Issue #4 Issue

The Literary Panther

Advisors Geoffrey Kenmuir Christine Redman-Waldeyer

Issue No. 4 The Literary Panther, English Department Passaic County Community College One College Boulevard Paterson, New Jersey 07505

Credits

Cover Art: Marcos Salazar Title: Drifting Into the Unknown, 2015 22 ½ x 28 ½ inches Oil pastel, watercolor, and ink on paper

Layout: Christine Redman-Waldeyer Cover Design: Marcos Salazar

Contents

POETRY Miguel A. De Jesus Jr...... 7-10 Brielle Duncan ...... 11 Hafeezah Freeman ...... 12 Lismery Luna ...... 13-16 Dilruba Parvin ...... 17 Nadia Nuri ...... 18-20 Christina Sanchez ...... 21-22 Gabriela Valenzuela ...... 23-24

SHORT STORY Arline Abreu ...... 27 Leslie Rivera ...... 28 Christina Sanchez ...... 30-35 Kenya Torres ...... 36 Kiara N Tosado...... 38-39 Gabriela Valenzuela ...... 40-45

CREATIVE NON-FICTION/ESSAY Cagatay Oncu ...... 49-52

PLAYS Lismery Luna ...... 55-61 Dilruba Parvin ...... 62-63

ART/PHOTOGRAPHY Rubi Acosta ...... 67-68 Noah Chamberlian ...... 69 Miguel A. De Jesus Jr...... 69 Brian Gomez ...... 70-71 Alexander Keating ...... 72-73 Dwight Lemonius ...... 74 Kyle Lorentz ...... 75 Kristen Mercogliano ...... 76 Monushra Miah ...... 77 Rebecca Mink ...... 78 Genaya Palmer ...... 79 Armando Rodriguez ...... 80 Cesar Salas ...... 81

3 Marcos Salazar ...... 82-84 Emilia Watson ...... 85-86 Victoria Vulcano ...... 87

4 P POETRY

Miguel De Jesus

Asphalt & Concrete

At the ripe young age of nineteen, I worked for an asphalt and paving company. Ten to twelve hours a day, of sweat dripping, callous creating, back breaking work. Pickaxes and shovels in hand, breaking up and removing the existing driveways and sidewalks. Rubble dumped into wheel barrels made way too heavy. Then pushed out to the street and thrown into dumpsters, never to be seen again. Then pushing wheel barrels filled with gravel and sand, again way too heavy. Then spreading them out by rake, preparing them for the asphalt, waiting desperately for a break. Then pushing wheel barrels, made way too heavy, filled with asphalt that burned at over three hundred degrees, and with the added 100 degree temperature of a hot mid-summer day, which helped to drain whatever energy that was left within me, and melting one of my contacts

7 right in my eye, which cut my eyelid, seventeen times to be exact. Only able to see out of one eye Like a teenage pirate, to find out from doctors that I could never wear contacts again. Then I realized that for all the blood and sweat I gave for monetary compensation would all go towards buying a new pair of glasses. This angered me almost an entire year, I was forced to clean black soot from my nose for hours every evening and remove tar from my hands with gasoline, which made my hands tougher than leather that I couldn’t afford to buy. Even after building up countless layers of what would become the pathways for cars that I could never afford to drive upon, and sidewalks that led to homes that I could only dream of living in.

8 Miguel De Jesus

Radhika’s Bharatanatyam Arangetram

All your years of study has been nothing but stressful, but your parents gave you the right name, now you are successful. Your performance was both classical and contemporary, a feat that most can’t complete, Radhika you’re truly extraordinary.

Your wardrobe, make-up, and hair were flawless, they accentuated your beauty, you really are gorgeous. Your eyes, hand gestures, and facial expressions, allow you to teach everyone life’s lessons.

You encapsulated the audience, kept them in a trance, your movements fluid like an American dance, a stunning mixture of hip-hop, jazz, and tap, with a hint of ballet found in every stance.

You are young enough to conquer the world, just inspirational, Your insight into dance made your piece interracial. Every gesture, expression, and movement were tremendously tasteful, even when you slipped and fell it was done very graceful.

True talent like yours is impossible to measure, I’m honored to have had the opportunity and pleasure, to watch you bring countless different cultures together, and change each one of their lives always and forever.

You have done your parents, your guru, and Lord Shiva proud, Your Bharatanatyam Arangetram was beautiful, Radhika take a bow!

9 Miguel De Jesus

Signs of Happiness

Children roughhousing on a sandy beach. Teenagers fooling around on a bench. An old woman walks the path all alone, probably remembering days long gone. A man tends to the food he is grilling, while his wife laid still on the blanket, either sleeping or tanning without care, their jolly mutt runs from under a chair, nudging the bowl with just his snout, hoping a juicy piece will fall to him. Some squirrels scurry across the green meadow, as if they’re being chased by a ghost cat. I yawn and stretch rolling onto my back. My tent’s roof is a windy sky of kites. They breathe in every gust, and every cloud. I think this is how life is meant to be, Until I had to wake, get up and pee.

10 Brielle Duncan

Pink Camellia

As she gazes dumbfounded into the orbits of your eyes, You hark in silence while angels whisper the hymns of your revelations. His mouth muzzles her, while his lips are the equivalent to a lotus, his kiss became the rebirth of her sun. The rifts in his hands leading to the waters of Niagara Falls became her travels. It was the mission that would see over her dirty pond. He stares as if she was a Pink Camellia longing for her. He became the many desires of her galaxy. His freckles like drizzled drops of honey leaking from the cracks of God’s fingers, And as she watched him stand tall, bold, beautiful, like the Ama Dablam, Nepal it was then she realized she was one step closer to blessedness

11 Hafeezah Freeman

Sound in Time

Music is the art of sound in time that expresses ideas and emotions in significant forms through the elements of melody. Music is a feeling that hypnotizes your mind, and sends the wave lengths of sound through your hearts. Music is astonishing, it is heartwarming.

12 Lismery Luna

Blushing, Rushing Red

Red, the color of dreams, of visions, the heart, pumping bright, searing my veins. Passionate, all-consuming, fiery red It courses through me, sun scorching

Red, the color of emotions, of visions Of pain, agony, of passion, love. Of a dream that is closer to the blessed Skies, the cherubs, guardians. Far from the pits of tarturus, of hell.

The Gods sent Hades down to the underworld, for his passion, smoldering desire to rule like them, to the pits of inferno suffering, torture.

However, Red is not a color that should describe the Netherworld, rather the heavens, above, beyond.

Red is a color of passion and pain. The color of dreams, visions, beauty, The heart, pumping bright and searing.

13 Lismery Luna

Cofresi Beach It’s the beginning of August The heat enveloping me, a warm blanket on a cold day. The sun is striking down on my shoulders. I cover them up with an indigo towel, my head with a sunhat.

The water in some parts is murky, Seaweed and green algae peppering the translucent water— Like Oil surfacing in a glass of liquid. I get closer to the unpolluted area, set my towel, bag, and sandals On the powdery sand and walk towards the water.

The people of this country say the salt in this beach is collected, Refined, sold to the residents of this country. I’m with my friends and family on vacation in the Dominican Republic.

Stepping in the water, I try to find my footing, So I can avoid the black rocks and brown plants, Dreading that tiny creatures, spikes will try to puncture my leg. I submerge into the turquoise water, doubting “Is this peace?”

Some areas the water feels icy, imprisoned in a miniscule ice cube. With the stifling heat, any type of frostiness is a godsend in disguise.

