Explorations 2002 MECC’S Arts E-Zine

Explorations 2002 MECC’s Arts E-Zine

The originality, creativity, technical skill, and enormous artistic vitality represented in these pages are something to be proud of. We hope that everyone will enjoy and appreciate the talents displayed. We especially want to thank all the students and alumni who entered the competition, and all of the people on campus in Student Services, the Wampler Library, and the staff of the Public Relations office who make this competition and the publication possible. Welcome to EXPLORATIONS, Mountain Empire Community College’s new student arts publication. Current and former students were invited to submit work in five categories: Poetry, Short Story, Personal Essay, Photography, and Drawing. The materials recognized by the judges in each category are featured. EXPLORATIONS grew out of the tremendous talent and energy here at MECC and the strong existing tradition this college community has in the creative arts of literature, photography, and drawing. We invite you to enjoy our students’ creations, and if you are a MECC student or alumni, we invite you to submit your own work next year!

Poetry SUZANNE U. CLARK is a poet, writer, and teacher living in Bristol, Tennessee. She has published two books of poetry, What a Light Thing, This Stone, 1999, and Weather of the House, 1994; a collection of literary essays, Sketches of Home, 1998; a textbook on writing poetry, The Roar on the Other Side, 2000; and a non-fiction book, Blackboard Blackmail, 1986. She also writes a weekly column for the Kingsport Times-News and teaches writing at King College and to home-schooled students. Clark was a resident fellow at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and has won several prizes for her poetry. She received her Masters degree from the Writing Seminars of the Johns Hopkins University. She is married to Al Clark and has three children.

Photography MORRIS BURCHETTE, owner of Burchette Photography in Norton, Virginia, became interested in photography when he was 9 years old, and has been in business in Norton for more than 54 years. He is a long-standing member of the Professional Photographers of America (PPA), and has won many awards in national and international competitions for his wedding, portrait and commercial work. In recognition of his “superior photographic competence”, he was awarded the prestigious Master of Photography Degree from that organization. Burchette has also served as president of the Virginia Chapter of the Professional Photographers of America (VPPA).

Drawing SUZANNE ADAMS RAMSEY is an Associate Professor of Art and Chair of the Visual and Per- forming Arts Department at the University of Virginia’s College at Wise. She has a Bachelor in Performing Arts degree from Clinch Valley College, 1980; a Master of Science degree in Art Edu- cation from Radford University, 1989; and a Master of Fine Arts in Visual Art from Norwich University, 1999. Ramsey has a background in commercial illustration and landscape painting. Currently she is working in collage and bookarts.

Essay JOYCE DYER is Director of Writing and Professor of English at Hiram College in Hiram, Ohio. She is the author of two books, The Awakening: A Novel of Beginnings,1993, and In a Tangled Wood: An Alzheimer’s Journey, 1996, and the editor of Bloodroot: Reflections on Place by Appala- chian Women Writers, 1998 . Her essays have appeared in magazines such as High Plains Literary Review and North American Review. Dyer has won numerous awards for her teaching and writing,

2 including the Michael Starr Award for Teaching Excellence, 1996; a 1997 Individual Artist Fellow- ship from the Ohio Arts Council in creative nonfiction; the 1999 Book of the Year Award from the Appalachian Writers Association; and a 2001 Pushcart Prize nomination. Dyer has been a resident writer at the Hindman Appalachian Writers Workshop and the Highland Summer Conference at Radford University, among others. She is currently completing a memoir about growing up in a company town in Akron, Ohio (the former Rubber Capital of the World), as well as a collection of essays about American beauty.

Short Story DON JOHNSON is currently the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at East Tennessee State University. He is the long-time editor of Aethlon: the Journal of Sport Literature, and the author of two books of poems, The Importance of Visible Scars, 1984, and Watauga Drawdown, 1992. He has also edited an anthology of contemporary baseball poems entitled Hummers, Knucklers, and Slow Curves. Johnson is currently finishing a critical book on sports poetry, tentatively entitled The Sporting Muse, and awaiting publication of an article in The Southern Review on Seamus Heaney, called “Heaney at Play.”

Faculty Sponsors Alice Harrington Rita Quillen Bill Harris

3 Table of Contents

Color Photography 1st Place - Donald Sorah - “Street Musician” ...... 5 2nd Place - Jody Cussins - “Going Home”...... 6 3rd Place - Neka Wilson - “New York Rain”...... 7 Honorable Mention Neka Wilson - “Monet Lake”...... 8 Jody Cussins - “Out on a Limb” ...... 9

Poetry 1st Place - Donna Kolb - “Sanford Bud Speck” ...... 10-11 2nd Place - Donna Kolb - “Day and Night, and Somewhere in Between” ...... 12 3rd Place - Jessica Moore - “Embodied Elements” ...... 12 Honorable Mention Bradley Davis - “Dear Dad”...... 13 Katherine Maine - “Genelle” ...... 14 Leann Stallard - “Leaves” ...... 15

Short Story 1st Place - Tristan Rose - “Stalemate: Armageddon”...... 15-18 2nd Place - Justin Chase Mullins - “The Famous Billy Olson”...... 19-22 3rd Place - Joyce Skidmore - “The Best Snowman in Town”...... 23-25 Honorable Mention LaDonna Cantrell - “A Change in Luck” ...... 26-29 Donna Kolb - “The Mighty Blue Caddy”...... 30-34

Essay 1st Place - Anonymous - “Alone With Fear” ...... 35-40 2nd Place - Donna Kolb - “Cleata Mae Dean”...... 41-45 3rd Place - Alice Lynch - “The Way Things Were”...... 46-48

Drawing 1st Place - Sara Jane Potter - “Flower Garden”...... 51 2nd Place -Erin Patterson - “Chief”...... 52 3rd Place - Adam Barnette - “Sharon Stone” ...... 53 Honorable Mention Shawn Williams - “Virginia Essence”...... 54 Kathleen Anderson - “Cranberry Juice #3”...... 55 Matthew Rentfrow - “Cracked Cream Savers”...... 56

4 Color Photography 1st Place Donald Sorah

Street Musician 5 Color Photography 2nd Place Jody Cussins

Going Home

6 Color Photography 3rd Place Neka Wilson

New York Rain 7 Color Photography Honorable Mention Neka Wilson

Monet Lake

8 Color Photography Honorable Mention Jody Cussins

Out on a Limb

9 Poetry 1st Place Donna Kolb Sanford Bud Speck

Sanford “Bud” Speck-1901-1964 St. Charles 1928-Revisited

Dapper Sanford Or Dashing “Bud”

Your Picture Is Of Someone My Mind Never Conjured Up

Preening On Icy Steps, So Relaxed In Shined Black Shoes.

Your Fashionable Hat Almost Dwarfs A Tiny, Boy Face

Hands In Your Pockets Full Of Money, Raring To Be Spent

You Are Ready For Revelry And Romance In Your Sunday Black Suit

Money, Liquor, Women And Independance, Replaced With

Debts, Milk, A Wife, And Ties To Responsibility 10 Good Ol’ Daddy Or Elusive Papaw Speck

You Toiled To Feed Your Bride, And One By One, Eight Offspring

Many More Depended On 20 Years Of Daily Mail Deliveries

I Only Knew You Through Their Scattered Memories And A Casket Photo

Now I Know We Both Had A Life, Before We Gave In.

11 Poetry 2nd Place Donna Kolb Day and Night, and Somewhere in Between

You were cold steel, pressing against my body. You were as rough boards, chafing my heart. You were like an empty glass, when I was thirsty. You were buttermilk, soured and curdled. You were like an aspirin, stuck in my throat. You were as fog, lingering damp and dark. You were like a king, wielding a bloody septor. You were as attentive and perceptive as a door. You were the boogie man, I still watch for.

You are chocolate savored off my fingers. You are a marijuana euphoria. You are as my oldest blue jeans. You are yellow flowers and butterflies. You are a stoic building, full of memories. You are like a panther, prowling, confidently. You are the warm blanket air, caressing my shoulders. You are like a patiently listening grandmother. You are a hurled into the yonder boomerang.

