Tributaries 2012
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1 2 A quick note: Months ago, Drew Davis asked an interesting question: What does Tributaries mean to you? It’s a question that has stuck with me. The literal definitions ofTributaries are as follows: 1. Stream feeding larger body of water. 2. Payer of tribute. The first one I knew, the second I had not. And both accurately describe the intention of Tributaries. This magazine, as humble as it is, is a conduit that feeds our larger aspirations as writers. Just like a tiny brook leading to the expansive gulf, our work on Tributaries serves as a first step for those who work with the written word. Yet, as we guide we also pay tribute. Tribute to the authored words printed within. Tribute to those who didn’t make the cut. Tribute to those who read this now. But, most critically, tribute to those who seek the impossibility of becoming a writer. To become implies attainment. Of arrival. Of cessation. Of the culmination of growth. Let this never happen. Let this also serve as a declaration of vigilance. The act of writing is never finite. It is telescopic in its infiniteness. Never, for any reason, be satisfied with what you have written, of the words you have chosen. Keep up the good fight. Z.A. Bishop IUE Writer’s Club President Tributaries Chief Editor 3 Part I: Creative Non-Fiction 055 Don’t Wait Scarlett Alton 06 In Particular Shame Z.A. Bishop 10 I Have No Legs Yet I Must Run Zach Small 21 Crossing Over: An Elegy for Aunt Ruby Holly Walls 23 Part II: Fiction 3211 God Save the Queen, Intro Hillary Cameron 33 God Save the Queen, Chapter 1 Hillary Cameron 34 Coarse Times and Blundering Minds Nick Beattle 42 The Key Cecil Dixon 48 Brushing the Neighbor’s Dog Micheal Gibbs 49 Nipples Micheal Gibbs 52 The Runner Micheal Gibbs 54 Theodore Micheal Gibbs 56 Turtle Shell Micheal Gibbs 57 Eye for an Eye Zach Small 59 Winds of Ice Bridger Hannon 76 Part III: Poetry 7853 Life... Haley Asberry 79 Next Year I’ll Be Engulfed By Dementia Haley Asberry 80 Ora Hays Z.A. Bishop 81 Superimposed Z.A. Bishop 81 Night Athena Died Hillary Cameron 82 [Untitled] Hillary Cameron 83 Loss of Reasoning Michael Clark 84 Wires Beth Crose 85 Afternoon Drive Jason Coblentz 86 Kismet Sarah Davis 87 Los Exiliados of the Melting Pot Sarah Davis 87 Whiskey From a Spoon Cecil Dixon 88 Fighting the Ivy Monica Hardwick 89 Shapeshifter Monica Hardwick 90 Memorial Krisann Johnson 91 In A Dream Krisann Johnson 91 Matriarch Corrinne Jorgenson 92 Scars Corrinne Jorgenson 93 My War Class Miranda Knight 94 I Start My Day With Tea Deidra Purvis 95 The Squirrel and I Deidra Purvis 96 Feelings of a Mistress Megan Shaw 97 Jibber Jabber Megan Shaw 98 Becoming Art Holly Walls 99 Little Black Bird Holly Walls 100 Mother Sea Turtle Holly Walls 101 Rapture Holly Walls 101 The Journey Brittany Wilson 102 One Last Thing... 103 Bios 104 4 5 Don’t Wait Scarlet Alton I grew up knowing I had a biologi- I did not want to tear any part. Upon finish- cal father, James, who lived in Chicago. ing the letter my mother asked what my I had no communication with him until I father had written. As I began to tell her I was fifteen, and the only reason for this looked up and noticed my dad was lean- was because I thought I had a half-sister ing against the kitchen sink with his head and wanted to meet her. Once my moth- hanging down. I could feel a coldness er made contact with him, he denied this enter the room, then I was afraid to finish. and claimed I was his only child. From this I did not want to see my dad cry. My par- point in time he asked if he could write to ents were quiet and my little brother went me and was given permission to do so. So, to his room seeming not to be interested thus began fifteen years of letters, cards, in the event taking place. When I finished and gifts. telling my mother the details my dad left I remember the first letter as if it the kitchen. were yesterday. The excitement which The first Christmas after we began I felt inside was as if I had been handed writing, I received a box and card with a a million dollars yet, on the other hand, I letter inside. I was in awe. The contents quickly felt a heavy weight of guilt over- held a small television, combined with a shadow my heart because I feared hurt- radio and alarm clock, a beautiful pastel ing my dad who raised me. I was mixed- striped sweater, and ankle socks. After up and did not know which emotion to reading the letter and observing the gifts feel. I carefully opened the envelope lying around my knees, I looked up and immediately, eager to view the contents. noticed my dad. He looked so sad. Again I First, I looked to see if he had sent any felt the same heaviness I had experienced current pictures; he hadn’t. Next I read, when I opened the first letter from James. taking in every word as he described his These struggles of excitement and life, job, family, hobbies, etc. Last, I specifi- guilt fought against each other for many cally remember taking note of the style of years. I did not know whether to be happy handwriting he had to see if there were or to be sad. The situation caused me to any similarities. withdraw. I would not talk about James in I had just gotten home from school front of my dad. I felt trapped in a room and begun to help my mother make with no doors or windows to climb out of. preparations for supper when she handed My father and I were always me an envelope. She told me it was from on good terms as long as the subject James. She was eager for me to open it. of James did not arise. We have been The banging of pans, stirring swishes of close and would always take time out of spoons, slamming of the refrigerator door, each week to eat out, just the two of us. and the dinging sound of silverware being We have always agreed on most every- placed on the table all came to a halt. thing. I don’t believe we have ever had Slowly I sat down at our round a disagreement. I have always respected kitchen table and took my time to open it. his opinion. My mother had no problems 6 with me communicating with James around 8:30 a.m. on a Thursday in March and supported any decisions I made. My of 2001. I jumped out of bed and headed half-brother, Mike, was younger. He never down the short hallway, which led into the opposed the fact I wrote my father. His front room. I picked up the phone and a main concern was, as he has stated many woman addressed herself as Liz. She told times, “You are my whole sister, not my me my father had been in an accident half.” My little brother knew how to make at work, and he was not expected to live. me feel better. I could lean on him or my She conveyed to me his mother thought mother for support. I should know this. The room started spin- At the age of sixteen a flicker of ning as if I were a child looking into a hope came to life within me when my kaleidoscope, twisting slowly, and seeing mother and I were at my grandmother’s the pieces being jumbled in different di- home. She took me into her bedroom, rections. I wanted to scream. Why was this which housed a bed decorated in beauti- happening to me? I had my life planned ful colors of white, pink and purple. The out, and I was going to meet James on drapes hanging in the window matched my terms when I was ready. I had all the and had butterflies of different sizes that time in the world. I fell back into a blue were made of netting and wire pinned to recliner wondering what I was going to them. At the end of her bed set a rectan- do. I wasn’t ready for this. Once I came to gular cedar chest. My mother opened it my senses I ran back to the bedroom and up and pulled out a large plastic cover. As woke my husband. I explained we had to she pulled out the contents, I noticed she make a trip to Chicago. We packed and had a large picture in her hands. I could purchased airline tickets. not believe what I was seeing. It was her Our flight landed, and we made and James’s wedding photograph. In arrangements for transportation to take addition to this were engagement photos us to our hotel. Once in the van, the driver and small snapshots. Another piece to my decided to take detours and shortcuts puzzle had fallen into place as I observed throughout the city instead of taking the the close-up of his face. His eyes, yes I had interstate. I remember hating it because his eyes. I also had his mouth. I studied his the drive was not getting me there fast profile for the longest time that day and enough.