14 Lismery Luna

Infernal Devices

I live in the age of technology and absolutism Most mornings I wake up tired, hurried, Run out the door, fast paced. Newspapers, books, magazines, all forms of reading are digitalized, With paper being obsolete. Headlines include new inventions, smarter phones, New modes of transportation However, with each passing invention, the old get wasted away, To the junkyard of the universe. A home with televisions, cooking devices, computers, cellular phones Constantly connected, plugged in, on-line 24/7. Yet zombies, typing commands, phrases Into their infernal contraptions. A world of chaos and hate, infecting all corners of daily life A never ending cycle, due to the marvelous invention We call: The Internet. People use their apparatuses, gadgets, to voice their Concerns of the world, However different or unconventional it may be. The streets are packed with strangers, walking to and ‘fro. Everyone I see has some sort of device on their person, Headphones in their ears, blocking the outside. No one talks or acknowledges each other besides the occasional passing, Everyone so enthralled in their own reality. Checking my phone, I see messages, emails, phone calls pop up; To please and satisfy my hunger for more. A phone is like junk food for the brain, Fills you up with immediate satisfaction, Leaves a void that can never be healed. The people around me are so in tune with their devices And themselves that it makes me a bit sad and annoyed, The connection people use to have is missing. I catch myself in a shop’s window and see a clone. Headphones in ears, phone in hand, vacant look in my eyes Without realizing, I have turned into a mindless zombie I judge. I have turned into them. In myself, I accept and embrace defeat.

15 I imagine a world of flowers, Delicate fairies flying everywhere, Sprinkling their dust, full of magic and hope; Hope that the world isn’t meant to be like this. Suns burning bright and fiery, warming the planet constantly No phones or any type of machinery that will disconnect people, Who inhabit planet earth. Turn them into monotonous clones. I live in an age where technology has connected people closer Than anything I can ever imagine. And yet, we as humans, we have let it turns us into its messenger.

16 Dilruba Parvin

Autumn

As the sun goes down I sat on the porch, the cup of black coffee sitting next to me. Resting myself on my cozy armchair gazing through the window- leaves are falling softly down red and yellow orange and brown. Dancing and moving as they plummet to the ground.

17 Nadia Nuri

Eternal City

Small streets live large. The sun sparkles, the bay waits in silence. Roman Holiday a love letter to love, to Rome, Hepburn and Peck. Rome is a fantasy, the eternal city. make everyone in the world, fall in love with her.

18 Nadia Nuri

Rotten Pond

It’s late July at the Ramapo Lake. Turquoise colored water, sparkling under the sunlight, a haven just outside the city. I sink my hand in the cold water, pulling my pants over the ankle to get in the boat, starting the ride over to the lake. People said many years ago Ramapo Lake was named Rotten Pond found that the soil of the lake was porous, rotten – My cousins and I came here today for the first time. I work as a cashier counting money, like the robins counting eggs nestled in their nest. We are in the middle of the lake where their chirps come to us like distant voices who know Rotten Pond. There is a view of trees as far our eyes can reach.

19 Nadia Nuri

Sunrise Valley

In daylight the sun is shining, children are playing cricket on the playground, farmers working in the field, housewives cooking, and cleaning houses made of mud and straw. At night it’s quiet, disturbing.

Rich men force the girls into the dirt, while keeping their clothes clean, and these girls have no choice but to give in, endure the pain.

20 Christina Sanchez

Fault Line

His, mine, ours.

His eyes convincing, Charming, controlled.

His earthy natural smell of wood from the yard, expensive cologne mixed with sweat.

His arms wrap around me in greeting. Strength, security welcoming me home.

My left arm screams in reminder, the bruise healing underneath from my fault

My body snuggles more into his hug as he has forgiven me. Mistakes he is willing to teach me with a loving strike.

My simple reward for learning the ways of a wife.

Our family growing to a third, awaiting to hold her in my arms

Our guidance with a heavy hand will teach her, the perfect wife she will be

Our perfect family, not only misunderstood, envied.

His strike is, My consequence is, Our happiness

21 Christina Sanchez

Primose Path

It’s a moment when every teenager begins to thaw, becomes a woman.

It’s a moment that is brave, beautiful, bewitching –

It’s a moment where my body bends towards the possibility of the primrose path.

It is a moment I offer myself, grace him with the honey of my innocence.

It’s a moment I am crying clamoring, clenching—

As his snake steals, slithers into me unwanted.

22 Gabriela Valenzuela

Niagara Falls

The sunlight is reflecting on the water of fall revealing a mix of blues, greens, rainbow drops.

Big white clouds are falling, kissing the water creating a symphony directed by nature.

I get closer to the ravine where the water starts falling, reaching the spume clouds with my hands.

23 Gabriela Valenzuela

Christmas

Smiling framed faces are looking at me From the corner of the shelf

They are so happy under the colorful lights of the Christmas tree, and I’m so far – afraid of my vision turning blurred afraid of losing all their factions They are calling me but I’m miles away

Millions of steps between me and the shelf Millions of lost moments.

Two young faces arrived after I left They are filling the blank space that I leave in the frame

S SHORT STORY

Arline Abreu

Wonderland

Blue, yellow, and green, red, orange, and BLACK! Black: darkness tries to consume the hidden wonderland. So many colors. So much beauty and peace in one spot untouchable by the black. I enter this wonderland to feel the warmth of the sun kiss my caramel skin. Grass green as emerald flowers are bright and glowing. Animals run free to be how they want. The wind hugs my body whispering secrets. For a second I forget what I am running away from. The red river of inflamed lava was the best part. All stress gone. For a moment a feeling of freedom and sureness consume my mind. As I lay on the grass I feel carefree. I know I cannot tell anyone about this place; they would destroy it. The government has taken anything that stood in their way. The world use to be free with so much freedom, but when even your freedom is controlled to maximum, nothing can be done. Stand up and die. They get rid of anyone who has tried to overcome them. They are just quiet about it. One day you are here, the next you are gone. I am different. I see things differently. I stand out along my friends but I try not to be “seen.” The fear in my mother's soul for mine is reflected when I am out on my “adventures.” There is something out there and I am looking for it. This untouched secret of Mother Nature is the reason I search. The birds sing opera and the wind like angels. I close my eyes: DING DING DING. The ear ripping sound of the cities bell pierce my eardrums in agonizing pain. The bell lets everyone know it is 9:30 pm and you must be home by 10 pm. I try and stand but my ears are bleeding. The blood running out of my ear confuses me. I do not want to stand out to the government. I made it home to rush to shower and go to bed. I wake the next morning to a sharp and irritating pain in my eyes. I do not touch them. They hurt too much. I ran to the bathroom. I look into the mirror and see my eyes, blue as the bottom of a shallow pond yet grey, like rainy skies. How could my eyes change color overnight? A knock at the door scares me. “Honey come out I want to show you something.” “I am almost done mom.” What am I going to say to my family about my eyes? I know, contacts. They are contacts.