You were the delight of an unexpected gift. You are as comfortable as flannel pajamas. You were like a vacuum, grabbing at the answers. You are a contradiction of ancestors. You are like a loom, spinning ideas. You are as consumed as a scientist for a cure. You are defensive as a cat with kittens. You were/are the yin to my yang. You are parts of me, flashing in neon.

12 Poetry 3rd Place Jessica Moore Embodied Elements

Fog, wind and sea, Which one of these is me. The elements of nature that form myself, Under my skin lies that wealth.

Fog is a silent cloud, That makes all noise become loud. So distant but yet close, Becomes interesting only to most.

The wind that is loud and unseen, Rustles the leaves as friend or fiend. Disappears when things aren’t to its liking, Yet can be friends with a courageous Viking.

Sea that is dangerous and rough, But underneath is full of interesting stuff. Can be gentle if you go with the flow, Beware if the wrong seeds you sow.

The fog that I am, Ghost of a cloud you cannot ram. I am the wind so strong, So I can take out all wrong.

Blue and green sea am I, There are times even it can be shy. Elements that have existed all though time, Are now embodied in my soul, heart and mind.

13 Poetry Honorable Mention Bradley Davis Dear Dad

I am a grown man now and I gotta tell ya I wouldn’t be here without you. You have taught me honesty, humility, and honor. But it didn’t happen all at once. Insecurity and doubt bred Fear, the Devil himself. We became lovers of torture and starvation. You were there through it all, humbly loving me, imparting Faith and Hope.

When Momma shot her heart with a .357 I was five. I wept uncontrollably night after night after night, and despite my shuddering sobs you held me tight. Thank you.

For twenty years I rambled through this land lost and Loveless, lookin’ from horizon to horizon for the Promised Land. From needles to the Navy and to needles again the downward spiral I did descend. I am a survivor and now I know that happiness comes from the heart, and mine is gold.

Four Vietnamese boys split my skull in San Francisco. Ya know what? Ten stitches later I forgive them, and I love them.

Will I ever have enough courage to be as humble as you? Yes. You taught me I can do anything, and now I am ready to try. Thank you. I love you. 14 Poetry Honorable Mention Katherine Maine Genelle

I watch her wrap trembling fingers carefully around a cup of water. She shuffles across the floor, Feeling her way… she can no longer see the obstacles.

She remembers dancing all night before he went off to war. She remembers milking the cows at dawn. She remembers the little girl i used to be. She does not know my name.

It’s always breakfast time… She wakes up at midnight and wants pancakes.

She is afraid to be alone. I am afraid for her.

We remind her there is no soda machine on the back porch… She asks me for change to get a sprite. She has to do the laundry, We let her fold the clothes, we will fold them again later.

She was strong once. She was young. She was beginning this journey once.

One day i will be like her. 15 Poetry Honorable Mention Leann R. Stallard Leaves

Spring brings them wildly budding soon spreading into elegant forms.

They hang so lazily off the long slender branches

As though they have nothing more to do all the time, secretly laboring to nurture.

Fall finds them bursting into the brilliance of red and gold.

Only to crumple in slumber waiting to rise again.

16 Short Story 1st Place Tristan Rose Stalemate: Armageddon

In a large space filled with white, with no walls or limits or boundaries, a chessboard sits on a small table. All the pieces are in their proper places; it is a game sitting waiting to be played. Suddenly as if out of nowhere, two beings appear. The first is garbed in a brilliant and illuminating white robe, he has a long white beard, lines and creases in his face that show age and wisdom. The second being is clothed in a dark musky smelling cloak of black, he has red eyes and long twisting dirty finger- nails, an immense amount of hatred and anger seems to rise like heat on a hot day from his person. The two float over to the chessboard, each one to his respective side, the white being takes the white set and the black being takes the black. Without a word to each other they begin to play. There are a couple opening moves, some pawns go forward, a knight is moved out, the game seems simple enough, but then the battle begins. The black knight takes a white pawn. In our world, two teenage boys walk into a high school in Columbine and begin to slaughter their fellow students and teach- ers. White bishop takes black rook. A large drug lord is arrested, convicted, and put behind bars. Black pawn takes white bishop, a sacrifice move. Two terrorists fly planes into the world trade center towers, bringing about multitudes of death and destruction.White knight takes black pawn. Brave police officers, firefighters, and emergency personnel respond to the tragedy, risking their own lives to save others. Black queen takes white knight. A crazed Satanist blows up a church killing men, women, and small children in the congregation.White queen takes black queen. The survivors of the incident band together, strong in their faith, they build a new church and attract many more people to the congregation. The game continues, pieces being taken and events unfolding in our world. The play goes on until there are only two pieces left, the black king and the white king. The being in the black cloak looks up and utters the first word since the two met, “Stalemate”. The being in white looks up and simply replies “Armageddon”. Then the true battle begins. 17 Short Story 2nd Place Justin Chase Mullins The Famous Billy Olson

The valley that is Billy Olson radiates a ghostly essence. It could be the inner pain that comes from his shattered heart and taunts whoever sees it like the moon does to man. Or when his inner tears cry they could wrap around whoever senses it like a blanket of death. He has never been sorry for the choices that he had made. Silently he dares anyone to make a mockery out of the self-proclaimed famous Billy Olson. Every second of every day Billy thought of making a name for himself. Billy is a dreamer and someone who thinks constantly. Billy is unable to express his thoughts out loud because he doesn’t want to look like a fool. Some would say that Billy has it made. His father works for one of the top law firms in this side of Kentucky and here in 1903 most boys would wish for a wealthy father. All that Billy has ever wanted was to be famous and to matter. After much self doubt and to the aversion of his father Billy left home. He knew not where he was going, but only that he needed to act on his dreams for once in his life. The only things that Billy brought on him was the horse that he rode, the clothes on his back, and a large knife. A few days after he left home Billy grew tired of eating grass. So he drew his large knife and butchered the horse and roasted the meat by fire. A few days later he would pay for his cruelty since his journey is now by foot. Billy’s once fashionable attire is now just a glimpse of the splendor that it once was. The wear and tear of walking has eroded his black shoes. To Billy’s good luck a couple of days later he came across the remains of what he guessed was a drifter. All that remains is the bones and his black boots. Billy’s had a mixed reaction of sorrow and excitement. Billy looked down at the ground and noticed that there is a large hole at the top of his shoe. So he lifts his right foot in the air and checks the bottom of his shoe and discovered that the bottom is almost worn off. He sits down and re- moves both of his shoes. He learned that his white socks are caked with blood, due to the blisters on his feet. So Billy does what he has to do; he puts on the corpses boots. They are two sizes too big but they’re countable at least. “If only this poor sap had 18 clothes. I could get rid of my sweaty shirt and my stiff blue jeans. Maybe some lucky guy already got his clothes? At least I have the boots. Ha-ha,” laughed Billy Olson. Billy uses his survival instincts and notices that all he’s seen in days is decaying land to decaying land. The effects of the journey and, most of all, the barren weather conditions have harmed Billy mentally and physically. More and more each day Billy realizes this is no longer a quest for fame. It is a quest for survival. As the sun glares against Billy’s eyes he says to himself, “I have not seen anyone in a week. At least a week ago I could work for food and water. But-But now I just eat what I can find. It doesn’t matter if it’s insects or what. I’ve just gotta eat.” said Billy. It has been days since Billy last tasted water. In fact he is so deprived that the saliva in his mouth has began to vaporize into dust. “I need w-w-w-water,” mumbled a dehydrated Billy Olson. A few hours later Billy glances down at the ground and realizes that he’s standing in a puddle of muddy water. The stench of the water nearly knocks him down and he hesitates. Just to be safe he viciously smacks himself across the face to see if he is truly awake. To his liking and now aching face he realizes that this is actually water mixed with mud. Billy did not hesitate one bit; he got down on all fours and dipped his head into the pig-trough like substance. As he slurped the muddy water it ran down his stubbled face “This water…wait…I mean mud is covered by flies and god knows what. It is not even fit for the livestock. I-I hope that I do not get a disease. Wait what is going to happen? I die? Hah,” said a sarcastic Billy. In that puddle Billy’s reflection could be seen. Like a nightmare that has came to life, he discovered that his once ravishing looks were no longer so ravishing. He turned his head to the right and noticed that his face is bombarded by a heartless at- tack of grease, grime and unforgiving acne. As Billy began to panic he openes his mouth and the dryness from his lips ached like vinegar poured in a cut. As he finally opened his mouth he was shocked to see his once pearl white teeth, stained as if he had drunk the urine from a dog. “If there were women around here…I would surely not get anyone of my liking unless she needed the money which I no longer had, or if she were just completely bored.” uttered a pessimistic Billy Olson. Billy knew that he had to find help soon. He was still on that muddy surface and as he began to stomp off he stumbled face first into the mud. Instead of getting angry Billy began to laugh insanely and said, “I-I at least have a facial now. Maybe that can take care of my acne.” The effects of his fall had ravished the black hair he once cherished into something comparable to cow dung. After few hours Billy began to notice that the ground that

