ScribendiUSU Creative Writing Contest

2015

Utah State University 2015 Scribendi Creative Writing Contest

This magazine has been printed by Publication Design and Production on the Utah State University campus and is published under a Creative Commons license in association with the Department of English. THANK YOU

We want to thank everyone involved: first, our USU students for writing and submitting; second, our dedicated judges for their expertise; and lastly, the English Department, CHaSS, and USUSA for funding.

We’d also like to thank the English Department office staff: Annie Neilson, Kuniko Poole, Lori Hyde, and Carol Hatch.

And as contest director, I want to thank our two wonderful— interns, Ben Gunsberg Shay Larsen and Emily Holmes, for their hard work and enthusiasm while promoting, editing, and designing the magazine. The online version of the magazine is available on the

USU English DeptartmentSponsors: website, www.scribendi.usu.edu. USU English Department

the Writing Center CHaSS

Helicon West USUSA Judges: Steve Shively Paige Smitten Jared Colton Michael Sowder Brock Dethier Shanan Ballam Evelyn Funda Self Creation Christine Cooper-Rompato byCover Grace Image: Ryser Kacy Lunstrom

Undergraduateform Art, onFirst page Place 39 Janimarie Lester DeRose Image appears in its unaltered Fiction

Honeymoon Remnants ValuedGraduate Employee NonfictionRiverGraduate Touchstones The Empty House, Anastasia Lugo Mendez Nocturnal, NavigationChloe Hanson , Kendall Pack , Lori Lee , Matt Halaczkiewicz , Paden Carlson Case Study The Cost of Love TheUndergraduate Tool Shed ConversationsUndergraduate with My Past Constellations, Lorelle of a Pescador’s Frank Wife Like Magic , Tracy Jones , Alyssa Utley , Sarah Timmerman , Mitch Hawk , Preston Grover Poetry

America Through a P.O. Box Graduate(Our father has never been sorry.) ArtTheGraduate Places You’ll Go Anya HawkeAnd now you’ve burned your cookies. Invisible , Katharina Marchant The Mind’s Illness , Katharina Marchant , Katharina Marchant Heavenly Throne Self Creation Kendall AtPack a Disciplinary Hearing AttachmentUndergraduate Bloodhounds Hooded Siblings, Grace Ryser , Norian Cruz Graffitti , Grace Ryser Aiya SakrDampened Prayers Whiteout Mint, Milk, Tea Splinter,Honorable Storms, Mentions Full, Bloom, Red, leave her ,- Grace wild., liberation,Ryser Scuba Diving, Ascension, Maria Williams Macy Marin Keith Spark, Captive, McKenzie Lowry UndergraduatePhineas Gage J. Conradhuman. Lucas Brady Hunsaker Between Spaces

Contents My Brother Runs Away Alyssa UtleyWardrobe Neuroses American Sniper

Rhapsody For A Child Of The Sagebrush Loren Smith 5 | Scribendi 2015

Fiction

mouth and do something sloppy: kiss only the corner of her mouth,

Graduate or her nose, or her chin. I didn’t want to slobber on her chin. But the kissing was fine. - 1st Two years later I took her sister Emma Clemens out on the boat ple leaves on the water. We watched as some sunk and others spun Honeymoon on the same kind of night, and she dropped a handful of curling ma Anastasia Lugo Mendez she unbuckled my pants. We didn’t have sex. The boat rocked too muchslowly and out sheaway shrieked from the that boat. we Iwere took goingoff her to shirt drown. that She night, stood and up

I spent every summer of my childhood out at the lake behind my grandparents’ old home. My grandfather and I would spend each boatso quickly slowed that its shetottering. almost fell out and drowned anyway. I pulled her day in oversized hats, fishing rods resting over the edge of his small,- back down before she did and we sat there, half undressed, as the wooden boat, waiting for something to bite. The boat on the placid surface was almost like the bowl of a wooden serving spoon. A serv I lost my virginity the weekend after that, on a Sunday morning ing spoon nestled into a big bowl of liquid jello. That’s what I told when our families were both at church and Emma and I had been him, and that’s what he told my grandmother in turn. a bowl of jello with a wooden spoon in it. Everyone ate around the left behind, taken for granted as the sleeping slovenly teenagers A week later, when I turned nine, instead of a birthday cake I got that we both were. I had wanted it to be on the boat but in the end- it was quick and sweet and blinding, like I had walked into a field of spoon until there was so little jello that the spoon was about to flop new snow on a cloudless day the second I moved inside her. I for over sideways in the bowl. So I pulled it out. For a moment the jello got about the boat, and I forgot about the threadbare paisley sheets stood upright, the imprint of the spoon like the imprint someone laterwrapped and shearound was us. back I could in Poughkeepsie. only think of The how Clemens’ her hair smelledstopped likecom - might leave behind on a sofa cushion. Then the jello tipped over, and inghoney. to the When lake I aftertold her that. that, she almost seemed upset. Another week it got spooned up and served out to anyone who wanted it. I kept the cherrylast bite red until taunt. I was There sure andeveryone then gone was done.again. I had the first bite, and the last. I spent that evening sticking my tongue out at the mirror. A quicklyTwo and years quietly after followed.that my grandparents died. First my grandfather, quickly and quietly in the night. Two days later, my grandmother snuck out one night and met Maddy Clemens and paddled it out I had my first kiss on the boat, the summer I was fourteen. I When I got up the nerve to propose to Megan we were on the to the middle of the lake on a moonlit night. She told me I looked boat. She brought along a picnic in a wicker basket, checkered red dreamy, and in the shadows I was nervous I was going to miss her 7 | Scribendi 2015 we boarded in Florida. Megan was sick for - the city and she wanted the picnic to be tablecloth and all, because she grew up in intoof it. troubleWhen we and docked, always we managing traveled to the board is - the first day or so but then she got used againlands beforeand beaches it became for other too serious. corners, getting exactly right. I put the ring on her finger and hugeto being and on we the kept ship, it stocked and we withwere choco so busy- she cried, and for a second I had that feel that I forgot about it at all. Our cabin was late covered strawberries and champagne though when we got back to Florida it ing I used to get with when I was with my and spent a good part of every day walking seemedTwo thatweeks we seemed had only to just last left.a lifetime, Megan grandfather at the end of a long, hot day on the boat when I walked home with our catch the king-sized bed and watching bubbles itsin atelltale bucket, creak swinging and the weight lightly, around in silk robes or ofnothing, sky through lounging the on felt sick again on the ground, and I said it waiting to fling open the screen door with shout for my grand- portholes. When we grandparentswould pass and had that left I feltme kindtheir ofhome fuzzy and too. The doctor calls it Mal de bothered leaving we MeganWe flew had back agreed north that to my we dream should house. live in My got dinner!” Debarquement Syndrome. spent a day at the that cove of green and quiet. She had found mother, saying, “We spa and at the casi- that moment with MDDS. It sounds like it found a position as an accountant for a small I wanted to have enough money to companya job teaching in town. at the Wedding elementary gifts waitedschool andfor I should be one of the out- no, where we won and we held each pay for another trip otherMegan. as I thekissed boat her lets on a television. to the spa. The on- board entertainment us, stacked inside the front door. was tacky but they and when we went I carried Megan across the threshold, played the songs we used to listen to in rocked, so slightly, - which she said made her dizzy, so I put her high school and we danced like we were ten - foredown long and Megan kissed said her sheforehead was tired to say and I was that back to the house, now empty and forgot sorry. We tried to unwrap presents, but be ten except for my summer visits, I took her what greeted me and our newly purchased to the bed I always stayed in, the bed that inyears every younger. hallway. We We spent narrowly time poolside, avoided beingand though it had been nearly ten years since marriageshe’d be going bed was to bed. only I sleep.followed her up but I slept in with Emma Clemens, and even askedshe bet to me leave that at we the could next kissport on when every we deck, - were found in a maintenance elevator. They howthat dayfelt justand likeI’d been being with with several Emma. other Blinding. caught us too soon for our clothes to come women, lying in that bed with Megan some were up to. We were sent back to our cabin I had the weekend to adjust before going But Megan smelled like perfume, not really withoff, though only the of mostcourse tired the andcrew feeble knew gesture what we calledback to for work, her throughoutand by the time the house I woke but up she and floral or sweet or musky, I could never say of disgust on the part of the crewman who went downstairs Megan had left the bed. I what it really was, other than decidedly her found us. We giggled into our robes that we her car was still in the garage. The boat was perfume, her scent. missing.didn’t answer. For a momentI went outside my heart and pushed saw that for the honeymoon cruise. The Ocean of andwere unpopulated neither the firstcorners nor onlast the couple cruise that ship. It was the boat that gave us the idea would be found sneaking off to find dark ofagainst zinc oxide my ribs on andher nose.throbbed She there,and the but boat then I saw her, wide brimmed hat and a stripe Paradise traveled the Gulf of Mexico, and While we had our own corner, we made use 8 | Scribendi 2015 rippled with the waves. I waved, and she waved back, and I had this big, stupid thought: “Wife. She’s my wife.” Megan spent most of the weekend on the water. On Sunday, I - went out with her, and we floated in silence, our bare legs touching as we lay back in the boat. I read the paper. She worked on her les son plans. It felt better than being in an office. Megan sat there with a hint of a smile, and I thought she felt the same. That week at work I was thrown into the deep end, a sink-or- swim scenario at work. I succeeded, of course, but it meant more herwork to. at She home. still Ifelt wanted unsettled. to keep the honeymoon feeling. But Megan was also busy with work, and she slept more than I had ever known from the elementary school. Megan never made it in and she wasn’t On Thursday I left the house early for work. At noon I got a call

answering her cell phone. No one picked up at the landline either. When I pulled into the driveway at the house I was still re-dialing robotically. I could hear the phone ringing inside the house. Megan’s car was in the garage. I ran through all the rooms calling her name again, until I remembered Saturday. I headed out the back door and withoutsaw her. thatShe wasbright lying splotch in the of boat. zinc Ion could her nose.not tell if she was awake, or hurt, and the sun was bright and she was out there without a hat,