27 Leslie Rivera

Clarity

Standing at the end of the room, her red heels firmly on the ground, she exuded a collected and tranquil disposition that defied the insecurity she felt inside. Her stomach churned violently, her sweaty palms were cold as she rubbed her hands together. Examining the large room, her eyes fixated on the man walking down the hall. She watched him as he walked in through the glass doors and stood at the entrance, taking in the room and the people and the reality of it all. He’s here, she thought. In over eight years, this was the first time they saw each other again. He recognized her immediately, how couldn’t he, with that dark voluminous hair and those beautiful curves she always tried to get rid of. But she was different now. She loved herself now. The confidence that used to elude her was now innate in her. She knew her strengths, her capacity, and her capability. This confidence dominated and he knew she couldn’t be torn down. A silence fell upon both of them as they analyzed each other- he had grown taller, the stubble around his chin was gone, she was slimmer, her hair was longer, he was a resolute soldier, she was an acclaimed writer. After a while of gulping down their nervousness and of arranging their thoughts, of narrating in their heads how the next scene was about to ensue, of reciting in their heads what they were going to say, how they were going to say it, with how much inflection- they began their march towards one another. Renee could feel her face getting hot, the churning of her stomach, the sweat on her palms, the coldness of her feet. He was not much calmer than she was. He felt a knot in his throat, something he was taught not to let form in boot camp. But his feelings for her, for their departure, could not be kept at bay. They looked at each other apprehensively, unsure of what to say, how to break the ice. Did she start with an apology? Did he comment on the entree choices? “I never stopped being grateful for you,” she confessed. She was sheepish, afraid of what he would say to disprove her, afraid of the indignation that would have stayed with him to this day. “I’m glad you’ve done well with yourself,” he clarified. He looked at her with empty, impersonal eyes. She wanted him to look at her with love in his eyes, with joy for their reconciliation. But he didn’t and his obvious indifference diverted the course she intended the conversation to take. So instead they sat and discussed their respective accomplishments and exchanged thoughts on where they

28 would like to retire to. He told her about his deployments, she told him about the books she had written. “I missed you- all of these years. I never stopped thinking about you,” she confided. “You’re successful, you have money, you’re an author- you have a good life here.” He didn’t know whether he wanted to take this route with her again. He didn’t know how the dynamics would work now. It had been such a long time since they were together last. She took notice of his hesitance in the softness of his voice, in the carefulness of his words. The years that filled the void between them had wedged a space too far apart for them to recover from, it now seemed. Whether he wanted to pursue this with her or not she was not certain, but what she did know was that he was right. She had achieved all of her dreams, she did have much to be grateful for. Eight years had gone by and she did just fine. With or without him she would always be just fine. It was a sweet surprise, a moment of clarity for her. Self-sufficient and self-assured, for the first time in her life, Renee was content.

29 Christina Sanchez

Miscarriage

Flushing the toilet after checking for any red in the bowl Mary was able to take another deep breath. The feeling of relief just swept through Mary as she stared at herself in the mirror. Ashamed with where her mind was about to wonder, she focused on washing her hands and beelined to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. Her hand resting on her flat stomach she gulped down the water taking a huge intake of breath afterwards. She checked the time on the stove to see when she will be able to check again. Startled by the loud ringing of the phone in her empty silent home, she quickly grabbed another bottle of water and rushed to her living room sofa to answer it. With dread, she noticed the phone number to the doctor’s office on the screen. Placing it on her ear, she answered “Hello?” “Good Morning Mrs. Marte. This is Rebecca from the office of Dr. Marrero. We received the results from your exam and would like to go over them with you.” “Ok.” “Would you be able to come into the office at 1pm today?” Flicking her wrist to see the time on her watch, she noticed the time with dread. “That’s two hours from now! Just tell me the results. What does it say?” “I apologize Mrs. Marte, I am not able to discuss the results over the phone, but if you can come in at One o’clock, you can speak to the doctor directly.” So many negatives were going through her mind. Would she ever be able to have children? Would every time she ends up pregnant, she loses the pregnancy? Would she lose her husband through all of this? She couldn’t help but try one more time. “Is it bad? Yes, I’ll be there at one, but just tell me if it is bad news. I won’t tell anyone you told me.” “I apologize again Mrs. Marte, but I will see you at one o clock.” Hanging up the phone she sat on her oversized sofa and couldn’t help but remember the last conversation she had with Dr. Marrero not even five months ago. “I have a feeling it’s a girl.” Quickly taking a peek at her husband Joes smiling face, Christina couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the floating peanut on the sonogram machine. Lying on the paper lined medical chair with both hands around face trying not to cry at the sight

30 before her. Finally, after so many years of trying, that little peanut on the screen is her baby. As the nursed moved her probe through the cold gel on her stomach, pride and joy filled her heart. To think that her body is caring for and helping grow their very first child into this world, there is no greater feeling. “Hmm.” Christina noticed the deep confusing tone in the nurse’s voice and lost her smile. “What do you mean, hmm? What is, hmm?” “Just a moment. Let me grab the doctor, since I’m fairly new here, I am sure it’s just me.” Grabbing hold of her husband’s hand, she couldn’t help but scrounge her eyebrows together in confusion and worry. Hearing her husband complain something about not allowing new people do sonograms, Mary kept chanting in her head. Everything is fine, my baby is fine, that girl is new and obviously doesn’t know how to work this machine. I’m young, healthy, and super eager to have this baby, so everything is fine. That nurse needs to go to school again. The doctor walks into the room with the nurse directly behind him. Their serious faces didn’t help her mind chanting so she chose to ignore it and look at her little peanut on the screen. “Look at him, he’s so tiny. When do we get to find out the actual sex…” The doctor’s serious face halted Mary in her questioning. The air seemed almost impossible to breath. Hot tears fell down her cheeks as she thought about how much her husband must hate her. Why would God give her a broken body? “The fetus has no heartbeat.” Wiping the tears from her face, Mary readjusted herself on the sofa and dialed her husband’s number to let him know of the time to meet her at the doctor’s office. Meeting him at the doctor’s office, it was complete silence. Sitting down in the same room she was in last time, tension was high. They both looked simultaneously to the left, as the loud creak of the room door opened to allow the doctor in. Watching every movement the doctor made was almost in slow motion. As he took his steps towards his desk chair it’s as if one step took him an entire minute to make. Why is he walking so slow? Why did everything in the room slow down? What is that mumbling that I hear? “Mary. Mary! Mary!” The shaking of my arm as Joe called my attention broke me out of my mini freak attack. Pasting a smile on my face, I faced the doctor and prepared myself for the news. “Good afternoon Mary, How have you been feeling?” “I’m doing good, keeping busy.” The lie was automatic.

31 “Ok, so I went over the results from the ultrasound and your blood work multiple times. I can confidently say that this pregnancy, is viable.” Mary wakes up on the floor with the heads of her handsome smiling husband, and her amazing brilliant super concerned, doctor above her. Yup, I have fainted. Embarrassing, to be one of those women, but I don’t care. I am going to be a mom. All of this is what Mary remembers while rocking back and forth on the rocking chair in the nursery, holding her beautiful sleeping baby boy in her arms. Remembering everything that happened to get to where they were today makes it all worth it.

32 Christina Sanchez

Stephanie

The plastic mug my too recently deceased daughter Stephanie gave me on my 42nd birthday last August, holds the black and bitter coffee, similar to how I feel inside. As I stand at the sink to wash it, the multiple colors of reds blues and greens start to waver as the tears from my eyes block my view and peace of mind. Remembering when on the kitchen table behind me, she sat with excitement and happiness etched on her face and her blond curls falling over her left shoulder as she concentrated on the tiniest of details. I am torn from my memory as a warm gentle hand from my husband John rests on my shoulder to tame the shudders over taking my body. Tucking myself into him and resting my head on his chest. His murmuring of consoling and rubbing my back eased me a bit, but my body just suddenly felt devoid of energy. After hours of questioning by the police all I want to do is take myself to bed. Twisting my room doorknob and entering my dimly lit bedroom, I throw myself vertically on the bed. My body immediately bounces off the bed as a lump from where I had thrown myself suddenly moved under my weight. Tossing the blanket aside, I scream at the top of my lungs. Seeing the smiling beautiful face of my Stephanie. “Come sit with me mommy!” In an out of body experience, I saw myself walking to what has to be a dream. Telling myself to wake up from this dream, but also telling myself just one touch, one more time to hug her. Hooking a knee onto my bed and lifting myself up to crawl towards her, I felt the tears warming my cheeks as they caressed me on their decent down. I gathered her into my arms and spooned her so tight to me. She felt the same, almost as if she never left, almost as if I didn’t just confirm her body at the morgue just 5 hours ago. Taking a deep inhale into her neck and smelling her hair I noticed she smelled the same, like Johnson and Johnson and not like the smell that will never leave me from the morgue; disinfectant and cold. Accepting that I might be losing my mind I turned her around so I can admire her face. Her small hand reached up to caress my cheek. Wiping the tears from my face she asks me why am I crying. “Because I miss you my baby girl. I don’t want you to be gone.” “I’m not gone mommy, I’m right here silly. And my new daddy said I can come back to see you whenever I want. And I have so many sisters now! They are so beautiful. And everyone is wearing white and

