in Fables of the Reconstruction—a pregnant title that The thoughts of the tattered old woman seeped into the morning as she sat in her chair on the rickety old porch that the Deep South. The band R.E.M., originating in 1980 conjures images of lessons learned from that most was once painted in the dark crimson shade of blood. in an SEC college town not dissimilar from the one in infamous of Southern eras. Just like me, R.E.M. felt which I’ve spent the past four years, painted a picture and internalized the circumstances of everyone around Her face was broken flesh, her eyes darkened hollows; her nails were jagged, her teeth yellow and rotten, her breath pure foulness. of the South for me—one of commonality, eccentric- them, and they incorporated that commonality into ity, and perception—that my experience here has their sound. She sat on the porch covered in an orange worn-out poncho and dirty green sweater that hung from her fragile body. confirmed. Because the culture here is so open, so palpable, She wore a pair of what she liked to call “holy stockings” because she only wore them to church, and pair of dark Most of my friends hate everything about the because we all understand poverty, people feel free to brown short-heeled boots that seemed to be a bit newer than the rest of her clothing. South. I would too if I only saw the things they focus be eccentric in other ways. A man from my town who Her hands were cracked. Large and massive, too immense for her short Southern frame, they gnarled with age, arthri- on—poverty, low educational attainment—but they calls himself Mr. Lala converted his front yard into an tis, and ancient scars—cotton husks, leather whips, and briar patches had all left their mark on those swollen hands. fail to notice that substance that makes up the cultural open-to-the-public art installation consisting entirely understanding of everyone here. On the whole, I notice of old umbrellas. Music like R.E.M.’s is totally free of Those hands had seen a lot of things, but she never complained. an unspoken comprehension of the issues of poverty contrivance, yet it captures the eccentricity of a place and racism; it’s intuitive for people down here. To grow like Mississippi, where I live. I like to think this eccen- up in the South is to understand those personal iden- tricity proceeds from the commonality. Equipped with tifications that every person has in the back of his or that visceral base of cultural knowledge and experi- her head at all times (“I’m single,” “I’m male,” “I’m a ence, these eccentric people like R.E.M. can move on to student”) and how to put them to use. That common- a perception of the world as a whole that’s really quite ality is the foundation of every Southern author’s and beautiful. My time in the South has given me some of artist’s work, and R.E.M. is no exception. The song that perspective and has made it a part of me. s

The Prisoner of Azkaban Solemn Mary Frances Lee Unbroken Rebecca Chen Lillian Fulgham Photography Honorable Mention—Sculpture Photography Polymer Clay 46 47

Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 46 5/2/16 9:25 AM Southern Voices 2016 inside.indd 47 5/2/16 9:25 AM Mary Lee (Starkville) would like to freeze time but still have Makayla Raby (Ecru) plans to get a doctorate in comparative Contributors’ Notes the ability to do things. She plans to be a psychiatrist and literature. She believes that anyone can write, but only some believes, “I can do everything through Christ who gives me will be great and that “All we have to decide is what to do with Nathan Barlow (Starkville) would like to meet Dr. Ron Paul. Landry Filce (Hattiesburg) wants to become a psychologist strength.” Sam Snell has influenced her through his work. the time that is given to us.”—J.R.R. Tolkien SouthernUncle Ben’s advice guidesVoices him: “With great power comes Staffand would like to have met Sylvia Plath.Judges She believes that great responsibility.” creativity is really important to maintain humanity. Kennedy Lewis (Greenwood) lists her favorite novel as Wrishija Roy (Columbus) says her most influential writer Things Fall Apart. She believes that all types of art and forms is Edna St. Vincent Millay. She admires Shane Koyczan’s VolumeJenny Bobo (Okolona) XXVIII would like to have been born around EditorZoe Fowler (Columbus) loves the novelArt 1984 Judge. She wants to of writing are sources of relief that result in something beauti- perspective: “I sit before flowers hoping they will train me in 793 AD, the Viking Era. If she had a superpower, she would Michellebecome Li an engineer andDr. would Beverly like to A. have Joyce been is born Professor in the and ful. Her mother is her hero. the art of opening up. I stand on mountain tops believing that want to have the ability to manipulate the probability of Makayla1920s. Raby She wishes she couldGallery have metDirector Anne inFrank. the Department avalanches will teach me to let go. I know nothing, but I am Spring 2016 Michelle Li (Starkville) says her defining quote comes from here to learn.” anything. She recalls her sister, Rachel Bobo, asking, “Do you of Art and Design at Mississippi Lillian Fulgham (Starkville) says her most influential artist the character she would like to meet: “Hold your head high want to regret things?” University for Women. Art Editoris her mother, Bonnie Renfroe, a potter and painter. Her hero and keep those fists down.”