I took off my shoes and jacket and dropped my cell phone and car keys on the pile of rumpled black cloth, then ran into the lake and waded out as fast as I could. I lost my balance and tipped over into the water, then swam out to her. I didn’t think I could call to her. I eyes.was afraid she wouldn’t answer. When I got closer my arms splashed water into the boat as I pulled myself nearer, and she opened her -

humors“Hey,” of she her said. eyes I shifted held on and to the changed side of like the ripples boat and in achurned pool. wa America Through a P.O. Box ter with my legs to stay afloat and look at her. The reflections on the Graduate Art, First Place

Katharina Marchant sounds like it should be one of the outlets on a television. When he The doctor calls it Mal de Debarquement Syndrome. MDDS. It Scribendi 2015 | 9 loose grasp on the intangible that she seems to hold when she says the first two words it just sounds like “Mal Day,” and my pidgin looks like a movement from memory rather than intent, the same Spanish makes me think, over and over, “Bad day, bad day, bad day.” sleepMegan without just nods, eating and anything. on the drive home she asks me to wander. I sleeps. I take a seat on the weather-worn bench behind the house drive for hours, until just after dark, when I go home and she goes to and watch. I wait for her to come back to shore. -

I unload the groceries. Ginger ale and wintermint gum, the doc mighttor says, feel can as helpthough with the an world upset is stomach. made of Aftertumbling that, blocks there iscollapsing only undertime, and her if feet she for wants the restthem, of theher soporific life. She says meclizine that when pills. sheMegan can fall - 2nd asleep it stops. Her dreams are normal. When she drives it stops. Af Valued Employee Kendall Pack ter the diagnosis she leaves her job and I never know where I’ll find gottenher. Oftentimes on the interstate her car is to gone drive from uninterrupted the driveway, and and on Isolid know ground. she is weaving through the suburbs nearby, though once or twice she’s We regret to inform you that your position at our company has Valued Employee, A few times I’ve found her spinning in the living room. Sometimes January 17th, 2014 all-out spinning, like a windmill or a toddler just discovering how heavy their arms can be, and sometimes just swiveling on a barstool, been terminated, effective . Your service to the a hypnotic back-and-forth. I just want to hold her, but I can’t hold company has been invaluable and, were circumstances different, we her still, and when I tried dancing she said, very quietly, “You’re very deemedwould keep an unnecessary you on as an costemployee. and/or However, obsolete duein today’s to the businesseconomic sweet, but I just don’t feel well.” crisis and/or changing business practices, your position has been She becomes so much like a child. I want to build her a swing -set Exiting Employ- environment. We feel confident that, with the skills we have taught and a merry-go-round and ferris wheel. I put up a hammock in one ees Office for information regarding future employment opportuni- you, you will be highly employable. Please visit our of the spare bedrooms, and I fall asleep to the sound of her creak ties. thating from shouldn’t side to move side isin secretly it. I miss an her ocean lying being next pulledto me in by the a thousand bed, but Exit Check- moonsI am in intoa world a thousand where the tides. ground lies flat, and in hers everything list provided in this email. Please print a copy and complete each taskAs as an it isexiting outlined employee, on the checklist.it is vital that Bring you the fulfill checklist the to the - Hu- for processing. Failure to do so may dle of the lake and crests and troughs like any other wave. Some days man Resources Department Most of the time I find her in the boat. She floats out to the mid result in a delay of severance pay and/or recommendation to other employers. wavesI can’t seeand her ripples because unfurl she like is curledvines that up in push the andbottom pull of her the every boat, We wish you the best in your future employment opportunities. whichwhere way.she rocks She can to andonly fro. keep Other still dayswhen she she sits is moving. there, stock still while - The Company Sincerely, Today, she is reclining toward the prow, her right arm hang --- 10ing |slightly Scribendi over 2015 the side, her fingers curling in toward her palm. It • 1 desk with 2 drawers4

You did not wake up this morning hoping to find out which 80’s - your severance package. metal band suits you best, but by 9 a.m., and with the help of an Any damage to company items will result in deductions from online quiz, you know it’s Warrant and you spend the next hour lis revealtening someto their subcutaneous discography understanding but always coming of your back own to “Cherrypredicament Pie” --- in life.the hopes that “I scream, you scream, we all scream for her” might with a thick glow. Summer’s here and you think that maybe you can doors whooshing shut behind you and the nagging feeling that you Sunlight sprays through the slits in the shades and fills the room It’s a week since you left work for the last time, the sleek front - drawer or lodged between your cubicle wall and the back of your get your old job back at the pool, just for a few months. deskleft something pounding incriminatingaway at your mind.behind, locked away in a forgotten file wageBut and you working wonder for if thatsome might teenage be a head downgrade, guard as going one of from four be But you can’t think like that. interchangeableing team lead to beingplaceholders a subordinate during lifeguard,the morning getting swim minimum and water --- - aerobics, watching old women go under in the deep end and count EXIT CHECKLIST ing how long they take to come up for air, and you think that if just one of those women could be rich, could be the daughter of some intowealthy a large benefactor check. who some building is named after, and she could To Do Prior to Termination Date drown for just a minute and let you save her, you might parlay that ---

Remove any and all personal items from your workstation. The only remaining items should be as follows: $52) in the Exiting Em- ployees Office • 1 computer tower 24 Attend 1 course on resume-building ( do • 1 monitor not . All courses must5 Dobe arranged not go to withthe break the office room at and least • 1 keyboard1 complain hours into advance.your fellow When employees. preparing The to followingarrange your is a dramatizedmeeting, script slam that your details fist howon your not desk. to act in conversation with co-workers: • 1 mouse • 1 company-issued mousepad with the company logo2 • 1 brown chair3

4 Deduction: the lower of the two drawers is broken from when your wife called your work phone (improper conduct) about the divorce papers. 5 1 Use Company-approved dusting spray (available for purchase in the IT Office) to clean Deduction: Damage done to the desk both by this infraction and by previous ones (responses keyboard or a Deduction will be made. to Raiders games, especially in 2004 when you placed an ill-advised bet on them and lost your 2 Christmas bonus; responses to conversations your ex-wife abruptly ended without resolving, Do Not take the mousepad with you as this will result in a Deduction and possible legal action. specifically when she called to tell you she was sick of your red wallpaper so she had a man 3 Deduction: coffee stain from your first day, when you spilled coffee while trying to answer your come in and change it to lime green which then turned into a conversation about your lack of phone, resulting in offensive burns on your hand. “manly skills”). Scribendi 2015 | 11 You: Co-worker: Hey. You: Oh! Hey, man. Heard the bad news. for maximum effect) Yeah? Did they send it in a memo? (use a sarcastic tone Co-worker: You: - I’m sorry, man. That’s really rough. Yeah, well now they want me to go to this self-help semi Co-worker: nar or whatever so they feel better about firing me. You: Really? Yeah, it’s total bull, but they said I won’t get my severance Co-worker: Well at least you’re getting severance... if I don’t go to it. You: it. I’m sure they’ll work out another way to screw me out of Co-worker: You: 6 Tough break, man. Yeah, no shit.

1 hour 15 minutes early to yourRefuse appointment to call the the office next andday. setThis up will your give appointment you an opportunity until to before the office closes for the day. Arrive

voicehold your your head concerns in your to ahands small and group. tell Examplepassersby concerns that you’re heard “A littlefrom previoussick, but thanksparticipants for your include: concern.” The meeting should allow you to • • How am I supposed to pay rent? • You think my parents might let me move back in? Would walking into traffic and getting hit by a bus count as • “forward progression”? Splinter How flammable is this building? Art, Honorable Mention 6 Deduction: Vulgarity and profanity in the office are prohibited, a guideline you have regularly broken. Macy Marin Keith 12 | Scribendi 2015 - Clear your computer’s browser history and delete your user- ployees include: Lessons learned from the course as submitted by previous em • Good thing no one’s depending on me to bring home a pay- name from the database. Any offensive materials9 accessed (e.g. check. will count against your severance package. violence, profanity, vulgarity, sexual materials) have been noted and • • 10 years doing a job that no one needs done Update your permanent contact information with the Human Some people just don’t deserve to be happy, I guess. anymore. Resources Office I just spent • watching for . This is also your final opportunity to have a 7 3 months in the park. conversation with the woman at the front desk, the one you’ve been I can use all these brochures as a blanket when I’m sleeping . Enter the office with the intention to do so,- --- but find that she is out sick today. When asked by the substitute at the desk if you would like her contact information, think for a mo ment, then mutter, “No, that’s okay,” and fill out your paperwork. 3-5 You look through the shade, through the leaves of the aspen - days.10 growing outside, across the courtyard to the adjacent apartment Leave the building and go home. Lie in bed for the next whowhere owned Kate useda Jetta to would live before want you to settle married down and with subsequently the team lead di of vorced her, and you realize how stupid it was to think that a woman Employee Name (print)______you close your eyes and remember the worst times of the relation- Signature______a dead end section of a faceless company, so instead of regretting it, ship as a reminder that the breakup wasn’t just inevitable but posi- Date______tive. ------

