When We Were Together
Total Page:16
File Type:pdf, Size:1020Kb
When We Were Together Foreword The OCHS Magazine of Literature and Art is a student-run publication to honor student art and to connect over the universal emotions of love, loss, and teenage angst. This year is distinct in many ways, with the sudden death of a member of our study body and other instances of grief, big and small. Naturally we seek community to experience these emotions together, to delight in the wonderfully mundane moments of life, and to viscerally endure the painful. Please do not feel the need to read memorial pieces if they will negatively impact your well-being. After 3 years of working with Mr. Hellman and the other lovely editors, I am pleased to present my final edition of the magazine; we hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did curating it. -Kristen Burris Editors: Jakob Anderson Jessica Niemetz Kristen Burris Jared Reeves Erin Esterburg Sarah Trusty Alec Hankins Advisor: Greg Hellman The ceramic figure on our front cover, “Confidence” and back cover “Confidence (reverse)” was created by Kelby Beyer. All authors and artists retain the rights to their work. By submitting to the magazine they authorized the reprinting of their work as seen. ©OCHS Lit Mag 2020 1 Index Together and Apart, by Spencer Rosenau and Kristen Burris page 4 Untitled Digital Drawing, by Allison Walker page 5 Two Bendy Straws and a Chocolate Dust Ring, by Wynter Davis page 6 Untitled Digital Drawing, by Allison Walker page 7 Untitled Photo, by Vector Benoit page 8 Howl, by Emily Ott page 9 Untitled Photo, by Athena Turner page 10 Big Kid, by Bekah Arrache page 11 Collage, by Ella McBride page 12 Dear Future, by Alec Hankins page 13 Untitled Photo, by Kaden Cardwell page 13 Places to Wait, by Spencer Rosenau page 14 Untitled Photo, by Tomas Pak page 14 From The Book Of Denial, by Jonas Lee Robinson page 15 Untitled Photo, by Anelise Thomas page 16 Happiness Is, by Jessica Niemetz page 17 Untitled Photo, by Faith Frost page 18 Ink Drawing, by Paige Baker page 19 A Beautiful Collision, by MacKenzie Hood page 20 A Deteriorating Picket Fence, by Genevieve Olsen page 21 Animal Kingdom Lake, by Madison Wilcox page 22 Haiku, by Annabella Mumma page 22 Heart Mechanics, by Elizabeth Carlson page 23 Animus, by Ava Freeman page 24 Freedom Flight, by Genevieve Olsen page 25 Rosy Pen, by Taylor Rogers page 25 Taking Flight, by Genevieve Olsen page 26 Untitled Digital Drawing, by Emily Instenes page 27 Open Letter, by Gracie Marsolini page 28 Untitled Photo, by Ariana Walsworth page 28 The Grind, by Garrett Bergerson page 29 Greed, by EH page 30 Cream Cheese Wontons, by ‘Oni Achong page 31 The Bright-eyed Soldier, by Emily Edel page 32 The Sneaky Beatle, by Christian Hoffman page 33 A Vivid Memory, by Lauren Henderson page 34 Untitled Photo, by Madison Wilcox page 35 Haiku, by Grant Didway page 35 Haiku, by Jane Arterberry page 35 College Football, by ‘Oni Achong page 36 Untitled Drawing, by Sara Vitale page 37 The Boy and the Fish, by Tyler Batdorf page 38 Frogs… , by Ileah Johnson page 38 Stationary In The Wind, by Kathryn Butler-Parrish page 39 Untitled Digital Drawing, by Katie Adrian page 40 2 Haiku, by Stacey Choi page 40 Direct Thoughts, by Kathryn Butler-Parrish page 41 Untitled Photo, by Sabrina Beadle page 41 Sleep, by Jakob Anderson page 42 Untitled Photo, by Baliee Taber page 42 Morning, by Thu Vu page 42 Untitled, by Cadence Cox page 43 Untitled Photo, by Jessica Niemetz page 44 Impromptu Loneliness, by Elizabeth Carlson page 45 Untitled Photo, by Gracie Fink page 45 An Ode to Hendrix, by Alex Pineda page 46 Perceptible By Touch, by Genevieve Olsen page 47 Our First Sun, by Spencer Rosenau page 48 Untitled Photo, by Alyssa Rainforth page 48 Two Haikus, by Grace McLeland page 48 The Closing, by Tatum Fisher page 49 IT WAS A DARK AND… NIGHT, by Calvin Pfenning page 50 Untitled Digital Drawing, by Sara Vitale page 51 Haiku, by Ali Washington page 51 Macarons NOT Macaroons, by Genevieve Olsen page 52 Haiku, by Crystal Lehigh page 52 Ode to my Mom, by Ash Mathews page 53 Haiku, by Brennie Shoup page 53 Untitled Photo, by Brooke Peterson page 54 Bright, by Jakob Anderson page 55 Untitled Drawing, by Chiara Petroni page 57 Ever-More, by Genevieve Olsen page 58 Two Haikus, by Kelby Beyer page 58 What Goes Through the Head, by Elena Stover page 59 Disease, by Landon Sheesley page 60 Untitled Etching, by Josie Willard page 61 The Big Number One, by Jessie Jones page 62 