19 he is walking on crunches with every step he takes. He compares the sound to walking on insects. Billy tried to take a deep breath but learned that his nose was also caked with the dried mud. A thought dribbled from Billy’s mind “I wonder what my dad is doing back in Lexington? I gave up a life that most young men would be envi- ous to have. All for what? To finally pay attention to my thoughts and dreams? It is all my fault and I doubt that I will ever see home again.” Not a second goes by that he doesn’t regret leaving home for this selfish crusade of fame. On a rare night he could almost hear his father’s soothing voice telling him to never stop living or breathing. He even acknowledges the voices that echoed in his mind as a progression of his insanity. Though the self-proclaimed Billy Olson knew that the madness has not made a mockery out of him yet. In this flat and barren land Billy notices something that resembles a house in the distance. As he walks closer he realizes that it is a house. A since of urgency enters his mind. In some ways he figured this house might hold the key to his survival and quite possibly his fame. Billy tries to smile and notices his lips are still chapped. He moves his dry tongue out of his thirst deprived mouth and carelessly uses up the last of his saliva to moisten his grimy lips. Proudly he tucks in his grimy shirt and runs his cracked fingers through his sweaty hair. “This town has to have food and water. I have to look like a man of wealth and fame. I know that my fame will find me and maybe it already has. Oh my God! I am talking to myself.” Said the desperate Billy Olson. Billy now stands at the outskirts of this settlement. He moves his eyes and to his surprise there is only one house. The house is in great ruin. Billy feels uneasy about this place as an eerie sense of silence echoes throughout this town. Billy cautiously yells, “Hello…? Can anyone hear me? I guess not.” Billy admits that the house is a great palace of wealth compared to the road that he has traveled. As Billy approaches the house he realizes that it is no longer a palace and quite possibly a shack. Maybe it’s the lime green color or just the fact that it gives him a bad vibe. A famished Billy Olson craves a drop of water. He hopes that this house will be kind. As he begins to walk up the steps, he considers these steps as a stairway to heaven. As he puts his full weight on the first step it collapses due to a termite-infestation. Billy growled, “And the house wishes to be a pain in the butt. The termites, oh the termites, as ugly as them little suckers may be, I still would eat one in a New York minute.” Billy is at the top of these three steps and standing on the empty porch. He reflects on the past and says to himself,” It seemed like yesterday I was at the confined of home and with the blink of an eye I have let my dreams get the best of me. Maybe I

20 shouldn’t go into this house but what’s the worst that can happen?” As he steps into the dark house, a sense of dread runs down his spine. The sunlight shines through a broken window and lights up the left side of the room. Billy takes baby steps as he walks one foot at a time. “I wonder if the floor is going to collapse like the step outside? I better be careful,” said Billy. Billy notices that the house is without any furniture or signs of life. He begins to leave the house all together until he hears this sound. It sounds like a door opening and closing. He realizes that there is not any doors in the house. “What in the world is that? It sounds like it’s coming from the corner; let’s hope its food,” said a hungry Billy. Carefully Billy squints his eyes and looks towards the dark area of this one room house. He makes out a figure moving back and forth. The sweat runs like a fountain down Billy’s forehead. He tries to confront this noise but the lack of refreshment has dried his throat to where the words would not come out. A few seconds later he cleared his throat and said in a startled voice, “W-W-Who’s there? Are you friend or foe? Please reveal yourself,” said Billy. Suddenly more light came into the room and Billy shockingly saw an old man rocking back and forth in a chair. The old man grinned like a rat and Billy noticed that his teeth are as black as tar and that he resembles an Amish man with his long white beard. His black beady eyes gleamed in the dark. The stench of the old man’s long brown jacket makes the house smell of rot. Billy nearly throws up when he sees that the old man is not wearing a shirt, and realizes that he must be famished due to the fact that his ribs are visible. Billy thought, “Finally a rival to my filth and grime.” The old man kept rocking in the chair and did not notice Billy. He pulls out a large rusty knife and began peeling a rotten apple. Billy’s first reaction was to rip the apple out of the old timer’s hand and satisfy his hunger. He is hopeful that gramps will share. “Hello, ummm.” said Billy The old man snarls and says in a sinister voice, “Come away from the door and come to where I can see ya? You were going to ask for an apple weren’t ya?” For the first time since his days in Kentucky, Billy was scared. In fact he was beyond terrified of this odd creature. The Old Man has a voice like no other that he has ever heard. “Look Mr. Old Guy I do not want any trouble. I am just passing through and looking for food and drink. So…I will just be on my merry way.” Billy starts to back peddle but stops and decides not to run from his fears. To face the impossible and to accomplish his dreams of being someone. “I-I can not think of the last time that I have eaten.” But, when that time was I do remember eating a rot-

21 ten cherry. And that was the last real delicacy that I’ve had. Would you please share that apple,” said a proud Billy. The old man doesn’t think anything of Billy’s cry for hunger; in fact he is amused by it and he suckles the last few remains of the apple. At once the blood in Billy’s veins began to boil with a sense of pure hatred that he has never felt. Now the amazing ideas that Billy had were replaced by the need for survival and to make the old man pay. “My God man, I have traveled for so long that I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know where I am nor do I really care. All that I really want is something to eat,” said Billy. The old man jumps out of the chair on his hands and knees. Blood begins to pour from his brittle mouth and he crawls like a dog after Billy. “Oh my God…” said Billy. Billy turns for the entrance without the door and begins to run for the porch for his life. But, he forgets about the termite infested steps and he trips over the bottom step. He tries to get up, but the extreme pain of the fall keeps him from it. Billy has injured his right knee in the fall and the old man stands over Billy laughing evilly. Without notice the sun no longer shined and the Old Man said, “You won’t be eating but I sure will, I’ll tell ya that much.” Billy had vivid flashbacks of his youthful childhood all the way up to his present state and realized that he is about to be butchered by this ungodly creature. “Go ahead and eat me- the dreamer. Whoever you are…whatever you are, I hope you enjoy yourself,” said Billy. The Old Man begins to make a sucking motion with his mouth as if he was going to swallow Billy Olson whole, but then he stopped and said, “You are the dreamer and oh what I dream.” The sound of flies buzzing can be heard and Billy is smothering due to being face first in the mud. He takes his two hands and does a push up to get himself out of the predicament. Billy stands facing the sunset and looks around to see where he is. He can see miles of decaying land and comes to realize that he is at the mud puddle that he fell into earlier. “What is going on here? That’s it…yes, right. I must have hit my head to hard or just passed out due to dehydration. There is not an Old Man, there isn’t, I just know there isn’t.” said Billy. Billy begins to pull at his hair, and laughs hysterically. Apparently the Old Man took more then Billy’s life, he took his sanity. In this wasteland the dreamer who always dreamed is condemned to a lifetime of his nightmares.