To Do on the Day of Termination You wonder what life might’ve been like if you’d taken that test

8 before yesterday afternoon, before last week, before Kate left you. You wonder if you would have heard Warrant’s Jani Lane sing the Bring your identification badge to the security desk. Keeping or severance package. 9 Your hard drive is full of pornography. We at the Company were at first impressed by the sheer misplacing your identification badge will result in a delay of your amount of pornographic material, but it will still result in a Deduction as we are required to scour the hard drive, resulting in a loss of valuable time during which the IT professionals could be doing progressive and imaginative work in the advancement towards perfection in workspace efficiency. 7 The brochures are not to be taken from the office and doing so will result in a Deduction and 10 After this period is over, find your printed copy of the checklist at the bottom of a stack of possible legal action. papers and return it to the Human Resources Department. You will be informed that the 8 We would not advise shouting, “Here!” and tossing your badge at the security professionals checklist was supposed to be in before your termination. Argue with them for 1 hour before employed by the Company. They are instructed to pacify any threat of violence with reasonable giving up. Note as you leave that the woman at the front desk is back and is in the process of force. Any hospital time spent after an altercation will be calculated in the Deductions from your packing up her things. Ask, “You too?” She will nod. Rather than continue the conversation, severance package as we may be moved to purchase a get-well card. grunt, shake your head, and walk out the door for the last time. Scribendi 2015 | 13 let the rancid smell of a half-dead attic keep girl”words, and “I decideddon’t need that to your be the job king with of the the herelongated from another limbs, lies night next of tosleep. him too tired to world/as long as I’m the hero of this little 3rd were told you would not be needed as an company mattered less, that, when you The Empty House He rests his hand on her hip. If only to Matt Halaczkiewicz nudgesmake certain himself she’s closer. still Touches there. Still his his. calf Keep to employee, it might have struck with less her close...his mother said. He tries. He force because, as Warrant would have you- The boy lies on a bedding of moth-eaten believe, you at least would have Kate, your sheets and unwashed clothes. The thread- hers. Makes certain she’s still there, still real. “little girl” to go home to. Maybe the com bare cotton his safe place from the attic’s pany would check in and say, “Hell, we don’t wouldHours keep pass. watch He butcatches the weight himself of slipping. hunger His eyes falter. He promised himself he like the way he works, we hate the way he press against pitted hardwood panels reallydresses, isn’t and too his far attitude away after is terrible, all” and but throw he’s bowedcold...and from the years dark. of His heat shoulder and damp. blades Pu - his thoughts. and lack of sleep pull at his eyelids, numb youthat anlittle extra girl’s couple hero. thousand Wow, I guess a year heaven just for being so cool. bypils the the memory size of pennies of decades’ swallow worth blackness; of wind He takes a last look at the opening in scrounge for light. Slanted planks, burdened- the floor. His eyes are almost closed when faint light emerges from the black. A warmth In your recliner, in your matching top - ed form. Blue-gray paint chips litter the rot his chin. and rain and snow, hover over his emaciat seeps in and dances, for an instant, against derand onbottom all these pajamas, things in and the conclude living room that of it creeping out from underneath the corners isn’tyour worth$300-per-month your time to apartment, dramatize you the ponmal- - aise of your life and instead crank the arm of case reaches down from an opening in the He gets up. He sits back down. The house of the attic’s floor. Across the room a stair boards and anchors the attic to the rest of was supposed to be empty. His feet, fastened- ingto the a left ground, toe on wait. the edgeWait. of Wait. a raised He gets board. up. thinkthe chair about and these lean thingsback. You you think lie motionless you might and the shadows pulled from off the twisted He shuffles across the wood flooring catch the house. Only his empty belly, the rain, andjerk watchoff, or thewatch ceiling tv, or do sleep, the same. and while you quiet. His eyes water but he stays quiet. Always paneling of the walls, stir his mind. crippled mass of cast off parts. Shattered the edge of the hole. The chasm stares back The home had looked abandoned. A windows. Unhinged door. Wooden shingles at him.He reaches The light the slithers staircase. from He underneath stands at blown clear of the roof and sunken in mud

takesthe door a step. at the bottom of the stairs. It licks and yellowed leaves. Its shape dissolving in his feet. He licks back. He bites his lip and dragthe dusk; his little bleeding sister over across into that the black night. river But it andwas towardshelter. yetEven another so, it took strange some and doing broken to And then another. home. Before he realizes what he’s done, he finds himself clutching an old brass knob. It 14 | Scribendi 2015 That little sister, a twitching clump of turns. He turns and looks back. She sleeps. He pushes, head still turned away, eyes still fixed on the place where his sister rests. The door creaks forward an inch or maybe two. He turns and squints. His eyes feel a thousand needlepoints of light hairflicker the from only across thing thatthe hall. protects He pushes his skin the from door the a littlejagged further. frame. His neck leans up against the edge of splintered hemlock. His matted

His eyes adjust. He stares, investigates the passageway. Only the light disturbs the otherwise black corridor; its walls empty. TheA warmth doorway of tothat another throat room ready across to swallow the hall every stands last open. shred The and boy scrap...consumecan just make out him a hearth, whole. its blue and yellow tongue calling him.

No longer contained by the attic staircase, he nudges forward, shoulder pressed against the wall and drawn to flame. He stops half way. To his left, and level with his head, a charcoal ghosting marks the place where a frame once hung. Even in that passing light, the absence startles him. An empty box. An imprint meant to hold the unwanted recollections of a wanting man. It disturbs him and he can’t quite figure out the reason why. He continues on. He stops just outside the entrance to the room. The doorframe anchors him to the floor. The heat exiting the room washes over him. He bathes himself in its glow. The warmth carries him to a safe place where there is no cold, no ash, no war. He peers in. Left of the fire, suspended over the edge of an antique armrest, upholstered in horsehair and a century’s worth of wear, rests an arm. Between its thumb and forefinger, a photograph. Just beneath the photograph the boy spots a small, framed crate waits.with missing Persists. boards, Unconcerned. serving asMusing an end over table. its Amost mason recent jar ofshape. water, Bloom an inch away from full, balances upon its makeshift legs. The water Art, Honorable Mention

Macy Marin Keith Or is it bait? Scribendi 2015 | 15 clenches his jaw to keep from waking his the room. Eyes bouncing back and forth Take it. His thirst gets the better of him. He enters of water, trying not to look up at the man. around the rough margins of the wooden The boy jerks his head back up but the sister. White knuckles still firmly wrapped between the jar and the figure in the chair. As Daybreak punches through the cracks of the he circles to the right of the room the figure Go on...take it. shutteredboard. A half-light window. pierces his iced breath. becomes a man. An old man, as dated as the man’s eyes are still fixed on the fireplace. - rifle resting at his side. An old man, greying, trips kicking over a metal bucket and the last wild. And large...he sits, a stone monk, adrift The old man never turns to look at him. The boy turns, almost too fast, and nearly He wakes his sister. She drinks the re in blue then yellow, orange, red. But the boy can no less feel the man’s atten- footing he retreats back toward the attic with takesmaining her water, by the too hand thirsty and pulls.to even She question pulls tion pressing on his chest than he can turn remains of unused wood. As he regains his back.where She he foundholds...then the jar. sees They the both urging stand. in his He his thoughts away from the water. spent eyes and gives herself over to his mut- the half-filled jar. ed pleas. The old man never moves, but he hears - the boy scuttle down the hallway, frantic, a The boy stays...fixed to the floor. The boy swings the attic door closed blind mouse, helpless and afraid. The old man, still facing forward, photo and stumbles up the stairs gasping for air... throughThey thebarrel kitchen down leading the attic out stairs, into the through yard. the hallway, down another set of stair and towardgraph in the hand, boy. slides the jar with his bruised, Before they exit the home the boy stops dry knuckles, across the makeshift table down and drops on top of those old worn just long enough to place the empty jar on a the water still in hand. He sets the Mason jar window ledge. Like a wild dog, the boy darts at the table, hands. The boy puts the Mason jar to his mouth grabs the jar, and retreats back to his corner. sheets. Is she still there? He searches with his and tilts. The water exits the glass and rush- She’s still asleep. They find the old man Mason jar down As he sets the es past his lips and tongue like a late March - he looks through mountain river overcome with spring. The ing her but it’s no fighting with a ghost. The the soot stained He considers wak water crosses his throat and slides down into good traveling at line taut. The rod bent and glass and sees the night and she needs old man’s shadow the rest. praying to the river gods. his stomach. His hollow insides come alive, So he waits. wake, quiver, burn. Hurt stirs his intestines. holdsfishing her that place black and half-empty jar. his hand as the boy watchesriver. the His old sister man cast The boy stops drinking. He lowers a A loose board, nearly as long as himself, pausing at the photograph on the way up. waits with him. He presses the splintered He lifts his eyes back toward the man, the edges of his last defense as it moves in a weighted line. Its waves spread and sail out wood to his body. His hands tighten around face down on the table...but not before the rhythm with the rapid inhalations of his and over the fickle water. chest. recalls the stories his father used to tell of boyThe makesold man out flips the the image photo of aover, child placing about ithis The boy has never seen a rod before. He age. The boy dips his head back toward the jar men catching fish with sticks and hooks. And Hours pass. The rain has stopped but his how those fish would serve as food. 16 | Scribendi 2015 limbs shiver from the penetrating cold. He