Untitled Photo, by Jaden Lindquist page 63 Untitled, by Taylor Robbins page 63 Fishbowl, by Alexandria Smith page 64 To The Quiet Cities, by Audrey Bunce page 67 The Old Way, by Sedona Williams page 68 Portrait of Billie Eilish, by Elizabeth Adams page 69 Untitled Photo, by Jon Millard page 70 Grief: A Guided Tour, by Audrey Bunce page 71 Unraveling, by MacKenzie Hood page 72 A Voice that Stands Alone No More, by Annika Fuller page 73 Untitled Photo, by Kataleya Benjamin page 75 Left and Leaving, by Emily Peterson page 75 Untitled Photo, by Kaleb Garcia page 77 Prologue of an Unfinished Novel, by Jared Reeves page 78 3 Together and Apart By Spencer Rosenau and Kristen Burris We breathe We live irrationally in our rational flesh Our complex feelings are unique To ourselves and our experiences And our background, and our history To our lives To say, “I feel more relaxed not going to school Because there’s that threat of school shootings” To feel There’s also anxiety about death About planning for the future A space to wrestle with your own insecurities There’s, of course A loneliness A personal struggle We cut our comfort from different cloth Solace within our emotions From a knowledge of others Companionship Memory To say “Coffee reminds me of my dad” To feel there’s nostalgia Voting for the first time A sense of control Like I have a hand in what’s going on in the world To know People are feeling what I feel One and the same Together, and apart [Bolded portions are excerpts from Kristen’s responses in a StoryCorps interview conducted by Spencer] 4 5 Two Bendy Straws and a Chocolate Dust Ring By Wynter Davis The day I learned what it was like to love is engraved into my mind. Like initials engraved into a tree, like paint on a canvas, it is forever. We laughed, my great grandma and I. The puzzle was not going to build itself, so we sat. Our backs up against the brick fireplace behind us and a very large, dark wood table in front of us. The gold and navy Nesquik container, placed perfectly on the countertop across the room, was calling out to me. “Oh how I could just die for a glass of that chocolate milk,” I thought to myself. We mixed the chocolate powder with a glass of milk. Chocolate dust spilled over onto the counter top, leaving a clean ring where the cup was. It was chocolate milk that filled the glass to the brim while two bendy straws flopped over the edge of the glass, dripping drops of milk onto the dark wood. It was chocolate milk that we drank while puzzle pieces were scattered, reaching all ends of the table, and confusing all ends of my mind. It was chocolate milk that we drank when I first learned what it was like to love. Reaching to only just below her ear, her light grey hair shimmered and sparkled in the light. She had the most pure and loving smile, bearing her beautifully straight and white teeth to express the utmost love possible. She had the most subtle wink, but even nine years later I can remember that wink, and the love I felt with it. Her eyes shined with a lifetime of experience, wisdom, love. Her hands, crafted from vulnerability and passion, had lived over eighty years, touching the world ever-so-softly with kindness and magic. Her beauty radiated from within, and gracefully overflowed into the world, painting the sky with purity and the soil with love. I vulnerably left my heart and soul open, and she accepted all of me with open arms. She taught me about life, and what it means to love. She took a hold of the wild child that I am and showed me the magic of living. And then, she forgot me. Like a train derailing, her memory went fast and all at once. Crashing and burning, she forgot about all the lives she touched, and the lives she made worth living. She forgot about the life that she lived. After having forgotten about me for about a year, there was one time that was different, where she saw me. She slowly walked over. The confused and puzzled look that was plastered across her face broke my heart. In a living room that she had been in before, in a house that should have been nothing but familiar to her, she looked scared, and she decided to sit by me as if I was familiarity in the utmost unfamiliar situation. It only took a second before she glanced at me and smiled. “You are so beautiful,” she said. Taken aback, I hesitated only slightly before I replied, “Thank you. You are beautiful too, Grandma.” “I love you so much,” she continued. “And I love you, Grandma,” I spoke, with nothing but the truth.