22 Short Story 3rd Place Joyce Skidmore The Best Snowman in Town

“Worthless,” he thought. “I am completely worthless.” He wondered how he had let his life come to this. He was well known in town, but not as he had dreamed he would be. He was known as a drunk and a fool. He had somehow let his drinking end his relationship with his family. His wife had eventually had enough of him. That night he came home drunk and had lipstick on his collar had done it. The really sad thing was that he honestly didn’t know how it had gotten there. It would have been even more devastating if he knew that someone had seen him passed out that night and wanted to play a joke on him. She had left him, and she had taken their daughter with him. How could he have been so stupid as to throw away everything that was worth anything in his life? The tears running down his face brought him back to reality. It was so cold outside tonight. The tears were almost freezing on his face. He wished he had somewhere to sleep. He pulled his ragged clothes tighter around him and headed towards the homeless shelter. He shook his head to think that he had once had a warm home, plenty to eat, and a family to love and cherish. * * * * * * * * He saw the flier and thought it would be a good job: Santa Clause wanted for the local department store. It paid really well too. He might be able to afford a warm coat and a bottle of whiskey. He decided he would do it. How hard could it be to promise children that Santa would bring them something their parents were funding? This might be a pretty good Christmas after all. * * * * * * * * He called his wife that night and asked to speak to Cynthia. She was going on five now and he knew she would be so excited to see Christmas coming. He hadn’t seen her in almost two years. She probably wouldn’t even recognize him if he met her on the street. But he wasn’t allowed to talk to her. Dayna told him very firmly not to call back unless he wanted to talk to the law. He hung up and the tears began again. They wet his face and soaked into his new coat.

23 He began his walk to the post office. The package under his arm was getting heavy, but it was a weight he would gladly bear. For the first time, he had spent his money on something for someone else. He needed a drink, but the thoughts of Cynthia getting his present made giving it up worthwhile. He very carefully addressed the package and dropped it in the outgoing mail with a heartfelt letter nestled inside the dream playhouse. She would love it, he was sure. * * * * * * * * “This suit is so itchy,” he thought as the line slowly shrank. It was getting close to quitting time and he wished he could stop by the liquor store to pick up a drink. He planned to spend the night by himself and wallow in his misery. He had tried several times to call Cynthia, but each time Dayna refused him. It was Christmas Eve and he wasn’t even allowed to wish his daughter a Merry Christmas. From the back of the line he saw someone enter with a wheel chair. For a minute it took his breath. She was so much like Cynthia. She was about six and had the same blonde ringlets and blue eyes. Her face was so proud and beautiful. His heart went out to her. Her aide pushed her through the crowd to see Santa Clause. His breath kept catching on the tears forming in his throat. “Well, what does a beautiful little thing like you want for Christmas?” he asked as he lifted her from her chair. She was so small and so light. He carefully placed her on his lap and held her close. “It’s a secret, Santa,” she said, as she motioned for him to bend his head to hear. “My parents are both so busy that they don’t have time to play with me. I see the beautiful snow fall and I wish I could go outside and play with the other children who live nearby. All I have ever wanted to do is to build my own snowman, but it seems impossible. I was hoping you could bring me one for Christmas, if it’s not too much trouble.” This time a tear escaped his eye. It was such a simple request and so sincere. She did not want toys or anything from the stores. She simply wanted her own snowman. “Just tell me where you live and I will make sure one gets delivered.” “Oh, thank you, Santa,” she said with gratitude in her voice. She knew that Santa would keep his promise and she would finally have her very own snowman. * * * * * * * * That night, the weather was even colder than before. A blizzard was coming on, but still he had one more request to fulfill. He fought the wind and biting snow as he climbed the hill to reach the little girl’s house. He worked long and hard into the night, as the child slept in her room. He really wanted a drink, but somehow, this was so much more important right now. He made sure the snowballs were perfectly round and the right size. He struggled to place the head where it should go. It was so cold his hands were starting to go numb. Finally,

24 he stepped back to admire his work. It was a great snowman, but something was missing. He didn’t have a hat or a scarf. Somehow, he thought the snowman could make good use of his things. He pulled off his new coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck. For finishing touches, he added a pipe and his own hat. By this time, the snow was blinding. He began to walk away down the hill. Somehow, the snow didn’t seem to be so cold anymore. * * * * * * * * The next morning, there was nothing but excitement in two different houses in town. The small child in the wheelchair had the best snowman ever. It was by far the best snowman in town. She couldn’t stop smiling all day and her family wondered how it got in their yard, but the child knew that Santa had come through for her. She would sit in her window for hours and stare; her yard seemed so much more cheer- ful. Across town, Cynthia received her playhouse. It was something she had wanted for months. She began playing with it almost immediately, and it occupied her for most of the day, her other toys forgotten. When she discovered the letter nestled inside, she gave it to her mother, who then read it to her. My most precious Cynthia, I know I have failed you. I let the most unimportant thing in the world become number one and my life and in the process, I pushed the most important thing, you and your mother away. It was never her fault; it was always mine. I hope someday, when you are older, you will realize how much I love you and how sorry I am. I am going to do better for myself. I am going to sober up, and maybe someday, when I have earned your mother’s trust, maybe then can I hold you in my arms again. Please know that you mean everything to me and I love you so much. I am so very sorry. Please enjoy the present until I can tell you myself. Dad The tears fell from Dayna’s face. Perhaps she had been too hard on him. The next time he called, she would let him talk to Cynthia. Maybe he was changing after all. Maybe there was hope for him. * * * * * * * * As the snow melted, they found his body. He never made it home after he had left the hill that night. The cold weather had been too much for his fragile body after he removed his coat. He had been buried in the snow. But the smile on his face told a story more than his entire life had. He had died happy, because even though he may not have been the best husband and father, he was able to give one very lonely child the best snowman in town.

25 Short Story Honorable Mention LaDonna Cantrell A Change in Luck

This morning I awoke to my puppy licking my face and droll plum up to my eye- balls. As I got up my nose was still stuffy, and my eyes were swollen because I was up watching those sappy love stories on the AMC channel late last night. It was the day before Valentine’s Day and I had nothing else to do but wallow in my sweet sorrows. While I was getting ready for work I turned the TV on to the TODAY show. They were all talking about that special someone. It made me sick so I turned it off. When I met my best friend Brandy to walk to work together she was telling me what all her boyfriend had gotten her. She made me feel worse than I already did. We had to take the bus this morning since I wrecked my car. It had a little accident. I sort of forgot to put it into gear. Things like that happen to a lot of people we just don’t hear about it! It’s just my luck. See, I always have the worst of luck. It started when I was little my boyfriend found another sweet heart on the most romantic day of the year Valentines Day. Ever since, it has been all down hill form there. Everything I have done or any relationship I have had went sour. I am twenty-three years old and have accepted the fact I will be an old clumsy maid for the rest of my natural born life. I work at the local café as a waitress. It’s not a bad job, and it’s not a very good one either but I am able to pay my bills. Besides I am not a hard person to please. I live a simple life and in my own special way I guess you could say that I am happy. I go to work have hard day, everyday and come home to no one but my dog Scruffy. I wish that I could find someone who could love me for me and stay with me for the rest of my life. I don’t know what it is like to be really head over hills in love. After my shift at the café I was returning home. Brandy had left earlier so I had to walk home by myself. I accidentally, kind of, missed the bus. As I was walking home a man was jogging and hit a patch of ice and a second after that he fell right on his butt. He howled and screamed in pain. I started to laugh but he seemed to be really hurt. I approached him cautiously he was clutching his leg. I then went to his side to see if he was ok. He looked like he had a broken leg. 26 The nearest hospital was a few blocks away. So I helped him up and we both limped to the emergency room together. He asked for my name. I told him it was Beth Love. There was not much conversation due to the fact he was in extreme pain and was trying to walk with his good leg. After taking him to the emergency room he was swept up by the staff. Not a name or even a thank you was offered. Oh well I did a good deed. That makes me feel pretty darn good. I returned home late that night. While I was at home I kept thinking about how handsome and young he was. His face seemed so familiar. A few hours later I called the hospital to see if he was all right. Not knowing anything about him made that task a little difficult. I couldn’t find out anything so I left it at that. Oh well I thought I will continue living my non- loving life. The next morning, I had the day off. So I slept late and got up around noon. Bran- dy had called and left a message on the answering machine but the answering machine ate the tape. As I was eating my cheerios and watching a little TV the doorbell rang. I went to open it and a dozen of red roses were there at my doorstep with a card stating, “ Your luck is about to change”. I thought it was a joke so I looked around to see if anyone was there, but no one was to be found. I knew this was a big mistake. Shocked I called Brandy at work to see if she had sent them as a joke she said no. I thought someone was just playing a practical joke and paid no attention. I kept the flowers but I know someone sent them for the wrong reasons. A few weeks had passed and I received a phone call telling me to be at Café DeLou at eight o’clock that night. I was told that I would be filled in on the rest of the situation evening. I didn’t know what to wear so I put on a nice simple red dress, fixed my hair applied a little makeup and was on my way. At the restaurant I waited at the table for forty-five minutes before the man I helped arrived. He and his casted leg sat at the table with the grace of an elephant. I didn’t know what to say. To not have heard a word from this man after his accident I was shocked beyond belief. So as boldly as I could speak I asked him “what he wanted” in a very polite way of course. He simply stated in his very masculine voice “to have dinner with you”. I agreed what sane woman wouldn’t have dinner with a handsome hunk of a man. While having dinner some young girls came up to him and asked for his autograph he gladly gave it to them. After a while I got up enough courage to ask him who he was. He told me his name was “Jake Summers from the New on Channel 11”. I didn’t know what to do; I kept thinking I helped the weatherman. He asked me why didn’t I have a boyfriend and why did I look so depressed. Very upset at his meek boldness I simply ignored his question got up from the table and