There are no fish...leastways not here. Once he saw a picture in a book but he knows the water’s too foul for any fish. scramble to keep pace. They work their way around the old man and backHe toward pulls his last sister’s night’s arm. river They crossing. exit through The hewn the sugar door. mapleHer feet waits. Undergraduate1st FeelsThe it driftold man with stands the current a hundred never meters taking upstream,his eyes off knee the water’sdeep in Case Study surface.river water. He casts. Consumed, he watches as the nymph descends. Lorelle Frank droop from slanted maple twigs. Last night’s rain, frozen, hangs. A hundred crystal chrysalides look like they have already been eaten and regurgitated back onto Winter’s comin’. the Thesmooshed clumps slices of tuna of knockoffoozing out wonderbread. the sides of Archie’s Darwin sandwichcan see the -

Another cast. eczema medication Archie’s mother appears to have used as a gar bridgeThe when boy’s they’re hand tightens stopped around by the hissound sister’s of slapping trembling water. fingers as afternoonnish, a thick light. layer of vibrantly pink cream, peeking out from beneath they step onto the tree. They shuffle halfway down the makeshift the sandwich’s fleshy, runny globs, which gleam unpleasantly in the

Silence follows. Darwin pauses with his own turkey and ham They turn to look upriver. They find the old man fighting with a Archie raises the sandwich from the table. “Want to trade?” ghost. The line taut. The rod bent and praying to the river gods. His arms pull, lift, veer. Then give back. Then pull again. weight of that mad ghost keeps forcing the man to move down- sandwich half-unwrapped from its plastic bag to stare at Archie for a They stand as the old man works the reel. His body shifts. The moment, gauging whether or not the other boy means it. him. Archie scratches his leg. stream. His eyes stay on the end of the weighted line. Their eyes on normal kids in public school trade lunches as a matter of routine. Darwin suspects Archie has somehow gotten it into his head that from the water’s surface. A few more minutes and the silver back of a phantom emerges triesSince to the pawn biweekly his mother’s Homeschoolers unholy culinary of Utah creationsValley fieldtrips onto the remain other the river. kidsthe closest precisely Darwin biweekly. and the others get to a regular lunch hour, Archie They stare as the old man raises the fish, and himself, from out of - burdened hand for them to follow. manage. As he turns to walk back to the house, he motions with his un Darwin coughs. “Maybe not today,” he says as kindly as he can

“Okay,” says Archie with a shrug of his wire-hanger shoulders, his off theThe tree. boy Thehesitates. old man He disappearslooks back atinto his the sister. house. He Theysees thefollow. hunger Darwin tips his head down to stare at the stainless steel picnic in her eyes. He frees her hand. They turn and climb back down from fluffy hair ruffling in the breeze.

table, feeling the afternoon rays hot on his crown. He deliberately Scribendi 2015 | 17 appetite.doesn’t watch Archie bite into the catsick sandwich or look at the peeling flushed skin on his neck because he would like to keep his The brown paper lunch bag half-crumpled between them on the picnic table reads Archie Foote

. Darwin puzzles over how Archie’s- sembledcruel parents, a word with connected full knowledge with actual that feet.their They last name could was have Foote, done could have gone ahead and called Archie something that even re much else. worse with Smellman Foote, Harry Foote, or Swetty Foote, but not Darwin hears the kids at the other picnic table laughing and feels a little grating of sandpaper annoyance inside his belly. Carolyn and Shaun seated themselves with the four Blearson siblings and left hishim mom alone and with the Archie other and parents two ofwill the maybe littlest hurry kids, the who others sit on and the takefar themend of all the to table. the museum Darwin already.tries to hurry and finish his lunch so that Darwin has heard normal-schooled kids say that homeschoolers think that’s true. Darwin has acquaintances outside the homeschool are socially awkward and generally bad at life, but Darwin doesn’t- mentary school lets him play percussion for their afterschool band club.group. Darwin’s He plays much on a communityolder siblings baseball Virginia team, and andGary the easily local made ele the transition into public high school, and both of them made plenty of friends while racing ahead in every academic subject. Now Gary has a fiancée and a job making computers’ insides and Virginia goes to college learning how to fix people’s insides. At the other picnic table, Carolyn, who’s eleven, a year older than Darwin and Archie, wears- a agersshiny blackplay—and braid, the and four she Blearson knows a siblingslot about are Egypt collectively and history good and at everything.dragonflies, Shaun plays video games—the cool kind that the teen

Spark “I found a dead peregrine falcon in my yard this morning,” says Art, Honorable Mention Archie. “Peregrine falcons can dive two hundred miles per hour. I mean, not that one because it was dead, but,” and he takes an extra Brady Hunsaker 18big bite| Scribendi of tuna 2015and eczema medication. “It’s pretty amazing.” rust-red rocks. tiny trees and plastic water dotted with bad name. - land dinosaurs doing dinosaur things like Kids like Archie give homeschoolers a - eating each other and guarding their eggs. win’s mom and the other parent volunteers driftsBeyond across the a bridge next wooden, in a black rustic-look hallway dot- cartSeveral two minivan sweat-sticky loads of minutes kids from later, the Dar park teding door,with pinholeDarwin whiteforgets stars his irritationin every direc as he- redEach for tiny the figure blood. is Several delicately pterodactyls painted in soar deep greens, burgundies, sandy-browns, and vivid so close that Darwin can barely see his feet - Shaunto the dinosaursits on his museum. left so that Archie Darwin scratches can tion—floors, walls, ceiling. The dark presses- over the scene, suspended by almost invisi watchhis eczema him shoot on Darwin’s aliens onright, a tablet. but at least tiny scene holds him. ble, spider-silk threads. The intricacy of the grownon the bridge,a million much times less his the size other and walkedhome schoolers, and he feels as though he has a cloudy greenish brown on the side of the Shaun in a drawling monotone. “I’ve already been here before,” says buildingA huge towers dinosaur over embossed them as they and pull painted into because everything on the other side of the through the Milky Way and into a time warp, star hallway comes around for Carolyn’s so Darwin jogs to catch up to the Blearsons alive straight from Darwin holds his mouth tight, glancing andthe parking Carolyn’s lot. black The braid.other car arrived first, prehistoric times. Darwin has heard normal- has run ahead and Skeletons of sea schooled kids say that nowblack stands braid, leanbut she- turtles the size of ing over a railing cars swoop toward homeschoolers are socially Archie walks toward the tall, glass doors - him in a rippling derslowly, against looking the upsunlight at the with painted his algae-greendinosaur, awkward and generally bad in a narrow river to look at live fish craning his neck, squinting in evident won- threading through model animals at life, but Darwin doesn’t another exhibit. ogizes absentmindedly. Startled from his ocean, and sleek eyes. He bumps into a stranger and apol think that’s true. dolphins tear apart group where Mrs. Carson delivers a lecture plumplike fierce-looking tentacle trance, he sprints to join the rest of the “Cool,” says creatures. The scenes don’t move except next to Darwin Archie, sidling up dancing light effects on turquoise back- brownon museum skeleton etiquette. of what Archie looks doesn’t like a T-Rex appear to listen, however, dazzled by the rust- uninvited, touching his arm. Darwin recoils. just behind the glass doors. Darwin sees it taste the saltwater. - drops, but Darwin can feel the currents and theArchie explanation explained subsequently the non-contagious led to a nature dis- of eczema to him a few weeks ago, but since lectureand wants more to thanget in anyone too, but else. he wishes Ar wall of glass curl around shiny giant centi- Darwin’s disgust toward skin conditions in In the next room, live plants behind a chie would listen. Archie probably needs the pedes with dozens of legs as long as swords. generalcourse on remains scabies, homogenously impetigo, and high. ringworm, Suspended mud-brown bones of upright cool air-conditioning tingles their sweat as carnivorous lizards pose in hunting packs. The homeschoolers finally enter, and Archie doesn’t seem to notice Darwin’s enterthe parents a second wait set in of line tope to doorsbuy tickets. and pass Archie a - dinosaurs.aversion. “Look That’s at why the raptorsthey’re calledeating rapthat- “Come look at this,” Darwin says to fakegawks archaeological at the T-Rex, sodig Darwin with wax doesn’t. people They and tors.”long-neck guy. You know, birds came from Shaun, bending close to the massive aquari um that protects a miniature display of sand, Scribendi 2015 | 19 Darwin feels blood stretching the ves- ers laugh and make dams and drown each legs couldn’t match Virginia and Gary’s long sels in his forehead as he realizes nobody quietly piles sand in a corner to recreate Foote. The ancient spell breaks and the theother’s miniature dinosaurs scene in andflash wishes floods, two but things:Darwin you’restrides. the The kid “just whose be yourself” only talent and is thesmacking “put littleelse cares grating about of annoyance any of this in except his belly Archie twists that he could start in the Milky Way again hollowyourself things out there” with sticks.clichés sound easy until and burns like the annoyance got stuck to a and experience the whole trip through time - motorized wheel and all his guts have gotten clusion of the regional junior high school caught in the gears as the sandpaper spins As the students wait outside at the con once more while the others play, and that he and spins. over his shoulder. drumming. The decision makes his throat could do it without Archie Foote breathing Darwin tries to escape by catching up to *** acheband becausefestival, heDarwin knows decides he will he miss will the quit stac - cato vibrations of the snare and the boom - of the bass rocking the echoing space in his Carolyn and Shaun, who sit in front of a TV ers.“Hey, way to nail that snare solo,” says screen rolling dinosaur facts. Archie follows Tina Parkinson, one of the skinny flute play him, itching. chest, and the band joining his rit-a-tip-rit-a- why dinosaurs went extinct.” thetip-rit-a-tip way nobody with but the thesudden, band brightgeeks wantblaring to “…theories, but we don’t know exactly “Thanks,” Darwin smiles mildly. “You Tina launches into a short rant about the hangof the out brass with section. the band He won’t,geeks. however,Pre-teens miss are guys sounded good, too.” brass section rushing its eighth notes. Dar- brutal. “Peregrine falcons almost went extinct,” Darwin rolls his eyes so that Carolyn Archie volunteers. and Darwin have nothing more to say to one win energetically agrees. Afterward, Tina He considers replacing band with the and Shaun can see. He needs them to know miniature display or something. sitting in the shade of a cherry tree on the decoratesafter-school her science classroom club. with Miss dead Simms, things the that he and Archie haven’t bonded over the grass.another, The and rest she of joins the percussionists the other flautists sit on youngish, ice-blond biology teacher who