33 they are always happy. And I get to eat all the candy I want and not get tummy aches…” As my little Angel kept talking I can just picture her playing around in heaven and being eternally happy. “… but I don’t know why he didn’t love me.” Shaken from her last statement, I interrupted her. “Who doesn’t love you baby?” “Daddy. He told me I had to leave you because he would love me more if I was gone. That you would be happier if I was gone. Is it true mommy? Are you happy now?” This is definitely a weird dream. Maybe I should see the doctor tomorrow. “Daddy would never take you away from us. We love you so much.” Her beautiful face now etched with a four year olds anger and hurt, “You don’t believe me mommy? That’s not nice.” “The police think it’s this bad man that has been going around taking little girls away from their mommy’s, baby. It is in the news right now. He’s a bad man who has children just to kill them. They haven’t caught the bad guy yet but it’s not daddy, princess. ”

Having to let her go because she was pulling away, I watched her point to my ceiling above my room closet. I walked towards her and noticed the tile she specifically pointed at was slightly out of place. Taking my step stool and reaching for that tile, I lifted it up and poked my head inside. My heart palpitated as I noticed a shoe box directly in front of me. Something told me this box was not filled with a pair of shoes. Grabbing the box, I step down and looked around for Stephanie. She was gone. Oh No! She is gone! How do I get her back? Tossing the box on the floor, running over to the bed, I flip the blanket over to see if she was underneath again, to find she wasn’t. Slinking down to the floor wondering what is wrong with me. I finally had a chance to be with her again and I upset her and went looking for a stupid shoe box. I took a peek at the box, where I threw it on the floor. That’s odd. A bunch of pictures fell out and are now scattered all over my carpet. Crawling over to the box, vomit threatens me as I notice it is pictures of dead little girls. Specifically, all the little girls that have been in the news throughout the years with unsolved deaths. After searching through a few I find the one of my precious little Stephanie on the grass of our local park, surrounded by her own blood. Yup, that vomit followed through on its threat and just over took my body while I ran to my bathroom. Remembering my loving handsome completely innocent

34 husband John is just downstairs. I lock the bedroom door and take my cell phone out of my pocket to call the detectives. I might be crazy, but maybe the detective can take me to a mental institute. Whispering into the phone, I say one sentence and then hang up. “The killer is my husband” Still daydreaming on the floor, I’m woken by the knocking of my front door. I hear the banging getting louder and louder but I’m frozen. I still can’t find myself to get up and run towards the safety of the detective and show him what I found. I hear a loud crash and then the stomps of many men coming up the steps towards me and I look at the door as the detective runs towards me, followed by two other officers. Concern was laced in the detective’s voice, but I can’t talk. I am paralyzed by my findings. I take my eyes off of the detectives and look at the pictures scattered on the floor. The detective follows my gaze and looks at all the pictures. “Where is your husband?” Three more detectives come into my already crowded room and announce that John isn’t in the house. He got away….again.

35 Kenya Torres

Autumn Leaves

It’s the middle of October, Orange leaves flood the sidewalks and curbs. Walking through a damp leafless forest, she is shadowed by an entity, covered with old love. Covering her every step, she stops to confront the entity that feels heavy on her shoulder at this point, yet, at a stop, the entity is non – existent. She continues to walk with her headphones playing the sweet tunes of classical piano music. She is Vanessa Kirby, a young woman that is transitioning through a new stage in life. Vanessa is in her third year of college and she is practicing this new mind-set of not being so easily broken. Times before, Vanessa has faced some of the most terrible heartbreaks. She has always recovered from them but always find herself basking in old memories of when her love was so genuine and kind. She once had a soft innocent touch, now it’s getting a little cold. The remnants of the warmth seeps through her fingers when she attempts to gently touch the man she loves. She loves him and the love comes from her soul. She’s just simply wondering why this entity that she feels on her shoulders won’t go away. Vanessa takes her time and analyze what could this strong entity be that seems to never leave her side. She loves Joshua but can’t seem to keep a focused thought on him as she kicks the leaves around her feet. She takes a sudden turn onto a street with no street lights, there are only trees. At the end of the block, there’s a big giant tree where she usually goes to paint and evaluate life. Sometimes she even speaks to the tree as if it could speak back. During this particular night, as she sits under the tree. She is accompanied by that entity that has been following her around. The leaves on the ground seem a little more active this night. Her mind is racing the leaves at full speed. Joshua is the topic of discussion in her mind. He is there in her thoughts as if he is the tree that she is sitting up against. He is overcrowding her mind, her every move. She asks the tree, “Does he really love me?” The tree responds with a soft breeze. The entity responds with a harsh gust of wind letting her know that it is still present. The leaves begin to surround her body as if they are forming a tornado. She asks the leaves, “What are you doing?” They respond by instantly hitting the ground. Things are quiet for a moment. Vanessa is now standing as if she is ready to demand answers. As she stands tall, the leaves are intimidated as they begin to form a body-like figure next to the

36 tree. Standing taller than Vanessa, the leaves begin to caress the tree as if they were beginning to mate. She then asks the tree, “Are you the lover of the leaves, or a friend of mine? The tree finally responds with words, “I am nobody to you or the leaves.” Vanessa is now slowly backing away trembling because she is hurt from the words the tree spoke to her. She is now asking, “Are you as wise as they say old trees are?” “I am” “Do you remember everything I’ve told you over the years?” “I do” “Do you remember the question I asked a few minutes ago?” “I do” “Well, does he?” “He loves you Vanessa but he also loves another” “Who is the other woman that he loves?” “You’ll know when she leaves.”

37 Kiara N Tosado

Breaking Space

I don’t know where I am, and I guess I’ve never really known. What I do know is that a sort of vastness surrounds me. It’s filled with other things beside myself, yet it feels so empty. Everyone seems to simply be floating around, they are mindless in their ways, and at times I feel compelled to think there is a greater power with the upper hand. This kind of ethereal elegance and weightlessness comes so naturally. Still it’s so otherworldly that I could never quite grasp the complexity of it. In spite of this, there is someone whom I’ve always believed to move just a little more quickly, think just a little more deeply, and feel just a little more strongly. And for so long I hoped to finally meet him. Only there’s just one problem. He’s light-years away. What an inhibiting force, pulling, pulling and pulling me farther and farther away from him, farther from where I want to be. I have absolutely no control over what I do and I can’t help but question why that is. Better yet, why hasn’t anyone else? “I’m sick of this!” I yelled, “Aren’t any of you fed up?” I was met by complete and utter silence, which matched the darkness of the void we all were engulfed in. I can feel the frustration building up within me. Boiling to the point where there was nowhere left for it to go and suddenly, I was moving. Not in the fluid way we tend to glide about, drifting through emptiness on a strict path no one could see, but in a forceful, tenacious manner. There is an unyielding energy within me now, propelling further into space I’ve never explored. I could hear a voice calling out, “Hello? Is someone there?” What a sound, so consuming in its unfamiliar nature. Everything around me is zooming by and I’ve never felt so exhilarated before. A feeling of control, a sense of being and a new found awareness surged over me as I saw his face. He’s still pretty far but at least I can hear him now. “It’s you,” he said, “I could tell by that strong nature of yours that you’d be the one. My name is Mars. I’ve waited a long time, but I knew you would come.” His voice was beginning to fuel me further and further and more power surged from my body. At this point, I felt that I couldn’t stop and honestly I didn’t want to. Thriving off of this power, I was starting to understand more and more about my purpose -- why I was here, and what I was meant to do. Somehow I finally understood the intricacy of it all. There was no longer a higher power in control, and there were no unspoken laws or blind paths to take. Just Mars and me.