27 left causally. Just the thought of a complete stranger asking those very personal ques- tions made me sick to my stomach. It was none of his business to whom I choose to date or why I am depressed. After returning home I put on some angry chick music and was eating a big bowel of ice cream, which fell into my lap, as there was a loud knock at the door. I was trying to clean the ice cream off my lap as I answered the door; low and behold it was the bold weatherman Jake and he was mad as fire. He looked at me with intense eyes that were blue as the sky. He asked in a very stern voice why I left him stranded at the café. I knew he wanted an explanation but I didn’t feel very comfortable talking about my feeling with a complete stranger. So in a desperate measure I started yelling that I didn’t want his pity and told him to get out. Hoping and praying to God that he would leave. He simply looked at me a smiled. He knew what I was trying to do so he flopped down on the couch and would not leave. By this time I was furious so I started screaming like a scorned lover I was hollering about how bad my love life has been for twenty three years and that I was going to be an old maid for the rest of my life. Finally in a stern and most serious voice he told me to shut up. I closed my mouth and did not speak a word. He told me he knew almost everything about me; he had met my best friend while trying to track me down. He stated that Brandy just spilled the beans about me. He wanted to keep it a secret until he met me himself. He told me the kindness I showed him the night he got hurt told him that I was the type of person he want to get to know better. That I was the type of girl he pictured spend- ing the rest of his life with. At this time my mouth was on the floor. Jake did not feel sorry for me. He knew I had a bad run with relationship and he wanted to prove my theory wrong. He just wanted the chance if I was willing to try. A couple of months have passed now and my luck has changed for the better. I am the one bragging now because I have found the man of my dreams. It was all because of a change in luck.

28 Short Story Honorable Mention Donna Kolb The Mighty Blue Caddy

After driving only trucks for years, Mom and Dad became owners of a car. The -ar rival of this new car was treated with the proper reverence and awe it deserved. You see, this was not just any car. It was a brand-spanking, new, 1976, Cadillac Se Ville, sky blue, long and sleek. “The Cadillac” as we began to refer to it, was a treat to ride in. It was the ulti- mate in luxury cars. Its’ features included: power windows, antennae, steering, and a huge trunk that could be opened from the inside. The feature, though, that I liked best, and I think my brother’s did too, was the seats. Slick, slate blue, leather seats complemented the outside decor. That wide back seat had the power to thrill and spill. As my Dad quickly accelerated from 0-80 in a matter of seconds, we eagerly anticipated any curves to come. From side to side we would slide, always fighting over who would get the middle. Somehow, it seems I always managed to be the little person on the slightly raised hump, who was crushed during a hairpin curve. “The Cadillac” became an important part of not just our family, but extended family as well. Anyone who needed to have medical tests done or an operation per- formed in a neighboring state, asked to borrow it. In fact, it was practically forced on them. Any family member’s car that was in the shop for repairs was offered “The Ca- dillac.” Also, a trip that exceeded more than 50miles, deserved to use “The Cadillac”. The first vacation I remember going on, was to Florida. My aunt, uncle and cous- ins drove their car and me, my brothers and Mom were in “The Cadillac”. We left in the middle of the night. As my brothers fell asleep around me, I was not afraid of the dark, as I usually was. “The Cadillac” for me, was an invincible blue beacon. A few other vacations followed that. The most memorable of which, was a trip to Nashville, Tennessee. Dad liked to leave as the sun was coming up and we soon felt it at our backs, as we sailed to Nashville in the fast moving “Cadillac.” We kids reveled in the thrills of that back seat. Dad flew over the dips in the highway and we alternated between catch- 29 ing our stomachs, rising to the roof and sliding back and forth with each turn in the road. Our fun came to a somber halt, our first morning in Nashville. We left the motel in search of somewhere to eat breakfast. My parents could not agree on which direction to take and we soon found ourselves in a residential section. Trying to look at road signs, a map and listen to Mom and I throw out opinions, on which way to turn, it was no wonder Dad did not see the stop sign at an intersection . He stopped though, just as we crossed into it and another car careened into the back of “The Cadillac’s long tail, spinning us around. When we landed, we were facing the opposite way from which we had come. We all sat there for a moment, stunned, not understanding exactly what had happened. Mom and Dad looked at each other and then back at us. There we sat in that back seat, piled together in one corner. Our eyes questioned and then everyone’s mouth began working at once. As Mom and Dad got out to see what had taken place, we pushed away from each other. We knew one thing for certain. We had just experienced the most intense sliding curve that could ever happen to a kid. We smiled. “The Cadillac” was an awesome ride. As the years went by, most of the thrill subsided and some of the reverence we had held for “The Cadillac” faded. We began to examine its’ faults. For example, it was a “gas guzzler.” Second, you could not parallel park it in a normal parking space. Third, it was so easy to get a ticket when driving it. Before you knew it, you were driving close to 80 and passing everyone. Also, the air conditioner was forever torn up. No matter how many times Mom “had them fix it,” it would suddenly blow hot air. Another reason “The Cadillac” lost some respect was the way people would do a double take, when you passed, which we attributed to it resembling its’ close cousin “The Hearse.” I guess, the biggest reason “The Cadillac” lost favor with us though, was age. And so, it began to be found more frequently parked in the garage, than on the road. Just as that changed, so did its name. We began calling it “The Caddy” rather than “The Cadillac.” “The Caddy” was still used for special occasions. For example, I wielded that big blue car to pick up my date for the senior prom. My antebellum dress would not have fit in a smaller car. Four years later, my brother Jeff proudly drove it to his prom. Six years after that, my brother Brian was offered the car for his prom. However, he stated that, under no circumstances, would he be driving “The Caddy.” By that time driving “The Caddy” was definitely not cool. Later, when I was an adult, Mom, my son and I, took Mamaw, in “The Caddy”, to have an outpatient procedure done in Kingsport, Tennessee. “The Caddy,” it was felt was needed, because of the large back seat it possessed. Mamaw, we feared, might need to lie down afterward. On the way back home, the weather became stormy. Limbs blew across the road and it began to rain. I tried to converse with Mamaw 30 and her anesthetic induced ramblings, while Mom concentrated on the road. As we climbed the steep mountain road, a glaring bolt of lightning cut across in front of the car and struck a tree just in front of the right side of the car. Mom valiantly applied the brakes, just as the tree crashed in front of the fender. We later remarked, that had we been going seconds faster, or been driving any other vehicle, we would not have been so lucky. “The Caddy” again acted like a well-trained child, once when my Mamaw was behind the wheel . She, Mom, and my brother Brian were driving back from my bap- tismal service in Salem, Virginia. Mamaw, who can be a speedy driver, was not hold- ing back and neither was “The Caddy,” according to my brother. That is, she was not, until she glanced over at Mom and announced, “Why Sue, I believe we’re out of gas.” At that point, the car sputtered and an exit ramp miraculously appeared. Mamaw skillfully put the car in neutral and glided down to a gas station, where I am told two fellows pushed it to the pumps. Nowadays, when you go out into the garage, it soon becomes apparent that “The Caddy” has been given a new purpose in life. “The Caddy” has been fitted with a matching pale blue tarpaulin. You could say, “The Caddys” new calling in life, has basically become that of a huge, blue shelf. Unrelated articles now adorn its hood, roof, and trunk. It usually contains several pairs of shoes, dog or cat food and de- pending on the season, may contain vegetables, fruitcakes or tins of candies. “The Caddy’s” outings in the past few years, have been reduced to one time per year. My brothers told me that each year, Mom announced that “The Caddy” needed to be started and driven. Of course, this meant removing all of the paraphernalia on top, as well as, the matching blue tarpaulin. Then, when they tried to start it, the battery would have run down and require a boost. Next, it was off to the intended destination-the service station, to get a new inspection decal. During the ride home, my brothers explain, Mom generally heard some foreign noise that required a stop by a tire dealership. The tires had either dry rotted or the belts had broken, both of which was caused by the car setting idle so long. Finally, as they returned home, new decals had to be administered to the tags and then the tarpaulin and assorted things returned to the top of the car, (but only after it cooled down). Recently, Mom decided not to renew the tags, for what is now being referred to as, “The Old Caddy.” She said it was just too much trouble and costly. She explained, that finding somebody to remove all the stuff off it and finding the time to get it in- spected was a hassle. Then the money spent, while it was out for no more than half of a day, was not economical. But, as she and Dad have decided, it would not pay to sell it now, either. After all, “The Old Caddy” has just recently risen to another posi- tion: “antique”. 31 Essay 1st Place Anonymous Alone With Fear