“People think peregrine falcons are still smacking each other’s belly fat and practic- decidesin formaldehyde he just can’t jars, join says a they’rescience goingclub—not to the slab of pavement in front of the school, endangered,” Archie continues, “but really ing accent exercises on each other’s heads. whenNew York his own next cruel spring. parents At length, named though, him Dar he - takethey’re care doing of them just orfine that now, humans have been need doing to The speculations about their perfor- stayjust fineaway for from years. them People but actuallythink we they need take to straight from the band clique to the science great care of themselves.” silently near the clarinets. win. Besides, he doesn’t exactly want to go mance have ended, and now Darwin sits This is the trouble with the band kids. away to continue along the dark blue carpet The only thing Darwin has in common with club clique. He doesn’t want to be in a clique pathway.“Let’s go,” says Darwin pointedly, turning them is band. at all. He wants to fit in with everyone. The homeschoolers spend hours in the - leastHe as will many have friends to go asclubless. Virginia Darwin and Gary. likes ing in the footsteps of Virginia and Gary Maybetime alone, with but his hefree feels time obligated he will make to have more at by plungingEarlier this into year, full-time Darwin public began middle follow friends and by osmosis get involved in lots littlelast room, plastic a hands-ontrees and networktriceratops. of waist-high The oth- basins filled with sand, running water, and of things at once. He tells himself this. 20 | Scribendi 2015 school. He quickly found, however, that his The school district holds the band festival at a junior high a few miles from Darwin’s. Darwin uses the ten minute break between the end of the competition and the predicted arrival of the bus to sneak - ing marsh-tan and purple lockers. off alone and find a drinking fountain among the unfamiliar, alternat

Class has just gotten out for the attendees of the junior high, and swarms of pre-teens swirl through the hallways like schools of fish. They pause in the intersections to chat, clogging the way forward. suddenly in the middle of the hallway. Darwin has finally spotted a drinking fountain when he halts

spineArchie and forearmsFoote’s eczema have simply has cleared stretched. up, but he looks frighteningly unchanged. He has grown taller but not larger, as though his wire Darwin doesn’t notice many other details because he is distract-

Superman style. ed by the fact that Archie wears an honest-to-goodness red cape, have the sense to avoid a conversation that he’s certain neither of Darwin hopes that Archie won’t see him. He hopes Archie will

them want to have. But no, Archie’s eyes find him before he can decide to turn around. He hopes for a second more that Archie will ofpretend his mouth not to will recognize stretch righthim as off he his pretends face. not to recognize Archie, but then Archie’s grin widens so much that it looks like the corners