38 As I neared him I finally said, “I’m Saturn, I think I’ve been longing for you too. I can feel it in my core; its what brought me to you.” The darkness was beginning to fill with an unimaginable amount of small lights that flooded the empty space and I could see all that we created and all that came to be. We had collided.

39 Gabriela Valenzuela

The Suicide Forest

It was a hot summer day, the trees in the Aokigahara forest stood towering in front of my eyes. Their leafy tops shone like emeralds, thanks to the sunlight, and the road was submerged in an ocean of greens, yellows and browns. The birds shared their sung message, filling the place with a soft melody. I was in front of the yellow tape that marked the end of the tourist path, letting my gaze lost in the density of the trees that hid the darkest secret of the forest. Aokigahara was also known as “the suicide forest” hundreds of people travel each year from all places to kill themselves inside of it. I look at my classmates for a second, they are all distracted by the beauty of the nature and the explanations of the tourist guide. I took a deep breath wield my hands to the straps of my backpack and ran into the forest before anyone could notice my absence. I as all the lost souls who came to this forest had decided that it was the place where I wanted to die. I made the decision last week when the sad blue eyes of my dad were looking at me from the other side of the table. I had seen that sad look twice before. The first time I was ten, it was the night that we found mom standing alone in the middle of the kitchen talking to Nathaniel her “angel” The second time was a year later at my mom's funeral. Mom suffered from a "little personality problem" as dad liked to call it. One that made her act energetic and happy for days to then drag her into the dark sadness right into Nathaniel’s arms. Six months later we moved to Japan because of my dad work. I stopped when the air in my lungs became scarce. I looked around, still catching my breath, to confirm that my only company were the trees. Relieved to have lost the group I reduced my speed and started walking, looking for the perfect place to hang my rope. “The world is full of beautiful places” the big signal was a few feet away still visible from my point of view. It was one of those messages that the authorities had put to try to convince people to change their minds. It didn't work on me, and I was very sure that it hasn't worked for others either; like the other one of “Your family loves you” that I saw when I was running. The night before Nathaniel came to visit me, he sat at the edge of my bed and told me that I possessed the same gift that my mother. I told him that I didn’t want it. I told him that I didn’t want to make my dad sad again, and he told me that the only way to end everything was to follow him. Then he taught me the hangman knot. I was holding the thick rope between my hands while I

40 contemplated the most impressive tree in all Aokigahara. Its wide trunk stood proudly as its branches touch the sky, a halo of light covered it completely making it the only thing that you could see in the middle of the forest. It was the perfect place. I tie one end of the rope in the large trunk, making sure it does not let go. Then, I throw the other end with the knot on it above one of the lower branches. I placed my backpack on the ground and I stood on it reaching the perfect height, I took the rope and put it around my neck. Finally, I closed my eyes, hoping to see Nathaniel and my mom, waiting to the sadness to disappear. Suddenly the branch shook abruptly, making me fall to the ground, still alive. I looked at the tree for a second, there was no sign that the wind had blown so hard to make me feel, so I decided to believe that what had happened was a product of my imagination. I tried again, I stood on my backpack and placed the rope around my neck. The shock this time was more intense. The branch moved as if it was a gigantic arm trying to remove a mosquito. I have fallen again, this time too scared to try a third time. “You are being too, insisting Ian” a powerful voice echoed strongly in the place, making the birds left their nests and the earth move violently under my feet. It took me a few seconds to realize from where that voice was coming. In front of my eyes was the tree. All the knots and cracks in its trunk had accommodated to form a face, its branches were grouped into two long arms and its roots stood out as two long legs. My first reaction was to run, but I couldn’t, my body did move. I was paralyzed, surprised, scare all at the same time. “W…w…what are you?” My voice sound fragile when the words came out. I had never seen anything like that, not even when Nathaniel taught me the creatures in his world. “I am whatever you want me to be, I can be your conscience, your Guardian angel, God.” Said the tree while it bent to let its face closer to mine. “I am an old tree who has seen a lot of suffering, a lot of pain, and a lot of lost souls that die in this forest. But one thing I have to admit. I have never seen someone as young as you in here.” I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself that nothing was real, that I had died at the first try and it was just one of the obstacles in my way to meet my mom. “I usually do not intervene in human decisions.” The tree continued letting his breath of wood and dirt hit my face. I opened my eyes and stared at his face for a long second, afraid to talk until a question came to my mind “Why me? Why did you interfere with my plans?” I asked, completely angrily at the wrinkled and cracked face in front of me, which resembled an old person. Too old as the earth. The sharp branches that it had for teeth joined in a soft smile. “I couldn’t let

41 you do what you were planning to do with my beautiful branches. You don’t want that, no-one wants.” I could hear Nathaniel whispering in my ear. “He doesn’t understand you, he doesn’t know you” the anger was running through my bones, making me raise my voice as loud as the first words of the tree. “I want this! I need to do this!” A mix of compaction and sadness covered the tree’s dark eyes. “Believe me, I had seen them regretting it at the last second when it is too late. I had seen their bodies discompose for weeks before the police could find them. I had seen their ghost hanging around sadly.” The spirits looking at their bodies’ seconds after had pulled the trigger, take the pills, and open the wrist. Their faces full of pain and regret, the rotten flesh of the bodies, the disfigured factions after days of being exposed to nature. I shook my head to remove the images. It wasn’t how Nathaniel had told me the night that he visit me. “I have to…I don’t want to make dad suffer, I want to see mom.” My voice cracked at the end of the sentence. I was crying. A wave of feelings and thoughts hit me in a second. I was imagining my mom cooking with a big smile, her perfume filling the entire kitchen, I could hear Nathaniel calling me, and I was seeing my dad and his sad blue eyes leaving flowers in my grave. The pain gripped my chest, I could not do that to him. Couldn’t do it. Suddenly, felt grateful to the tree to have stopped me. “It’s all right kid, everything is going to be okay now” its voice was soft and cozy. It stretched one of its big hands, and I climbed without doubt, he lifted it and approach it to his face to speak with his friendly voice again. “I’ll take you home.”

42 Gabriela Valenzuela

Devastation

So, here I am typing the words “depressed teens and the use of marihuana” on the container of world’s wisdom, Google. I know that is has been months since the accident, but it keeps coming back to me mostly at night in the form of a big earthquake that destroys everything and wakes me up. My left side was melting, I was melting. The minutes felt like hours and hours felt like days. Then, the happiness came. The laugh arrived with the hippies and the colors suddenly became sensations. I was felling green, blue, yellow, the entire rainbow was flowing through my veins. It start like any normal day. I was back in Chile for summer vacations catching up with my friends from high school. We were old enough to go out for a drink, at least according to the Chilean law, so we meet at “El barrio Bella Vista” one of the most tourist’s places in Santiago. The loud noise from the clubs mixing whit the music in the restaurants and the screams of people trying to have a conversation made me felt alive. I was ready to do everything that I had not done since I came to USA, which included smoking pot. To be honest I had never tried marijuana before or any other hallucinogenic, and the curiosity was killing me. -Do you want to do it here? – My friend, Camila, was asking me while we were waiting for our drinks. She was the only one in the group that used pot with frequency. I glanced to see the expression of my other friends before give my answer to found that Carola, Jessica and Nayadeth were looking at us raising eyebrows with no too convinced faces. The five of us had meet in elementary school and since then we have been inseparable, well inseparable until I came to the USA. The voice of the waiter announcing the arrival of our beers and fries broke the seconds of tension on the table. – Let’s finish our drinks first and then let’s go to my place, it is better to do it there than in public. Don’t you think? – The words came out of my mouth before I could think it twice. Between laughter, memories of our childhood and new stories from our college experiences the moon took place replacing the sun in the sky. The night was cool, even though it was summer. I was hugging myself while we walked through the illuminated streets of the clubs to my house which wasn’t too far from the bar. The creaking of the old wooden stairs warns me that someone is coming to the room. I take a quick look at the screen where a page with