“You’d better not tell nobody or we’d both be in trouble. I know you enjoy it though.” I hear his rough voice rasping, grating on my raw nerves. Terror creeps into my veins like ice. I pray for the numbness to come and envelope me so I won’t feel what happens next. He tries to put his hand on my leg again, while I try to shift the other way, to curl myself into a ball of nothingness in the corner. I think that if I only want to badly enough, I can become invisible and he can’t hurt me anymore. He follows me into my sanctity, invading my safe haven, and taking my space for granted. I can smell the stench of his body. The scent doesn’t come from his breath or from his cologne or from any other artificial means. For a moment I fancy that it comes from all the evil things fermenting inside of his soul. The bile rises into my throat, threatening to choke me. I am gasping for breath and I hope for a moment that I will choke. I try to block the odious thought from my mind. I pretend to fly away. I wonder if he has done these unspeakable things to anyone before. I decide against the thought. I know it is my fault. I must have done something to provoke him. I can hear my grandmother coughing in the next room, oblivious to my terror. I can imagine her sitting there thinking he is helping me with the chores. I see her smiling and proud of the demon manifested in front of me. I wonder how he can make people think of him as human when I know the truth about him. I think of my grandmother’s trembling, rubber legs. Since her stroke last year, she hasn’t been able to get about as well as she once did. She always protected me before, but now I am alone. There is no one who can save me. I notice he has placed me into hiding behind the wall, so that his shame hides with him. As his arms snake around my body, pawing at my adolescent chest, I struggle harder. He finds this funny. He seems to think it is all a game; that I am just playing with him. Finally I scream out and she hears me. “Are you alright?” she asks, the concern falling heavily from her voice. I want to scream no and beg her to help me. I want to be a child, weak, finding 32 comfort in her ancient loving arms. I think of her feeble state. Her mind is as weak as her body and the news of her beloved son’s betrayal would have murderous conse- quences. “Yes, grandmother, I only dropped a glass. Everything is okay.” He thinks that she might come to check on me anyway, so abruptly, he releases me from my detestable prison, arms dropping to his side. He smiles at me, smug in his knowledge that I won’t tell anyone. After all, I never told before, why would I start now? He exits through the back way, the screen door, my only witness to what just happened, screeching protests to his posterior; a million reproaches about what he has tried to do. I honestly wonder if he thinks anything wrong happened. I hug myself close and cry, seeking solace where there is none. If only I hadn’t said hello to him this morning, I wouldn’t have drawn his attention. I should have kept my eyes on the ground, my gaze on the worn tennis shoes I use when I do the chores. I never should have encouraged his advances by walking in front of him as I did the sweeping. I should have known better. I am a slut and after all, it is my fault or I wouldn’t be the one to get in trouble if anyone found out. I dry my tears and collect my shattered soul and what is left of my self-esteem. I take the egg pail and exit through the same door that shunned him only seconds before. I don’t want her to see my face or she would know something is wrong. It will be getting dark soon so I have to hurry. I never know anymore what dangers might be lurking in the shadows. Still, I walk slowly to gather the eggs, all the while reminding myself that I have to be strong for Grandmother. Someone has to take care of her like she always did for me. I have to pretend everything is all right. I will be eighteen in a couple of years and then, I tell myself, I will be able to break free from him. He wouldn’t dare touch me when I am an adult. I try so hard to con- vince myself. I keep pretending everything is all right. I know everything will be okay, if only I try hard enough. I know he will come back tomorrow, maybe while I am sleeping again, or while I am washing dishes. He may be waiting for me when I go to gather the firewood. The not knowing is the worst part of his control. I could handle it if only I knew which part of my day to avoid. As I think about him, my soul crumbles, but my resolve to fight remains strong.

33 Essay 2nd Place Donna Kolb Cleata Mae Dean

Beautiful, no striking is the way I’d discuss Cleata Dean, although I just call her Mamaw. I was her first grandchild and I so I like to think that I pinned her with that name. But, knowing her like I do, I’d say it was at her suggestion. She’s very opinionated, while at the same time indecisive. Any decision made by her must be run by her “boys” and her daughter Cheryl. She didn’t use to be as opinionated as she is now. In fact, there are times now when she cuts to the quick as she asks you a question or tells you what she’s observed. Her name is unusual. I’ve never met anyone else with the name. She doesn’t like it. It suits her though. Whenever anyone asks who I am. Meaning: what is your family lineage. I tell them I am Cleata Dean’s granddaughter. The remark that follows goes something like: “ Are you? I always liked Cleata. She’s a fine woman or a pretty woman.” Everyone it seems, knows her. If you ask her what’s most important to her, she’ll answer quickly, “ my family.” What she might fail to mention is equally important to her, is her tenet of “doing the right thing”. Sometimes this is based on societies standards but always, it satisfies hers. She goes above and beyond to rid herself of potential regret or oversight. Her family is the primary recipient of this creed. She has five children, her four boys, and one daughter. She has 11 grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren, not to mention numerous in-laws. She never forgets a birthday, even the in-laws. She lost her mother a few years back and last year, her brother. Mamaw is a strong Republican. But, she is now on the Electoral Board and can’t take the active part she’d like. Last election though, she sought the nomination from the Republican party to run for Supervisor in her district. However, after consulting with everyone and weighing her chances she threw in her hat too late. The “good ole’ boy” system had already decided on a nominee. Had she got it, there is no doubt that she could have pulled off winning the election. Not getting the nomination from her party that she had supported for years, hurt her and she withdrew into herself for a

34 bit. Even though she supported her parties nominee, when he lost to the Democratic candidate, I believe she had some vindication. Not only does everyone know her name, she knows them. Noone goes to the funer- al home more than her, not even preachers. She is forever, fixing food for some family members who have lost a loved one. According to her, “I have to do something.” She also manages the Pennington Gap Cemetery where many of our family is buried. She and I were forever going some place together. Once, when on our way somewhere, we were passed by an ambulance. She immediately accelerated the car. Lurch- ing ahead, I looked sideways at her and asked, “ Mamaw where are you going?” By this time, we had turned off the main highway and were directly behind the ambulance. “I’m going to follow them, Old so and so’s been sick and I bet they’re going to get him. Over the railroad tracks we went and climbed several hills and then back down near a river. She was intent on keeping up with the ambulance. We came to a screeching halt at the river. A car had went over in the river. I kept waiting for someone to ask us what we were doing there. She asked some people who was in the car. After she ascertained that it was noone she knew, we backed out of the holler and got back on the road. Her only comment was, “well you just never know when it might be somebody you know that they’re going after.” My earliest memories of her are when she ran Dean’s Store on Stone Creek. Papaw worked the mines. I loved watching her slice balogna and wrap it in the butcher’s paper. Then she’d ring them up on that big wooden cash register. Always talking and laughing while she worked. For me, the best days were when the feed truck came. I loved climbing in the back of that truck and rolling over the bags of feed . Sometimes I think back to that, when I have to go to the Co-Op for something and smell that smell. I don’t remember Mamaw ever telling me not to do something or telling me I couldn’t eat something. I ate my first plum after asking her what they were in the store one day. The first time I remember using lipstick was some that she had for sale in the store. On Sunday’s if I had spent the night with her and Papaw, we’d eat a big breakfast, then we’d get ready for church. She’d always let me finish watching cartoons even though it meant we were late. Sometimes she’d come in the room when a special group was on the Mall’s Singing Convention and watch for a minute. I loved going to Pine Grove church with her and Papaw. When the preacher preached, I’d sit beside Mamaw. She taught me silently how to make silver trophies out of Wrigley’s gum wrappers, while she stroked my hair in her lap. . She and Papaw sang in a quartet with another couple. I vaguely remember them practicing at home. Papaw’s big fingers on the piano while Mamaw sang.