“Darwin Evans!” Archie crows, running up to meet him with that dumb red cape fluttering behind him. Darwin stands stiffly, dearly hoping Archie doesn’t try to hug him. Archie literally slides to a stop, red high-tops squeaking on the polished floor. He grabs Darwin’s hand and gives it a firm shake. “Long time!” he says. “Remember me?” Whiteout “Yeah, Archie Foote.” Darwin smiles to hide the fact that he’s Art, HonorableGrace Ryser Mention - cringing. “How could I forget?” “You here for the band thing? Still drumming? Still like paleontol ogy?” “Uh, yeah. Do you—” Darwin flounders for somethingScribendi polite 2015 to | 21 um, still like falcons? say that isn’t, “—go to school full time now?” center the summer before his junior year at Pleasant Grove High. “Yep. First year. It’s awesome to see you, man. I feel bad, but I’ve Cori has smooth, thin blond hair and exactly six dark freckles on - got to run. I’m going to be late for rehearsal.” her round nose. Through conversations interrupted frequently by, where except the cape. “Thank you for calling Security Assist this call may be recorded for- “Oh, you’re in a play?” Darwin asks hopefully, looking every quality assurance how can I help you,” Darwin finds that she goes spring. We’ll see. The rehearsal is for choir.” slipsto school him ather the number nearby in Mountain purple gel View pen Highon the and back that of she a tracking likes ele “Uh, no. Well, not right now. I’ll probably try out for the one in the phants, caramel popcorn, choir, and for some reason, Darwin. She Darwin hopes for an I lost a bet or an oh, it’s for a pep rally or sheet the day before school starts and he asks her to homecoming— - surrounding herself with bitter Pleasant Grove Viking rivals. Fortu- something, but Archie makes no comment about the cape and Dar at her school, not his, because he knows how she would feel about win is fairly certain Archie just wears the thing for fun. up online.” nately, she doesn’t appear to mind dating one. Archie snaps his fingers. “We should keep in touch. I’ll look you sweatingThey pokeon the each steering other wheel with the of hiscorsage mother’s and boutonniere,car. When they and meet Darwin drives her to an Italian restaurant in Provo with his palms “Sure,” Darwin lies, knowing full well he will quietly ignore a makefriend sure request, none because of his bandmates who knows have how wandered Archie Foote here will to see fill himhis up with a group of Cori’s friends for dinner, Cori introduces Darwin- newsfeed. He clears his throat, surreptitiously glancing around to right away, and the group greets him warmly. He likes them at first; althey forno. all laugh Cori makesa lot. But a valiant they begin effort a tolot explain of sentences the inside-jokes with, “Remem to talking to the kid in the cape. “Well, I gotta go too.” ber that time…” and Darwin remains quiet as he picks at his pasta - “Yeah! I’m sure I’ll see you around.” With that, he charges off. stands. “Looking good, Archie,” calls a boy in a baseball hat. Darwin, but the conversation keeps changing by the time he under Archie gives the boy an enthusiastic high five as he passes. time the waiter takes their sauce-smeared plates away. He’s pretty sure none of Cori’s friends remember his name by the Darwin burns with embarrassment for Archie. Can’t he tell he’s Darwin would love to blame the homeschooling for his social being made fun of? How can he consider wearing a cape to school socially acceptable? His sympathetic embarrassment burns so hard from the wall in their pedestalled photographs every time he leaves that the lingering childhood annoyance with Archie burns clean hisclumsiness, house. but he can’t do that, not with Gary and Virginia grinning away and a puddle of pity remains. What a jerk, he thinks with a The scowling teacher-gatekeepers at the dance almost don’t let sharp look the boy in the baseball hat. Darwin doesn’t want Archie for a friend, but at least he’s above that kind of heartless taunting. beforeFar roundingdown the the hallway, corner. somebody else wolf-whistles at Archie Darwin in despite his principal-signed permission form, but they and Archie halts to pose, flexing his scrawny arms like a muscle man eventually cave, though they watch him like he is an alien until he retreats into the dark and flashing flock of sweaty satins and taffetas. *** Well, Darwin thinks, at least he seems happy. Darwin sees him right away. He couldn’t easily miss him. Darwin meets Cori Waters working at a customer service calling In the center of the dance floor, wearing a violently orange suit with a tennis-ball green bowtie and suspenders, Archie Foote dances 22 | Scribendi 2015 the Thriller heat drains to his face. of his past. Cori’s friends can’t even remem- except that thedance, song which roaring he appearsthrough tothe have Archie remembers random personal details blackmemorized. speakers This isn’t wouldn’t Thriller seem so horrific Archie reaches them and grabs Darwin’s ber his name. “No, quit a while back.” He wearinghand to give a dress it a ofvigorous the same shake, phosphorescent and then he but some awful, offers Cori a preposterously deep bow. A girl shifts his feet. “It’s good to see you.” notwhiny laughing country at ballad.him A circle of students Sandy catches that hint quick. “Nice to surrounds Archie, laughing at him—and with the surrepti- green and orange sidles upperfectly behind made-up Archie. dance.”meet you, Darwin. See you, Cori.” She tugs A million times his size, he Her big, round, on Archie’s arm. “Come on, Archie. Let’s go - drifts through the Milky and slender hands tious, secret kind of tion and salutes before turning back toward guffawing at his makeeyes, narrow Darwin face, think laughter, but openly Way in the black hallway the Archiedance circle.snaps Sandyhis legs follows together him in with atten antics for him and of a doe somehow. everyone else to what Darwin considers a highly convincing with the swirling stars. Darwin guesses show of excitement. hear. Darwin feels he has located the - kindly soul who actually agreed to come to the homecoming head. What a saint. What a saint, thinks Darwin, shaking his a strange, protec *** tive urge to tell them off and take Archie all appearances a relatively normal human The Mountain View high school gradua- againstsomewhere his leg where and doesn’the can’t want hurt himself,her to know but dance with Archie Foote. She’s pretty and by tion starts an hour after the Pleasant Grove thathe feels he is the in tulleany way of Cori connected Waters’ with fluffy the skirt nutter in the bow tie. being. What a saint, he thinks. “Sandy, Darwin, Darwin, Sandy,” rattles - whoone ends, kindly so say once nothing Darwin of hasthe takenfact that a few Dar - tractingArchie, pointing under the at offensivelyeach. His breath orange comes lapels. winpictures has donewith hisnothing parents, but Virginia,survive his and high Gary, Somehow Archie sees him through the heavy, his narrow chest expanding and con spinning lights. He waves from a distance. family party and stay to watch Cori walk. “Hey Darwin!” back. “Cori, Sandy, Sandy, Cori, Darwin, Sandy, school career, he decides to postpone the With a suffering look, Darwin waves Archie, or something.” meaningful look to Sandy to convey his awe puffed grandparents who tried to deter the laughing and dancing couples. “Hi,” says Darwin. He tries to give a anyoneDarwin else climbs from using over theirtwo proud, row by chest- sitting Archie begins fighting his way through - eyesat her cheerful. noble act of service, but Sandy doesn’t “You know Archie?” asks Cori. seem to catch his meaning, her wide doe’s onenext of to the the chain-linked aisle in the huge, chairs round and sits universi alone ty stadium. He folds down the plastic seat of “Yeah,” Darwin admits. “You know him She smiles with strobe lights catching too?” “Still like paleontology? Still drumming? I happened to come to your school’s band massiveas thousands funnel of of students bruin burgundy-red. and families file into the stadium, a speck of Viking blue in a performance a while back and I didn’t see - the matted glitter on her cheekbones. “We’re you,” says Archie. in choir together. Everyone knows Archie.” particular sandpaper annoyance in his belly. Darwin shakes his head with that old, Cori sings “Simple Gifts” in a big, com His hands and feet feel cold as all the bined choir, band and orchestraScribendi number, 2015 | 23 and Darwin notices the perfect rhythmic precision of the drummer, Archie is a genius. If Stephen Hawking, Leonardo De Vinci, and the takaka tak, rest, rest, takaka tak, rest, rest. After sitting through outThree how Stooges to make collectively that happen had or a baby,the kid. it would be a toss-up whether andapproximately somebody sevenwith cancer million and speakers a canned at hisinspirational own graduation, message. he Thefeels Archie would be the scientist brilliant and weird enough to figure formerlyhis brain proudsettling grandparents to gloop. Valedictorian, at the end ofstudent the row body slump president, with chins to sternums. Darwin rakes his fingers through his hair, holding the sides of his head as though trying to keep it in one piece. He read it all wrong.- He thought someone needed to take care of Archie, but Archie is doing napBy taunts the time him. the “class-voted Most Influential Senior” stands to just fine and has been doing just fine for years. Archie kept reach speak, Darwin’s own head teeters on his neck as the temptation of a ing out to Darwin not because Archie needed friends, but because inDarwin junior did. high The and others not when were his never doe-eyed laughing date at watched Archie, not him when dance the Darwin has seen trembling hands on most of the speakers, but Thrillerkid in the baseball cap high-fived him for wearing a cape to school - the slim, tall young “Most Influential Senior” tosses his tassel out of - - his face and leans on the podium, the picture of ease. morphosed to a intocountry something ballad. stillArchie peculiar was the but one a good laughing. peculiar The a hope long less, eczema-riddled kid with pink tuna fish sandwiches had meta “Knock, knock,” he says much too close to the microphone. Feed - of wonder. back chimes and a collective flinch sweeps the stadium. time ago. Only he, unlike Darwin, did it without ever losing his sense has “Who’sshot an there?” electric chorus current the through Mountain the seats.View students with a sud den brightness of enthusiasm in their voices, like the high whistle - simplyDarwin gotten feels used his to guts the unwinding sensation. and the relief brings pain. His insides stayed twisted, it seems, from his homeschool days. He had Archie taps the microphone, generating more eardrum-assault away from the podium so that nobody can hear the rest of the joke. sweeping bow. ing feedback, then overcompensates and steps several feet too far Archie gets an honest-to-goodness standing ovation. He takes a hard. They laugh in the unfettered way people laugh with someone Darwin wanted to make time for everything because everything whomHe animates they already in silence, know and can everyone make them laughs laugh. anyway—they laugh ended up doing nothing at all. Precisely because he cared what peo- was the only thing Gary and Virginia hadn’t done, and instead he *** on purpose.Archie, Darwin realizes with a haze of bafflement that reduces ple thought of him, nobody thought of him. the rest of Archie’s speech to a set of stinging impressions, did that dozing grandparents at the end of the row have woken right up. stuffed garage with an old beach towel and annoys the neighbors The next day, Darwin wipes dust off the drum set in the junk- Archie speaks without consulting so much as a notecard. The- ner of the stadium. Darwin feels like the solid matter of his body sync as he drills his double-stroke rolls. The muscles of his wrists Rapt, delighted attention shines on Archie Foote from every cor with percussion drills for three hours straight. His hands fall out of crowd. Tears chase gusts of laughter through the funnel of gradu- has thinned to a gas, wandering and drifting in the reactions of the theand shelf forearms where feel he weak can see and them. awkward. Then Discouragedhe drives to the but Museum not defeated, of Darwin puts his drum sticks away, but he sets them near the lip of ating seniors and supportive families. Even if Archie’s speech was Ancient Life and gawks openly at the embossed wall and at the T-Rex 24the |only Scribendi thing Darwin 2015 ever knew of him, Darwin would know that the fake archaeological dig with the wax people and rust-red rocks. inside the glass doors. He buys a ticket for fifteen dollars and passes ers to the bathroom. Her husband had just celebrated his thirty-fifth year with the power company; he paid the bills. A million times his size, he drifts through the Milky Way in the black- “It all depends,” the doctor said. rentshallway and with taste the the swirling saltwater stars. and On see the the other giant side centipede of the time clambering warp, the ancient sea-life scenes don’t move, but Darwin can feel the cur From under the baby-blue hospital sheets, Pat’s tongue groped for words that weren’t there. He looked at his wife, but her eyes were and plastic water dotted with land dinosaurs doing dinosaur things fixed on the pattern in the linoleum. over the plants. He stops at the miniature display of sand, tiny trees- Pat and Denise had been married on a throbbing July day in bers that peregrine falcons can dive over two-hundred miles per like eating each other and guarding their eggs, and Darwin remem 1979. At eighteen, Denise had been warned against marrying hehour. thinks He pictures that’s pretty driving amazing. two-hundred miles per hour to really grasp twenty-nine-year-old Pat, but had gone ahead and done it anyway. how fast that is and imagines falling out of the sky at that speed, and He was tall, solid, and sported a thick brown mustache. His big, virility.rough hands smelled forever of motor oil. Next to the skinny high school boys with their wispy blonde lips, Pat was the image of four-tiered cake with sagging fondant. Denise’s honey curls tumble There they are in the pink-tinged Polaroid, standing next to a 2nd over her organza bodice, the crown of her head roughly even with Pat’s neck, where thirty-one years later, the blood would curdle and The Tool Shed This photo frame with its foggy glass sat on the Tylers’ kitchen Alyssa Utley clot, sending them spinning.

The blood in Pat Tyler’s carotid artery had been clumping for table through years of lasagna dinner and boys’ birthday parties, bearing witness to the change from lovers’ red-wine whispers, to the pushedbrusque aside exchanges by the of mass busy of parents, paperwork to the Denise silence had of brought two people home who months before the stroke. With each pulse, a few more red-black had very little left to say to each other. And now it had been all but stopped.blood cells snagged on the slick endothelial lining, thickening and hardening until one day, they sealed right up and the oxygen from her new job: insurance booklets, 401K information, W2s. Friends rattling Her three sons crowded around the table, giving advice, pointing withHis canned face sagged, laughter his in body the background. slumped into his armchair, and Denise, out the differences between this life-insurance policy and that one, - Pat’s wife, shrieked and dialed 911, their episode of between Roth IRAs and mutual funds. Pat sat in his armchair with the TV on. If they needed anything from him—a social security num CT scan while Denise cried her mascara off into her palms. In the hospital the doctor gestured to the greyscale blotches of a ifber trying or an to internet pry the password—they’danswer from the folds ask him,of his then crippled drop brain.silent Onewhile his lips scrunched in concentration and his eyes flicked upwards, as worked part-time as a teacher’s aide at the local elementary school. “Will he be able to go back to work?” she wanted to know. Denise - onby one,the table. his tongue fumbled the words, mouth struggling around the jagged edges of the Ps and the Rs. His wife and sons kept their eyes She played with die cuts and neon cardstock and escorted first-grad Scribendi 2015 | 25 Denise had been hired at a cell phone back to the house. Pat followed.