—Atticus Finch. Her hero is Angie Priya Sanipara (Vicksburg) believes art is a form of self- Allison Brown (Pontotoc) believes, “Your value doesn’t Angieis SteveHarri Irwin because she’s always loved reptiles: “He was a Harri “because she gives me her fig bars.” expression: you create a world where you can be yourself. She change based on someone else’s inability to see your worth.” great guy.” Essay Judge plans to attend medical school and specialize in oncology. Her Summar McGee Her most influential work is To Kill a Mockingbird by Assistant Editors Dr. Miki Pfeffer is author of Southern (Edwards) is influenced by writer Mildred favorite books are the Hunger Games series. Harper Lee. Her future plans are to attend UAB and major in West Givens (Senatobia) Ladiesplans to and pursue Suffragists: both professional Julia Ward Taylor. Summar echoes the admonition to “Do as much as Summar McGee you can as best as you can for as long as you can because you Hadyn Schroader (Ocean Springs) would like to have met neurology. filmmaking and photography.Howe andHe believes Women’s that Rights art is the at fastthe -1884 Reagan Poston never know who’s watching and when your life will take a Walt Disney. Her hero is Leonardo Da Vinci because he est way for two strangersNew to make Orleans a connection. World Fair (University Justin Calhoun (Ruleville) has been influenced by Jean turn for the better.” She would like to have elemental control, combined science and art. Hadyn will combine her interests in Michel-Basquiat. He believes art should empower and that Angie Harri (Starkville)Press would of like Mississippi, to have met 2015). her great- She is the and her favorite book is The Cay by Theodore Taylor. math, science, and creativity for a career in engineering. Photographer 2015 recipient of The Welty Prize, a “Comparison is the thief of joy.”—Theodore Roosevelt. His Westgrandfather Givens so she could learn more about her family history. future plans are to go to college to get more knowledge. Angie believes that “Whencollaborative you get into award a tight given place annuallyand by Connor McNamee (Florence) says he wants to meet Lauryn Elaine Smith (Meridian) says her favorite books are everything goes againstMississippi you until it seemsUniversity as though for Womenyou and Britney Spears and that his hero is himself. He quotes Kim her sister’s sketchbooks. She hopes to combine her skills in art Joy Cariño (Starkville) says her future plans include havingStaff a Memberscannot hold on for a minutethe longer, University never Pressgive up of then, Mississippi. for Kardashian: “I love when people underestimate me and then and science to become a scientific illustrator. Her mother is nice family, becoming a teacher, and joining/creating an indieAllison that Brown is just the place and time when the tide will turn.”— are pleasantly surprised.” her hero for supporting her emotionally and mentally. band. She follows the requirements for a significance test: Joy HarrietCariño Beecher Stowe Photography Judge “Must be Random, Normal, Independent.” Madalyn Coln Sydney Melton (Meridian) wishes she could have been born Carly Sneed (Pontotoc) plans to major in Chinese and inter- Ms. Stacy Clark serves as editor of in the 1960s. She counts MSMS art teacher Ms. Angie Jones national studies. She likes the words of Lil Wayne: “And I call GriffinGrant Emerson Henderson (Leakesville) says that after college his Catfish Alley, a quarterly magazine as her most influential artist. it like I see it, and my glasses on, but most of y’all don’t get Penelope Carreon (Byram) would like to meet Hermione Landryfuture Filce might include medical school, a career in the military, Granger. She believes that art is all about individuality and or a life in politics. He wishespublished he could in Columbus,have met Ronald Mississippi, the picture less the flash is on.” She says to fake being creative Zoe Fowler being able to show your true emotions and personality. She Reagan and says he exhibitsthat ishis “a patriotism gathering through place forhis art.the words Jason Necaise (Ridgeland) plans to study physics and become until you believe it, too. says that art will always be her happy place. Haley Grant and images that paint an authentic, a research or corporate scientist. He believes human creativ- ZoeZach Hu Hodge (Olive Branch)compelling believes artportrait is an effectiveof life in today’s ity itself is proof for the chaos theory. He affirms that “If it is Vasu Srevatsan (Hattiesburg) wishes she could have met Dajah Carter (Jackson) says her most influential artist is Ariellemedium Hudson to show the darkest aspects of people.South.” He wishes he possible, then it happens.” Michael Jackson. She recalls her father’s admonition, “Don’t Keith Haring. Her future plan is to graduate, and she believesMcKenzie had theJones power of omniscience as a superpower. feel bad about your shoes when the person