35 Mamaw wore night cream and I loved the smell of it and how she smoothed it dili- gently over her face and neck. She always wore silky pajamas that felt cool against my skin and at the same time seemed to give her an air of elegance. Somehow every experience with her was always so special, no matter how routine. Her pancakes were thin and small, so you appeared to be eating more. She always had butter in a serving dish and cold syrup. I remember when her and Papaw moved to Jonesville. One day for lunch we decided to eat outside on one of the porches. It seemed so grown up and like I imagined rich people lived. Mamaw has always loved jewelry. I have adopted her love of it. Although my taste is much cheaper than hers. She used to let me go through her gold jewelry box with the pull out drawers and mirror on top. I’d put on strand after strand of beads, ear- rings and broaches. In fact, I’d try on her shoes and about anything she had. Even today I think she has the most beautiful clothes, shoes and jewelry and would be content to try them on. As I said her taste exceeds my means and according to her, “I just can’t help it; I love expensive things and why, I don’t know. I wish my taste wasn’t like that because I can’t afford my taste.” Whenever I didn’t want to be in my parents home anymore, I’d call Mamaw. I’d sneak and use the phone when I knew Mom was going to be out of the room for a while. “Mamaw, would you call Mom and ask her if I could spend the night? Don’t tell her I told you.” In a little while, the phone would ring and I’d listen outside the doorway. Mom usually made the excuse that she needed to consult with Dad when he came home, even though he never had a problem with it. I eventually made the move to Mamaws, semi-permanently, at age 18. Papaw had been dead about six years and she had moved from their house outside Jonesville to one in Town. Our living together only lasted a while and then I went back to school, but I saw her several weekends when I came home or she came to college. I remember telling her about Tony during our living together time and then showing her our picture together. She just looked at the picture and then at me, back and forth. You see, Tony happened to be black. She stood inside the house while Dad confronted me with the news he had just learned from Mom. It was a trying time with my parents and she stood sometimes beside me, sometimes behind me. During that time we both met our future husbands. I never thought about it like that, but we did. She began dating Ben I think, even before she moved into the house in Town. He was a presence that noone in the family could figure why he was there. He was nice enough to Mamaw and he had been a hard worker, an old friend of the family and was rumored to have quite a bit of money. We had a joke in the family long before Mamaw started dating Ben. He wore his pants a bit high above the waist, kind of

36 like a cummerbund and so anytime someone’s’ pants were pulled up a little, someone else would say automatically, “Ben Sergent, pull your britches down.” Even after she eventually married him, we’d almost forget and say it out loud. Once before she married him though, we took a trip. She and I and Ben set out to Nashville to see Papaw’s brother’s daughter, Sue. Ben insisted on driving or should I say alternately accelerated rapidly then braked, all the way to Nashville. Not only that, but he chain smoked with an inhaling sound much like the “e,e,e” sound they tell expectant mother’s to use during contractions. When we got there, we found a room. Ben remarked that they had a pool and we should use it. Mamaw discour- aged it and we seperated soon after dinner. He went to his room and we went to ours. When we did, we laughed about everything and then she said in a whispery voice, “ I bet he’s asleep by now, you want to go swimming?’ I agreed and we snuck down to the pool. The next day, when we finally found where cousin Sue lived, she told him we needed to find him a room because he wasn’t going with us. So, we found him a Holi- day Inn with a pool as she pointed out. Then she and I set out to Sue’s . I never knew why she wouldn’t let him go. I guess it was out of respect for Papaw, even though she told Sue she’d left him at the hotel and Sue told her he could have stayed there. She laughs now about all the trying times with Ben. We took other trips too. Once we took off to Hickory, North Carolina. We were going to a wedding of a distant cousin, who I am rumored to look like. We had no map and no clue where we were going. I remember all those mountains and her looking at me and saying, “do you think we’re going the right way.” “Well at lease we can say we’ve been somewhere we’ve never been.” We laughed and talked to truckers on her CB and eventually made it. Even when I moved to Salem she was there for me. I had my son and she was there along with my mom not long after the delivery. She wanted to take me home with her, which in turn upset my husband. He just didn’t know her sense of obligation like I did. Even if she couldn’t take me, she wanted me to know she would if she could. I talked to her frequently by phone and always visited when I came home with my son. She called me once to tell me about a dream she had had of me. She said she dreamed she came to visit and I opened the door wearing a maid’s uniform. She needed rea- surrance that I was not being treated in this manner and I did. She came again to Salem when I was babtized. She still talks about how “the spirit moved her” in my church. She came to Salem one other time with Ben. We had ridden the bus home and since she and Ben were going to a conference in Northern Virginia, she opted to let us ride back with them. Boy, was that a tense situation. Ben disapproved of my marriage, and certainly my son and so there was little conversation during the three

37 and one-half hour drive. My son, who has from birth been wonderful to travel with, refused to set down the whole way or to remove his coat and hood. Mamaw was beside herself, because she felt responsible. Later, she remarked, “even Sidney no older than he was, knew something wasn’t right.” While living in Salem I missed one of the many traditions in our family: Christ- mas Eve at Mamaw’s. I always called and talked with everyone and Mamaw never failed to say, “Honey, I sure wish you were here, Well we all do.” Thanksgiving is another time we all gather at Mamaw’s and she cooks herself into almost total ex- haustion by the time the meal is complete. On top of that, she refuses to sit down and eat until she has observed that everyone has eaten enough. “Honey, is that all you’re going to eat, isn’t there anything over there you want?” said to someone with a semi-filled plate. I remember the first time I brought my friend Danny to eat at her house. She came over and scanned his plate. “Wayne is that all you’re going to eat? You need more than that.” and proceeded to take his plate. Upon returning it, I said, “Mamaw, his name is Danny.” She just laughed and said, “Oh, well that must have been some other man she brought over here” ( knowing, I hadn’t ) Other traditions at Mamaw’s are “Squirrel breakfasts and Oyster breakfasts” at least once a year. Her cooking is renowned, especially her bisquits. I remember Pa- paw complimenting her at every meal, using the same line, “Mae, I believe these are about the best bisquits I ever ate.” The other time we all gather at her house is on July 4th, not to celebrate our Independance, but her birthday. It’s one of the few times, she allows others to cook, not that she doesn’t whip up a little slaw or bake a cake to go with it. You can never just stop by and not eat. If you do, you have to take something with you for later. When, I took a job at Social Services, she made it her mission to feed all the girls I worked with. So, taking four or five of us at a time, she proceeded to feed the masses at Social Services. As she explained her reasoning, “they might be nicer to you.” As I said we’ve traveled a lot together. Once when I was Clerk of Pennington Gap, I was to go to Charlottesville and the County Clerk, Charlie Calton asked me to go with him. I discussed it with Mamaw and we felt it would n’t look right for me to travel alone with him, so she opted to go. It wasn’t like she didn’t know “Porky” as she always called him. So, I drove “Porky’s big Cadillac up and back and they remi- nisced about life on Stone Creek. Periodically, they complimented me on my driving. On another work related trip, I had to go to Richmond and she went with me. She again wanted to visit one of Papaw’s nieces. So we made plans for Billie to pick us up for supper. We hugged and greeted her and then we got in the car to go. Billie non- chalantly put the car in gear and backed into the car behind her and then put it in