months ago and, up until the stroke, Denise support. She found the hours inconvenient She should have felt touched. She should company, providing over-the-phone tech had been pestering him to fix it. have felt grateful that her husband was “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to make Makedinner sure once she in getsa while,” her homeworkDenise said done.” when walkand the in tocomputer her fourteen-year-old systems baffling. daughter Upon they were inside. “And supervise Baylee. instead she felt angry. She looked at his lined Denise’s eyes roamed the kitchen as stretchedcoming home on her in thebelly evenings, on the living she’d room usually finally taking the time to do this for her. But forehead and his puzzled eyebrows as he she spoke. Pat sank into his armchair and

she felt angry. sneakerscarpet, texting kicked friends up in theand air. popping a wad of struggled to decipher the instructions, and grape flavored Hubba Bubba, her Converse - flipped on the TV. wards him and took the soldering iron away. The next day when Denise got home, “Pat, what are you doing?” She strode to “Baylee, did you clean the bathroom? the house smelled like tomato sauce. In the Baylee’s pursed lips. kitchen, standing over their old gas-coil A purple gum bubble ballooned from “Let one of the boys do that.” - the broken pot on a nearby table and lifted theirstove, sharp-edged Pat was stirring lids asticking bubbling up pot.in the Three air. She put the iron, the instructions, and empty SpaghettiOs cans sat on the counter, SpaghettiOs. That was his idea of dinner. “Did you clean the bathroom?” The bub Baylee made an angry noise and jabbed a from his shirt. Denise snorted. ble kept swelling. “Baylee, answer me!” her husband to his feet, brushing sawdust - ing she couldn’t talk just now. Denise huffed. She had her hand on the shed door han- yelled upstairs. The table was covered in finger in the direction of her bubble, indicat “Come on, let’s go inside.” dle when Pat’s voice stopped her. “Baylee, come clean up in here,” Denise Baylee jerked her thumb towards the cellophane bags of “Where’s your dad?” paper plates of chocolate homemadechip cookies, cara - She turned Denise’s honey curls tumble walked out to the tool shed where Pat had “Duh….neese.” takenbackyard. to hiding Dropping lately. her handbag, Denise over her organza bodice, the loaves of banana breadmel popcorn, wrapped and around. “What is crown of her head roughly in tin foil. Ever it?” She could see his even with Pat’s neck, where The shed had the warm, woody smell of tongueHe frowned. sweeping neighbors had particle board, mixed with a metallic whiff thirty-one years later, the hung from a wire in the ceiling and spots of back and forth beensince appearingthe stroke, of auto parts cleaner. A naked light bulb behind his cheeks. blood would curdle and clot, on the Tylers’ inside of a McDonald’s bag. Denise never usedgrease to darkened go in here. the cement floor like the sending them spinning. Pat was sitting in a plastic chair in the His mouth opened. sympathyporch, arms dripping full It closed. fromof baked their goods, lips. “Honey,” Denise Sometimes they shoved the gifts into De- middle of the shed. In one hand he held a said. “It’s fine. Come on, let’s just go inside. She opened the door and trekked briskly soldering iron, in the other, an instruction It’s fine.” booklet. In his lap was Denise’s favorite cast nise’s arms and left as quickly as they could, iron26 | pot. Scribendi Its handle 2015 had snapped off several having fulfilled their neighborly duty. But sometimes they wanted to come in and see Pat. They’d make halting bed. Denise had her cell phone clamped between shoulder and jaw attempts at conversation and he would smile meekly while Denise and was talking to her sister. SpaghettiOs banged around the kitchen, causing as much noise as she could until The worst was when some of the guys from the power compa- “Yes, ,” she said, laughing. “And get this—the other they finally left. day, he tried to spell “company” K-A-M-P-N-Y. Yeah.” broken pot still sitting out in the tool shed. Pat rolled over, head on his pillow. He was thinking about the andny came make by. jokes Their about wives work. sent Patjam tried jars wrappedto laugh along. in ribbon, or entire chicken casseroles. The guys, all of them younger than Pat, would sit Denise laughed again, and Pat closed his eyes.

Tonight, after the SpaghettiOs dinner, Denise and Pat sat up in 3rd Constellations of a Pescador’s Wife Mitch Hawk

his chest and slipped out of bed. The concrete was coldRaúl on his gently bare raised feet and four a shiveryear old shot Niko’s up his arm legs off and llantas - ferring the stiff rubber sandals over the bare cement through his spine. He stepped into his , pre -

floor. He found his shirt in a ball near his wife Suní va’s feet. He carefully untangled the shirt thatBud was- weisertangled King between of Beers feet and blanket. HeKing smoothed as El Rey it andout onwondered his lap and what read Budweiser the letters was. to himself, The too large gray shirt slipped over. He his recognized head and fell loosely on his

shoulders. Suníva rested her hand on his shoulder, and Raúl covered it with his own. He looked back at her: She was wearing her black tank top, her long, Hooded Siblings UndergraduateGrace Art,Ryser Third Place night sky hair lost in the cotton material. He kissed her hand goodbye, and she watched as he gently kissed Niko’s sweaty head of mattedScribendi black hair. 2015 Raúl | 27 pueblo. Early morn- stood on his toes and kissed the head of his only daughter, Evíta, who homesfrom the built ocean of the and reddish filled every brown corner brick of stood the apart from the mud lay in the bunk bed just above, along with Suníva’s mother. Raúl had ing workers started to appear in the streets as grayish figures. The built the bed years ago with the help of his father. Finally, he went to with enough room for their families to sleep in. The Abuelas were the foot of the bed and kissed the forehead of his eldest son, Emílio, huts in the slums. No one built immaculate homes; they were small who laid perpendicular on the floor. Raúl turned and saw Suníva porches and sitting in front of large wash basins full of clothes. The backwas now of her out head of bed. to the He small marveled of her at back. her beauty. She kissed Her himtall, slimsoftly figure on Abuelastaking their spots on the streets, sweeping the dirt off their tiny fell perfectly into his body. He rubbed her long black hair down the small sun wore hats traditional with brims Peruvian wrapping clothing: all the way sandals, around. tall thickThey socks,had the lips. Neither wanted to pull away completely. Raúl unlocked the long colorfully striped skirts with plain blouses that matched, and pad-lock on the inside of the thin plywood door, handed the key to - sun as the clouds and fog permitted. Stray Suníva, then stepped through the door of his home. to start washing early, allowingdogs scoured the wet theclothes trash to in absorb the streets as much and Raúl lifted the sea green tarp, uncov ering three white buckets. He took with I wish I could keep a imitating the slum gangs. Raúl started to him the half full toilet bucket and his fish alleys. They moved in packs of five or six, bucket, leaving one empty bucket as the constellation. Claim too long at home. The salty ocean mist was jog, worried that he might have delayed andnew countedday’s toilet the fortwenty his family. two soles He heunburied had beginning to cover the smell of the toilet a small, leather coin purse. He opened it it as mine. Ball it bucket. up and keep it in my Throngs of waves crashed near the airsaved. and Heguided placed its thefall coinsover the in his remaining shorts pocket, then whipped the tarp up in the pocket, looking at it canopiesbeach, pushing and shops the tide along further the main and roadfurther plastictoilet. Hehe’d stopped scavenged by the from side the of beach. the house whenever I like. throughup the sand. the pueblo Behind him, people set up and looked in through the thick, clear canopies made up the Mercado and sold . All of these different He watched his wife snuggle next to their youngest, and stared for a moment at his everything the people needed: clothing, havebody’s to imprint hurry to on get the a headthin mattress. start on the He others. food (Raúl’s fish), clean water from nearby started his cold walk west toward the Pacific, knowing he would wells, ropes for work, and much more. Raúl continued another half Tumbes was a tiny coastal town that smelled strongly of ocean mile down the beach, reaching his tiny, secluded inlet of calm water. toHe remove followed the a skinnymurky peninsularesidue that out stuck to deeper to the water round and corners dumped along the mist and fish. Large banana, papaya and other fruit trees filled every thetoilet bottom. bucket. He refilled it with water and shook the bucket trying crack and crevice between the homes. He built his home about a Tall trees and lush green bushes covered the top half of the beach forty-five minute walk away from the ocean, hoping the smell would pueblo just be less strong. He didn’t notice it, but his wife grew up more inland and had a hard time adapting. He once went to the public showers furthest from the ocean, dividing his small bay from the in town to surprise his wife, but even after a twenty-minute scrub on the other side. You would never think people lived in the thick she28 |could Scribendi still smell 2015 it in his clothes and hair. A deep fog rolled in forest, but smoke started to rise from the top of the canopies from enough money after buying food and clean water. Raúl reached into his pocket and early cooking fires. He picked up an old onto the boat, releasing more than double growth of vines and unburied his fishing feelingthe amount crept of into fish his that stomach had taken as he Raúl thought eight and combined it with the money he had rods, line, hooks, and old dried up fruit for hours to catch. He studied the net. A sick pulled out the money he got from the fish aroundbait. He the took ends each and stick tied individually a knot his father and would have to come up with another way in his hand: twenty three from the fish plus wrapped the sturdy, clear line seven times of the fishing boat’s efficiency. Soon, Raúl thebeen twenty saving two secretly. saved, Hethat’s totaled forty the five coins soles. down on the rocky sand and counted out Take away ten for rice and twenty for the had taught him as a boy. He laid the sticks backto make to the money Mercado for his family. For now, he necklace, only fifteen left over. thosewould who continue didn’t to want beat to the wait. fishing crews at the sign and saw the bold black price of twenty large steps with the bundle of fishing , selling all he could to He looked up - Mercado with forty soles. Clean water from his neighbor ishline bottle wrapped and arounddumped an three old Inka hooks Cola into bottle. his He bit the line off, then opened the yellow hand and tied them. Raúl placed each pole bucketHe walkedin the other. through the his fish bucket in one hand and clean toilet would cost thirteen soles, leaving him with savetwo. enoughIt had taken for the Raúl necklace only a hefew would weeks buy of outinto the three line fishing with the holes dried near up the fruit corners out into of Pesca- selling his portion of fish every other day to athe slow peninsulas, current stream in the calm that carriedwater. Hethe threw bait dor “What do you have for me today, Raúl reached into his bucket and laid havefor his enough wife. Hesaved. figured Raúl it tuckedwould takethe coins about ?” a month, just before Emílio’s birthday, to four of the largest Caballa onto the table. and hook into the fishing holes. With each - Piero weighed each one on his scale and stick buried in the sand, Raúl took his spot - sandalssafely into staring his cargo at him. shorts The pocket, smaller looked man’s near the top of the rocks. Rays of light flood ribsup, and pushed saw againsttwo men his in chest. ripped The shirts large and man no ed over the horizon, and Raúl stared at the beams over the water. The line of the fur- toadded twenty it all two up. soles “Four poundscentavos twelve ounc lines as they reflected and bounced bright es,” the vendor concluded, “that comes out but stare at the long scar running down violently in the sand. and fifty , fair?” stood tall and muscular. He couldn’t help bringing you this top quality early in the thest stick stiffened, and it started twitching picked up his buckets and made his way to “An even twenty three, and I’ll keep the oldright jeweler side of woman. the bigger man’s face. He day,” Raúl countered. The clothing section of the Mercado was - exchanged goods. strewn together with bright fabric and hand Half the day had passed and Raúl had “Bien.” The two men shook hands and rewrappedalready filled it aroundhis bucket the with liter fish.sized He bottle. re moved the fishing line from the sticks and and enough money to buy a couple more - That left Raúl with six fish for his family, crafted necklaces, beaded rugs, and blankets mouth and buried it all underneath the acters. Raúl studied the blanket door into He dropped the hooks back through the booth selling soccer balls. The vendor left Francesca’swith large faces shop: of a American large black cartoon and white char pounds of rice. He stopped to admire the the sand on top to make it look more nat- vines at the top of the beach. He smoothed how easy it would be to grab a ball and hide The human animal waved his white gloved his booth unattended, and Raúl thought animal, with a smile and eyes like a human. boat bounced up and down on the waves. hands in the air. ural. Further out on the ocean a fishing - among the crowds. His oldest son, Emílio was old enough to play, but they never had A group of men pulled a large net up and “Can I help you Señor?”Scribendi said the 2015 shop | 29 keeper’s fat son. Raúl envied the chocolate bar he was eating. He didn’t wish if for himself, but for his youngest son, Niko. stool and ran into the back room past a wall of bright yellow and red blankets.“I’m looking The colored for Señora fabric Francesca.” lining the wallsEl gordito of the climbed shop glowed down withhis sunlight from the front windows.