next to you has no art is her way of adding color to this monotone world. Laurel Lancaster Greg Parker (Benndale) will be attending Ole Miss to study feet.” Her hero is Drake because he started from the bottom BiancaKatelyn Martinez Jackson (Starkville) plansPoetry to major inJudge biology English education and creative writing. If he could have a and now he’s here. Rebecca Chen (Hattiesburg) says she would liked to have Sydneyand Melton become a pediatrician. Dr.She T.R.would Hummer, like to have author met of ten superpower he would like to read minds. His most influential artist is Lady Gaga. Gianni Stennis (Columbus) plans to create in as many fields met Tupac and would like the ability to control gravity. Her GregJohn Parker Milton and would like tovolumes have been of bornpoetry, in the including 1960s. hero is Lil Dicky because “he went to college, got a degree, Katelyn lives by the motto, “Faith is like Wi-Fi; it’s irresist- and media of art as he can. The artist that influenced him the Jalen Perry Skandalon (Louisiana State University got a good job, then quit it all to become a rapper and pursue ible, but it has the power toPress, connect 2014), you with is the what recipient you need.” of a Dipal Patel’s (Ocean Springs) future plans include a career most is Kanye Omari West. Gianni believes, “If nothing else, Wrishija Roy in medicine. She would like to have met Gandhi, and counts I’m glad I made some enemies. That means I finally stood for his art.” Guggenheim Fellowship and two Haydn AriSchroader Jefferson (Philadelphia) counts Bob Marley as her most her parents as her heroes because “they managed to come to something, that something being myself.” Pushcart Prizes. He is a native of Mayukh Datta (Kosciusko) believes creativity is the root of Carlyinfluential Sneed artist and says that her mother is her hero because a country where they didn’t know the language and set up a all good art and writing. He credits his late grandfather as Jasmine“She Topps faces her strugglesMacon, with faith Mississippi, and strength.” and Ariis the hopes father to of successful business empire through their hard work.” Ella Stone (Tupelo) plans to major in business. She believes a major influence in his life and says that artistically “TheMaliah becomeWilkinson a pediatrician. MSMS alumna Theo Hummer (Class art is a language everyone speaks and that there is no limit to CreationCover of Adam” Art: by Michelangelo has influenced him, also. of 1995). Jalen Perry (Ashland) would like to become a doctor and how many people it can touch. Her favorite novel is Jane Eyre. Summer Light Mary Madeline LaMastus (Cleveland) says her most influ- travel the world. Jalen believes that “Without creativity, there Ashley Dobbins (Greenville) says her favorite novel is ential artist is the band Jenny andShort Tyler. StoryShe would Judge like to would be no progress, and we would forever repeat the same Emily Waits (Columbus) plans to attend pharmacy WutheringEmily Heights Waits and that she would love to be able to meet Taylor Swift because she’s always been a “Swiftie” and patterns.” He would like to have been born in the 1980s. school and wishes she could have met Audrey Hepburn. Ms. Lisa Howorth is author of the teleport. She affirms with C.G. Jung that “Sensation tells usFaculty a she’s always admired Taylor’s courage in being honest about Her favorite quotation is “Though she be but little, she is thing is. Thinking tells us what it is this thing is. Feeling tells her life. Mary Madeline acknowledges,novel Flying “That’s Shoes one(Bloomsbury of the Will Pierce (Columbus) says his future plans include digital fierce.”—Shakespeare us what this thing is to us.” most admirable characteristicsPublishing, to me: artistic2015), sincerity.”her first work of design. If he had a superpower he would like to have the abil- Art Contest Faculty fiction. She is the co-founder and ity to time travel. He counts the Harry Potter series as his Maliah Wilkinson (Holly Springs) loves the novel The Griffin Emerson (Starkville) is influenced by the author CoordinatorLaurel Lancaster (Southaven)co-owner plans of toSquare attend BooksOle Miss in andOxford, favorite books. Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum. She plans to become a Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. When considering his future plans he Angiestudy Jones pediatric occupational therapy. SheMississippi. wishes she could speech pathologist and believes with President Snow from The asks, “Can you really plan the future?” Griffin affirms that have met J.R.R. Tolkien and quotes Isaac Asimov: “I write for Reagan Poston (Mantee) would love to meet Jensen Ackles. Hunger Games that “Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. “Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire.”—Oskar the same reason I breathe—because if I didn’t, I would die.” Her favorite book is My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult. A little hope is effective.” Schindler Faculty Advisor Reagan echoes Henry David Thoreau: “Not until we are lost Emma Richardson do we begin to understand ourselves.” 48

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