38 drive and drove off, seeming not to notice. Mamaw and I gave each other raised eye brow looks and put our seat belts on. When we returned to the motel hours later, we burst with laughter and then sobered up realizing we were accomplices in the act and then we laughed again. She’s traveled to a lot of places with others besides me. Regarding one such trip recently, I got a call from my mom. “Can you go and pick up your Mamaw in King- sport?’ she asked. “Sure, where’s she at?” “Ralph’s Bar and Grill.” “Her car broke down and she’s sent the other’s with the tow truck, but there wasn’t room for her.” When I arrived at the bar after getting lost, she practically ran through the glass door as she pushed it to get out. We laughed as she related tales of her stay there. She said several had offered to buy her drinks and take her home. At age 76, she’s still got it! One other time she ended up in a bar. She went into this place called “Hoggies” in Stone Creek to get a custard. “Mrs. Dean, I don’t think you should be here.” the man who owned it told her. “This is not “The Custard Stand” anymore. This is a bar.” I wish she could find a man worthy of her. I fear there are none out there for either of us. Although I don’t count myself as worthy as she, I think she sees herself in me when it comes to men. We’ve discussed how ironic it is that our lives have parelleled. We both had marriages at the same time to men who sought to control and repress our spirits. Though, her last day with Ben was more courageous probably than the day I left my husband. Indeed the old gal rallied on that final day, even though like me, she planned it a few weeks prior. As she tells the story, “I told him that morning, that when he came back from playing golf, I wouldn’t be there. I was moving out.” He laughed and told her she had no where to go . “You’ll see” she said. When he left, she called for two of her grandsons to bring their trucks to move her. She had found a house to rent in Jonesville. She decided to wait until he returned, to leave instead. Again, he smirked and much like the character “Mr.” In the Color Purple, he told her she couldn’t make it without him, that she’d be back, she wasn’t smart, etc.. How wrong he proved to be. Just the other day, she said, “I probably wouldn’t have been able to do all the things I’ve done, had I not left.” What she did was to go back to work. She worked in a furniture store and a pawn shop. She took care of her mother with Alzheimers until she died. She learned to square dance and dances now with a group at various functions. As I said, she ran for political office. She has nursed many members of her family and friends through such things as cancer, heart surgery, leg surgery, etc. Many of them have survived but she has lost several friends and acquaintences. She thanks God daily for sparing all of her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and in-laws. She has recently joined the Hospice organization and began sitting with persons in their last days.

39 In an ironic turn of events, she was recently called about a patient. They asked her to sit with a man who was dying of lung cancer. It was Ben. She called him and asked him what he’d think of this arrangement. He said he’d love it. So, in his final days, she offered words, prayer, and gestures of comfort. Today, we attended his service as he was lain to rest. As she told me, “I don’t have any regrets where Ben is concerned. I did what I felt I should do.” Mamaw loves trying new things. She’s done ceramics, painted sweatshirts, em- broidered, painted pictures, decorated cakes, did photo albums,etc. She is forever planting something outside or renovating her house. With all her activities at home, she still finds time to be on the go visiting the sick or bereaved or shopping for and at- tending birthday gatherings. Not only that but she attends various social functions. Recently, I talked her into possibly working at the Lee County Jail as a fill in cook. She trained a few days and on one of those days I witnessed her working. She was in her element cooking for all those people and then standing back watching them eat it. She reveled in the conversations that took place in the kitchen between the jail- ors, road officers, judge and others. Her eyes danced and she grinned and threw in a comment now and then, all the while refilling their glasses and telling them to eat more. Unfortunately, by being on the Electoral Board, she couldn’t work there. But, “It was a good experience.” As she says of herself, “I’m just a people person, I just love people.” She never fails to brag on me. Sometimes it’s to my face, and sometimes it’s to others. In a crowd she always introduces me as her granddaughter. However, there have been several times, when people have autimatically assumed that I am her daughter. I take this as a compliment. Mamaw has been the biggest inspiration to me. Simply by example, she has taught me to keep trying new things and even things not planned are experiences not to be forgotten. I have often remarked that I hope to have half her beauty and stamina when I am her age. I think I emulate her rule in trying to live life with few regrets and I add my own: what others may think of, as my mistakes were my learning times and my stepping stones. They helped carve me into who I am.

40 Essay 3rd Place Alice Lynch The Way Things Were

When I was a young girl I lived in a very imaginative world. We lived so far away from town that there was no one to play with, so I did the very next best thing, I had imaginary friends. The animals were my friends, I would sit by a tree that seemed to be a good home for the animals to live in and talk to them. Of course they never talked back, but it made me happy to know (in my imagination) that they heard me. I had an imaginary friend named Mary. She was always willing to listen to me. I would call her on a cast iron play iron and make plans to meet her. We didn’t have play phones back then, but that cast iron play iron was as good as any play phone. Mary never said a harsh word to me or hurt me. We had a very special bond. I had put together a restaurant where I served my imaginary friends and some imaginary strangers too. I took their orders, cooked their meals, (mud pies of course), and served them and cleaned up after them too. I spent hours working at my profes- sion, and found the kind of peace that children do not find today. In the winter, “up north” I would go out in the morning and slide in the snow all day until my wool mittens had that special smell they get when they get good and wet. I still get a special feeling whenever I smell wet woolen mittens. When I finally came in my hands would be shriveled, but I would feel so wonderful! I loved to slide in the snow, except when the neighbor’s bull would get out of its fencing and chase me out of the field. I remember finding an old pair of skis, old wooden ones that you would strap to your boots. I would travel down the hill behind our house and pretend I was the world’s best skier. When I look back I know I was probably the world’s worse skier. Oh, but I was happy in my make-believe world. I remember sliding down that hill and landing under my father’s car on the sled (if only that would have been make-believe). When I misbehaved my mother would threaten to “send me back to the Indians.” The funny thing is I really would have liked to have gone. I would make teepees in the

41 woods and pretend that I was an Indian. I was so good at making teepees that one actually stayed standing during a hurricane! There were so many things I remember, the milkman, the egg man, the bread man, even the fish man all coming to our home with trucks filled with mouth-watering morsels. We even had a ragman come to the house calling out r-a-g-s as he pulled into our driveway. I don’t remember it, but I have been told we even had a man in kilts with a bagpipe that would come to our house to play for a nickel. All the days I would walk to the bus stop in my sneakers and spend the whole day with wet shoes and socks. If I had regular shoes eventually they would have cardboard inserts to fill in the holes that were worn through, I guess I was just happy to have a pair of shoes, because it never bothered me. Maybe having imaginary friends helped, they were probably walking around with cardboard in their shoes too. It’s been a long time since I pretended to have imaginary friends, or pretended to be an Indian, or went sliding all day, or even made mud pies. I live in a “grown up world” now. Better? Not necessarily so, but that’s what happens when one “grows up.” Sometimes I feel I still live in somewhat of an imaginary world, living in that world can keep the hurts we feel from hurting us too deeply. Of course, as a “grown-up” we have to deal with the world and all the things that hurt us in the real world, but I like to look back and look at a better time when the world was different, when children could play in the woods and make teepees, and sit beside a tree and talk to the animals, and go slide in fields all day and no one ever worried that they would come to harm. When a child was lonely they could invent imaginary friends and no one thought anything of it. When a child could walk a mile to get an ice cream cone or to walk three miles to get to a swimming hole, not six feet to a backyard pool. When a child didn’t have to be afraid, when life was so different than it is today. Even when a parent feels their child is safe in their own home they may not be. I haven’t seen a child make a teepee or a mud-pie in many years. I feel a deep hurt that this wonderful time has passed. That children today will never know that “fairy tales can come true.” That they don’t need the game boys and play stations and the CD players or the computers to make them have a happy and have a wondrous life. What they really need is an imagination.

42 Drawing 1st Place Sara Jane Potter

Flower Garden 43 Drawing 2nd Place Erin Patterson

Chief 44 Drawing 3rd Place Adam Barnette

Sharon Stone 45 Drawing Honorable Mention Kathleen Anderson

Cranberry Juice #3 46 Drawing Honorable Mention Matthew Rentfrow

Cracked Cream Savers