43 information remains open. My heart stops for a few seconds while I close the web site and open a new one, just to pretend that I wasn’t doing what I was doing. – Are you still looking for information about that? - My mom asks behind me, and her voice relaxes me. She knows what had happen and how guilt I had felt since that day. – Well it is something that I can control, every time that I think about it I feel guilt- I say rolling the chair to face her with a weak smile in my face. I kwon she is going to tell me that it wasn’t my fault and that everything is okay now, but it was my fault, it was my idea and nothing is okay. Nothing has been okay since that night. I took a deep breath after taking my first step into the place that had hold my eighteen years of life. A wave of memories hit me together with the homely fragrance of my apartment that I had missed so much. It didn’t take long for that cozy scent to disappear and be replaced by a stronger and slightly bitter one. I was sitting next to Camila in the couch holding the bong between my legs. I lit the pipe and inhale. The water into the container bubbled carrying the smoke through the long tube directly to my mouth and then into my nervous system. The room began to spin giving me a funny sensation that made me laugh. I closed my eyes and suddenly y was drowning my entire body was rocked violently by the ocean waves, my heart was beating faster and it was difficult to breathe. Then the laugh started again and the colors filled the room. I was on a roller coaster of emotions which was only interrupted by the doorbell. It was Francisca, Carola’s fifteen years old sister. – I was along and bored in the house, so mom send me here- She said smile in her face. As always their parents had send her with the excuse that both should spend more time together. If I had known what was going to happen, I would not have let her in. The time was passing in slow motion and then it reached the speed of light. The roller coaster was giving twists and turns leaving my body fatigued. I felt exhausted and full of energy all at the same time. I was enjoying the whole experience. Until, my roller coaster was abruptly stopped by a piercing scream. Everything happened so fast, I opened my eyes at the first scream the second one hit me right after I saw the bloody spot on the floor. – Oh my God! Call 911! Call 911! - Carola was yelling hysterically her hands were on her head as she moved from one place to another without stopping, shaking as effect of the drug and the shock. Her sister was lying on the wooden floor, her wrists open letting out a deep red river. The color leave my body as if all my blood had been drained out of nowhere, an electric current ran down my spine leaving me completely motionless in my place. I could hear the voice of Camila

44 giving the direction of my apartment to the person in the other side of the line, but I couldn’t move or talk. My eyes kept locking at the growing stain of blood. Endless minutes had past until the ambulance arrived together with Carola’s parents. I felt the worry in their eyes, and the sensation of guilt overwhelmed me. I wanted to cry and say that I was sorry, that it had been my idea, that everything was my fault but the only sound that my mouth emitted was the sound of my accelerated breathing. At some point in the night, after we let Francisca in, we all get carried away by what we are feeling. We didn’t notice when she lit the pipe, we didn’t see the smoke traveled through the pipe to her mouth. The smoke that mixed whit her psychiatric treatment triggered a depressive attack that ended with her opening her wrists with a broken glass. I'm looking at my computer screen with a picture of the five of us on the beach, taken days before everything fell into pieces, my mother left the room a few minutes ago. I'm biting my lower lip hard as that familiar feeling in my chest fills me completely and tears begin to fall down my cheeks. I glance at my phone, with my eyes full of tears, where a “how are you?" the last message that I send to my friend, still unanswered.

C CREATIVE NON-FICTION

Cagatay Oncu

Loitering

It’s a cold November evening and I’m home on a Friday. There isn’t so much to do in Paterson. The streets are lined with ethnic restaurants and hookah lounges that cater to out-of-towners. During the summer, a few ethnic parades float by and that’s the most of it, really. For the rest of the year, there are all these little lives shuffling on in thousands of little homes and packed-together villages. Every day, it’s the same thing, and today I’m feeling bored. Having recourse, I decide to give my friend John a call. I pick up the flat little block, and about half a mile away, he picks up his. “Yo, whatcha’ doin’? You tryna’ chill?” “Just ate. ‘Bout to come out and shit.” “Yeah, yo? You wanna pick me up?” “Yeah, yo, I gotchu’.” “Aight. Peace.” “Peace.” I browse the internet while I wait. I read another article about Syria. Within ten minutes, my phone begins to ring. I pull on my Doc Martens and wind the laces around my ankles as I tie them close and tight. They are hardy, leather shoes that will last for years. I treat the leather and polish them every three months. As I barrel down the staircase, I wonder if it doesn’t bother my neighbors. They’ve never said a word about it, but I can’t imagine they don’t hear it. Going up, I’m nimble as a cat. I leap two, sometimes three stairs at a time, my weight landing like a pin, precise and all but silent. But when I come down fast, there is a sort of falling to it. With every calculated drop, 200 pounds bombard the step, old carpet thrashed under rubber sole. But perhaps they enjoy it more than I can appreciate. My neighbors are all either old or verging on it. We are three families across three stories. My father and I live on the third floor, and below us lives Paulina. Paulina used to live in California, but she and her husband divorced and then she moved out here to her parents, with her daughter. Her parents were very old then and have died since. Her daughter also moved out, but visits often, and besides, Paulina has a dog. When her parents died, the home was put up for sale and purchased by a 65 year-old Costa Rican immigrant named Victor, who moved into the first floor, where Paulina’s parents used to live. Victor is a man with a smile that seems to outlast the world, and he will call you

49 amigo, unless you’re somewhat reserved, in which case, he will lightheartedly refer to you by your name, preceded by the honorific “mister.” He arrived in the Bronx when he was somewhat younger and is now a unionized worker at a local factory. He saved and he saved, and now he owns the mortgage to this house, which means we owe him rent; a prime example of Social Darwinism, if I’ve ever seen one. Victor is 65 years old, but you wouldn’t believe it if you saw him. He is the very incarnation of vitality. He is a small and stout man with bronze skin and round, cheery features. He has been working for his entire life, and his small frame bears the development of a robust and practical strength. In his temperament, he seems almost stuck in a cloud, so consistently cheery and high spirited that you wonder whether he’s entirely sober. But I always see him outside on the weekends, in the garden or in his garage, working in his jumpsuit for what seems like all day, and it is then that I understand where his happiness comes from. Victor’s son no longer lives with him and I haven’t seen him visit. He lives with his wife, Analie, who is a Venezuelan woman with kind, old eyes and a fragile reservation which swiftly yields to warmth and a smile. She is smaller than Victor, and if not so much as his, claims a certain robust energy of her own. I sometimes find her washing the carpet near the front door, and this is when her little old body betrays its secret vigor. It is the same carpet that my shoes now sully as I twist the door lock and the deadbolt, then pushing the screen door aside and out into the nipping cold. I see an old, black Jetta with white trimming waiting outside, its headlights somehow aggressive. Muffled Metallica emanates from the car, sounding so strange in these parts, where the streets resound with anthems of gold, glory and the ghetto. As I walk up to the passenger door, I see someone sitting there. It’s Serkan, a young man whom I’ve known since he was a teenager. He arrived to the United States with his mother when he was 14 years old, and he’s now 23. He still doesn’t have a green card and he often has trouble renewing his visa. Nonetheless, he’s been living in this country for just short of ten years now, and for him, that’s almost half his life. He’s a quiet kid, but sometimes, he’ll smile, and sometimes, a streak of mischief will flash across his face and he’ll jab you with a quick joke. He’s a good kid, but he’s troubled, though he does his best to hide it. He has managed to drill his anxieties and addictions into strict discipline, and his most consistent addiction is to work. Serkan has been working for as long as I can remember. Between massively multiplayer online games and soft drugs, he’s either been loading bread at the local bakery, driving rugs around the state, and now, acting as lower

50 management at a warehouse. He’s a shrewd kid, 6’4, with dirty blonde hair, sharp features, and a lanky build, but if you looked at him carefully, you could see the fear and uncertainty lurking beneath his features, whatever their fleeting suggestions. Next to him is John, whom I’ve known since I was twelve, but only became friends with when I was about sixteen. He and I are somewhat close, somewhat distant relatives and have been friends for about seven years. We have a shared interest in medieval history, as well as rock music. Also, we’re both atheists, but that’s mostly because of me; a fact for which his mother quietly resents me to this day. John doesn’t believe in God, but he hasn’t quite gotten over his devotion to a certain Turkish football club, and his car is full of memorabilia. When I enter the car, the two young men lean over, tilting back their uplifted palms. I clamp my fingers with theirs, like those Barrel of Monkeys figurines, and as we pull apart, our fingers snap loose. We soon begin the customary small talk. None of us really have much to say anymore. We’re usually scrounging through our phones for something funny or interesting to share, or just to pass the time. John suddenly asks me, “Yo, you watch the rest of that movie?” “Which one? Oh… nah, yo. I kinda went straight to sleep after you left.” “Oh, yeah? Make sure you watch it though, it’s a really good movie. It’s my favorite Turkish movie. It’s a cult film. A lot of crazy shit happens in that movie, watch it.” “Yeah, it seemed alright. I’ll check it out when I get a chance.” I won’t. Our aesthetics are different. I have a taste for nuance that he finds boring, and the movies and shows he suggests are usually… kitschy? Sometimes, I don’t even know how to condescend to him… But he’s a solid friend and not half as stupid as he has the good sense to seem. He came to the United States with his mom when he was 12, after his parents divorced, and now his father pays for his travel to Turkey over the summer. After ten years, he no longer has an accent. He has pale skin, blue eyes, dark red hair, and most people mistake him for a local. We love and hate each other in that way working class kids do, a genuine human tie between us, but both mutually aware that our friendship is sustained by a joint resignation to mediocrity and idle leisure. We drive through the night, three lost boys, three lost men, creeping, parking, starting, stopping, over hours and miles. It’s a common sight in South Paterson, and we’re a part of it. The streets are wide and plenty, with sparse and drifting patches of pedestrian traffic. Bands of older boys and young men can be seen roaming up and down in cheap Japanese and old German cars. Day after day, they reel across the

51 same streets, looking for something to dull the pain, to compensate for bleak horizons and glass ceilings.

52 P PLAYS

Lismery Luna

Next! Characters:

Clara

David

(Scene: Clara is waiting in line in Wesley Hall reading a book she brought along. David opens the door, out of breath, sees Clara on the line and taps her on the shoulder)

David: (wheezing): Excuse me?

Clara: Yes? Did you run here from somewhere?

David: (Caught his breath): Yes, I ran from the dorm I’m staying in, but it doesn’t matter. Is this Wesley Hall?

Clara: Did you not see the sign outside?

David: (Turns around, sees a sign that says “Wesley Hall”): Oh, I guess

I found my answer.

Clara: (turns back to read her book): I guess so. What did you think all these people were here for? Free books?

David: (Sarcastic): No! I thought everyone was in line for Beyoncé tickets!

Clara (Sensing his sarcasm): Oh well. Wouldn’t this line be a lot bigger?

Actually wouldn’t the line stretch around this building, twice?

David: I hadn’t thought about that. 55 Clara: Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to finish this book before classes start.

David (dejected) Oh sorry for bothering you. It was nice meeting you, uh?

Clara: Clara. My name is Clara. (Someone calls out “next!” for the line to move.)

David: Excuse me; is this the line for registration and advisement?

Clara: (Puts her book away, turns around): Yes it is.

David :( takes out his hand to shake hers): David

Clara: (shakes his hand): Clara. Are you excited to start classes soon?

David (nervous) uh, a-a-a bit. (Calms down) I have no idea what to take.

Clara: me either, but my sister told me to start with gen Ed courses the go from there.

David: (chuckles) that sounds a lot better than my plan.

Clara: (curious): really? Well what were you planning on doing?

David: Plans was to take a bunch of classes that have no interest to me, and then go into my major.

Clara: that sounds like a good plan… if you want to hate your first two years here.

David: (teasing): Oh? So you have a better plan than I do?

Clara: Well, I was planning on taking what interest me.

David: and what, young Clara are you interested in?

Clara: (laughs): Well good fellow, I like to read, write a bit and dancetoo.

David: (Curious): Oh, I didn’t typecast you as someone who dances.

56 Clara: Well if you want to get to know me better, maybe we can go out sometime.

David: Oh-um, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I- uh have a girlfriend.

Clara: (Surprised, then disappointed): Oh I- didn’t-mean to-, I thought that-

David: I know, I know, I should have mentioned it before but- I thought you would stop talking to me, if you knew.

Clara: It’s ok, we can still hang out- as friends of course!

David: Yes! As friends. So I’ll see you around ok?

Clara: Yeah. After we get out of this line, of course. (Turns around, takes her book out and tries not to let the news saddened her.)

David: (Whispers under his breath) yeah, see you around. (Someone calls out “next!” for the line to move.)

David: Excuse me, is the line for registration?

Clara: yes it is.

David: Hi, I didn’t even introduce myself, my name is David.

Clara: it’s ok; everyone is having a hectic week. And my name is Clara.

David: interesting name. Never heard of a Clara before.

Clara: (giggles): It’s not a rare name, actually. I think it’s pretty common.

David: I think you are thinking about the name Claire. Now that name I have heard a lot. Clara: Oh I never thought of it that way. Always thought my name was so ordinary.

David: (Laughs) how do you think I feel about the name David?

57 Clara: (chuckles): I don’t think so; I think the name has character. I know a bunch of David’s all across the board.

David: See! That just proves my point! Your name is all cool and eccentric, while my name is so boring and plain that I have no choice but to make outshine everyone else.

Clara: Is that what you did in high school? You felt like you had to shine bright so people would notice you?

David: (uncomfortable): I’d rather no answer that.

Clara: Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. (Someone calls out “next!” for the line to move.)

David: Hi! Is this the line for registration?

Clara: (reading her book, not paying much attention to him): Yes

David: (looking around): So this is a big building.

Clara: (tucks her book away, turns around to force a conversation): One of many at this school. So what classes are you planning to take?

David: I have an idea of what I want. Have you declared a major?

Clara: (nervous): uh-I-uh (scratches her hair) I- um I’m undeclared. Have you?

David: Yeah, Communications with a concentration in P.R., I want to work in the sports industry.

Clara: (Bored, fakes enthusiasm): Oh you have your whole life figured out. Must be nice.

David: (confused): I guess but who knows? I could change my major to something else; like business or science or engineering.

Clara: but you seem adamant on what you want to do. If you have doubts, you will probably add a minor to calm your anxiousness. Or transfer out.

58 David: (Sarcastic) Or drop out, tons of options.

Clara: Yup, that’s true. Well it was nice having a chat but (pointing to the person at the table) I have to get going.

David: Oh! Yeah go ahead, see you around.

Clara: (walking ahead mutters) probably not.

(Someone calls out “next” for the line to move)

David: Hi! I’m going to use a question about registration to talk to you because I think you’re hot.

Clara: Hey! I’m going to pretend like I give a damn to answer your question. The answer is yes this is the line.

David: What’s your name? Don’t bother telling me, I’m probably going to forget it after this conversation.

Clara: Clara. I really don’t care for your name but since you asked for mine, what’s yours?

David: The names David. So did you chose this school for academics or because it’s close to home?

Clara: Actually, thank you for automatically assuming that I’m from here. I chose this school because the academics are great but mostly because the food and library is great.

David: Oh, that sounds boring and pointless. However, I still think you’re hot so I’m going to keep pretending what you have to say is important.

Clara: That’s fine, I have nothing better to do and haven’t made any friends yet so (pats his shoulder) you’ll do.

David: (still excited): great to hear that! This is where I ask you if you want to go out on a date later.

59 Clara: I’ll say because I’m bored and have nothing else to do. We’ll go on a date; it’ll be awkward and uncomfortable. We’ll endure it because you’ll think I’ll hot and easy but I’ll think you’re a nice guy.

David: Wow you can read a person well! How’d you know that?

Clara: My sister warned of college boys. I’m hoping you aren’t like that but with my luck, I know it’s bound to happen.

David: So Friday at 8?

Clara: Yeah, see you then. (Someone calls out “next” for the line to move)

David: Is this the line for registration?

Clara: Yes, it is.

David: Oh, I’m sorry for not introducing myself, my name is David.

Clara: its ok, my name is Clara.

David: Clara, what a pretty name.

Clara: (Giggles and then smiles): Thank you. So have you met anyone interesting?

David: (teasing): Well I have met this girl on this line, absolutely gorgeous. (Gesturing toward Clara) You probably know her.

Clara: (plays along with David): Really? I probably haven’t met her actually. (Laughs) so do you any plans for Friday?

David: (Surprised that worked) Nothing yet, my friends haven’t decided on anything. Why?

Clara: (nervous but determined): Um- I was wondering since we’re both new and aren’t busy yet, I figured we can grab a bite to eat or something. (Nonchalant) to get to know each other, of course.

David: That would be great. I heard there’s a really good dining hall somewhere on this campus.

60 Clara: That’s awesome! So Friday at 7?

David: Yeah, so how do you want to go about this?

Clara: Let’s exchange numbers and decide later on; then I will tell you where to meet me.

David: That’d be great. (They numbers, giving the phones back to their owners)

Clara: So, I’ll talk to you later this week.

David: Sounds good, see you on Friday.

Clara: You too. (Clara walks moves forward when the next person is done. David decides to come back later, at a less busy time).

David: Yeah, not dealing with that line. (Walks out of the building).

The End

61 Dilruba Parvin

The Pine and the Fringe Characters:

Pine tree: A tall tree who lives in the forest and think himself the best of all other trees. He has ego about his height that he can see everything over other and underestimates the short ones.

Fringe tree: A not really tall tree who also lives in the forest next to the pine tree. Does not have any attitude and doesn’t care about his height. His happy the way he is.

Scene: One nice sunny day, the both trees notice each other and started talking. Pine tree, who has attitude about his height, was teasing the Fringe tree for not be able to see the beautiful forest from above.

Pine: Hey shorty! How are you?

Fringe: I’m okay. How about you?

Pine: I am super-duper good. It is a nice sunny day but seems like you cannot see the beauty of the day from down there.

Fringe: Yeah, I know it’s a nice day. I can see the sunlight in between the trees.

Pine: (teasing) Ha Ha Ha. You are seeing the light of sun in between the trees but you cannot even imagine how beautiful it looks from above. You cannot enjoy the day as me because of your height. I’m feeling sorry for you, poor Fringe.

Fringe: (becomes sad) I know I’m short. But it’s okay. You do not have to see everything in life.

Pine: Oh God! You’re so boring. Anyway that none of my business. (He ignores the Fringe and starts talking to other tall trees)

The Fringe tree becomes really sad and thinks about what Pine tree was saying to him.

62 Fringe: (Am I look bad for being short? Pine was true that I cannot see everything from top because of my height. I also want to be tall). Pine was enjoying the beauty of the day with other tall trees and making fun of the short ones. They were laughing and teasing the Fringe. Every day when Pine sees the sun rising and the day becomes beautiful, he starts to tease the Fringe and Fringe becomes sad. Another day while Fringe was lost on his thought about being short, Pine started to talk to him which bring him to consciousness.

Pine: How are you doing my little friend?

Fringe: Same as always, nothing is new. How about you?

Pine: Yeah, there would not be anything new to you as it’s boring down there. You cannot even see the flying birds on the sky and the glowing moon at night. Your life must be so boring right? And look at me, I’m the tallest of all and I can live my life the way I want unlike you.

Fringe: It doesn’t matter if I’m short and I cannot live the life as you, but I am happy about myself and my life. Life is not all about being pretty and attractive, it’s about being nice hearted and being kind to everyone.

Pine: (with full of attitude) Well, I don’t care about being kind and all. The only thing matters for me is being able to rise your head up and rule over everyone.

Fringe: Don’t be so proud of yourself. Having bad attitude and being over confident can bring you down to the situation that you would never expect.

Pine: (mockingly) Yeah yeah, your little mind can only talk this way. You don’t even know how to live life. I don’t care about your speech. I will live the life the way I want.

Fringe: Well, I don’t want to argue with you. Good luck for your life.

Few months later, Pine was chilling with other tall trees and having fun while he heard the noise of the machine of tree cutter. He didn’t care at first, later he noticed that someone was cutting him in the middle. His proud head fall down and he became short as Fringe.

A ART

Rubi Acosta Title: In-between Layers Date: 2015 Size: 5 x 5 Medium: Acrylic on Bristol paper

67 Rubi Acosta

Title: Cut Into Spheres Date: 2015 Size: 11 x 14 Medium: Magazine Paper and Mod Podge on Bristol paper

68 Noah Chamberlain Title: Cup Date: October 2015 Size: 18 x 24 Medium: Charcoal

Miguel DeJesus

69 Brian Gomez Title: Anubis

70 Brian Gomez Title: MegaGohan

71 Alexander Keating Title: Cups Against Light Date: November 2015 Size: 18 x 24 Medium: Graphite

72 Alexander Keating Title: Wheat Date: September 2015 Size: 18 x 24 Medium: Crayon

Title: Thundria

74 Kyle Lorentz

75 Kristen Mercogliano

Title: Dissected Object Date: November 2015 Size: 18 x 24 Medium: Graphite

76 Monushra Miah Title: Color Composition #1 Date: September 2015 Size: 5 x 12 Medium: Cut Paper Collage

77 Rebecca Mink Title: Bottle Gestures Date: September 2015 Size: 18 x 24 Medium: Sharpie

Genaya Palmer

Title: Button Date: November 2015 Size: 18 x 24 Mediums: Pencil, Color Pencil, Marker, and Charcoal

79 Armando Rodriquez

Armando Rodriquez

80 Cesar Salas Title: Woman with Tattoos

81 Marcos Salazar Title: Breathing Out Your Smoke I, II, III, IV, V, 2015 Size: 30 x 30 inches Medium: Oil pastel, ink and watercolor

82 Marcos Salazar A Search for Justice, 2015 72 x 120 inches Oil Pastel, watercolor and ink

83 Marcos Salazar Beauty Zone, 2015 22 ½ x 28 ½ inches Water color, and ink on paper

Emilia Watson Title: Face Palm Date: December 2015 Size: 18 x 24 Medium: Color pencil

Emilia Watson Title: Dissected Object Date: December 2015 Size: 18 x 24 Medium: Charcoal

86 Victoria Vulcano Title: Teacups

87 Special Thanks to:

Professor Mary Dajnak Professor Mark Hillringhouse Professor Amanda Kibler Vice President, Dr. Jacqueline Kineavy Professor Richard Marranca

English and Fine and Performing Arts Departments