“Señora Francesca, do you remember me? My name is Raúl Villanueva and I asked a few months ago about a star necklace.” Francesca studied Raúl for a minute, and pulled out a large binder of scribbled names and dates. She flipped back and forth through the pages, an unorganized mess only she could translate and unlock. the “Yes.bottom I have by a itconstellation finished for ofyou silver now.” stars. She openedRaúl’s memory a box beneath went her table and pulled out the necklace. A thick leather strip joined at pueblo. They lay together on the grassback ten looking years up ago at fromthe stars. today, Raúl when lost Raúl himself took inSuníva the memory. to the highest I wish Ihill could top, keep an hour a constellation. away from theClaim it as mine. Ball it up and keep it in my pocket, looking at it whenever I like, Suníva had said. I’ll get you a constellation! Which one do you want? he asked. You can’t give me one, she said. He picked up a strand of her hair and followed it down to the end where the tip had frayed. Yes I can. soles.” Francesca’s deep voice rasped like she had permanently lost her voice “Señor, it will be twenty five

“We agreed on twenty when we first met.” “The silver cost me more than expected, the price is twenty five.” “All I can give you is twenty two.”

soles lookedRaúl up walked and saw out the of thesun shop had passedwith the the necklace, center of an the empty sky and toilet startedbucket, itsa bucket decent with on the six otherfish and side thirteen of the pueblo for. Raúl clean zigzagged water. He through the crowded Mercado - Invisible Graduate Art, Third Place labyrinth, his heart racing with antic Katharina Marchant ipation to bring his wife the necklace. The fish bucket sloshed water 30 | Scribendi 2015 over the edge, spilling on Raúl’s shorts, and leaving a trail of mud man then leaped from the ground and tackled him. The large knife dropped on impact and Raúl landed on top of the man a few feet on the road behind him. The road came to a fork; the left leading away. The man’s head smashed against a rock and his body went through the pueblo slums, the right passing through more tiendas limp. Raúl pulled himself off the still body by gripping the shredded selling shoes and knives. Raúl decided on the smaller, less populated Sweat collected into little pools on his forehead and streamed path through the slums; a more direct route back home. bark base of a papaya tree. The tall man stood behind Raúl, holding the fish bucket. down his cheeks, between his eyes, falling off his jawline. A couple legs and arms. beads of sweat slipped into his eyes and burned. He was at a full “Give me my fish.” Raúl said. Adrenaline pumped through his Pescador.” crowdingsprint. The its water edges. keeping Clay and the mud fish hutsfresh replaced was mostly the gonebrick now.homes. The - dirt trail became less and less defined, with bushes and fruit trees “I don’t think you’ll get so lucky with me,

Raúl stopped to catch his breath and take in his surroundings, it had the Thesilver two metaled men stood constellation only a few pressing feet apart, against the knifehis left lost thigh some in his where in the dirt between them. Desperation set in; Raúl could feel been a long time since he cut through the slums. He looked north- - east, trying to determine how much farther it could be. He saw something move in the bushes farther up the path. He inched to takenpocket. care His of. kids had to eat, many villagers were dead from malnu trition and he promised Suníva long ago that they would always be sawwards earlier it, squinting stood in his front eyes of to him. bring The the large mysterious man stepped figure onto into thefocus. path.His slowed The late heart afternoon rate picked sunlight back weavedup, one throughof the homeless the papaya men tree he palm fawns and on the man’s face. Raúl felt a panic build up inside “Take this instead.” Raúl grabbed the necklace by the string and wouldlet the slipconstellation from his hands. dangle between them. His heart dropped as he thought of how long it took him to save for it, and now how easily it his chest. He felt childish for not taking the patient road back home. theHe lookedonly suitable to his rightpath hopingto the right. to find some sign of the main road. “What’s it worth?” The man with bulging ribs stepped out from behind a tree, blocking “Triple the fish in that bucket.” .” Pescador The man stared at the necklace, greed crept into his eyes. “Leave The taller man pointed at Raúl, large muscles popping out as he - the necklace, and I won’t kill you.” flexed his arm. “Put the bucket down, and go home, morrow you can buy three buckets worth.” Raúl pulled the necklace “You will not catch me. Take this necklace and leave the fish. To The other man stepped closer from the right; he held a large knife, trying to conceal it near his thigh. back, bracing himself to run just in case. “Please, don’t. I need this—for my family.” Raúl squeezed the my family.” The large man smiled. The scarred man thought for a few moments, “Fine.” handles of the buckets, his hands started to shake. The smaller man on the right stood only a few steps away from “Leave the buckets and walk backward. I will throw you the “I need it for Raúl now. Raúl knelt down on one knee and set the buckets on necklace. If I don’t, then you will easily be able to catch me since I’ll - be running with the fish.” ward. Raúl reached for the handles and the man came running at The large man smirked, set the buckets down, and walked back the ground. He let his hands fall to the ground. The man with the him. Raúl grabbed a palm sized rock in the dirt and swung as hard knife reached for the fish bucket, but Raúl couldn’t stand to face his kids and wife without food. He threw a handful of dirt at the small as he could at the man’s head. His fist crashed intoScribendi the man’s 2015 left | 31 - temple, making him fall to the dirt in a daze. Raúl dove for the buck plained everything that happened. Raúl’s eyes fixed on the stars and Raúl’s heart raced uncontrollably as he dodged tree branch- black hair behind Raúl’s left ear. ets and took off running, searching for the main road to find help. constellations above them. Suníva rested on her side, curling the my perfect constellation.” es, boulders, and animal holes. He could finally see the main road “I love you,” she said. “You, Niko, Evíta, and Emílio. You four are where some of the shopkeepers finished packing their stores up for the night. He looked back and saw the scarred man blazing through Raúl turned to her, and imagined the necklace dangling around the trees, blood pouring down the left side of his face. Raúl pushed her neck. He thought of revenge. screamedhimself until for hishelp legs but started the large to goman numb. was alreadyHe made on it him. to the The road, man but “Wait here,” Suníva tip toed into the house. hittripped Raúl andhard fell, in hisspilling ribs. his Raúl bucket sucked of airfish through in the muddy his gritted street. teeth. He back outside with a large potato sack thrown over her back. Raúl sat up and waited for her. A few moments later Suníva came The man reached into Raúl’s pocket and took the necklace. Other -

left “Hererib cage let burning me help inside you,” Raúl him. jumped up and ran to his wife, pick buckets.men rushed to help Raúl, but the large man ran back into the forest, ing the sack off his wife’s back and setting it down on the ground, his leaving Raúl in a puddle of mud with all his fish and tipped over Feliz aniversario - “ ,” Suníva whispered in Raúl’s ear. aloneThe in strangers the middle from of the the street. market Raúl helped had Raúl never to felt his sofeet. much He anger of theirRaúl twenty kissed onehis wife foot onlong the house. cheek and opened the sack. He un thanked them as they replaced the fish in the buckets and left him- rolled a large fishing net on the ground that spanned half the length towards another man in his life. He believed himself a disappoint ment to his wife; he felt he was a weak burden on her, underserving “I’ve been hiding it at Josana’s place and making it over there,” of her love. He grabbed his buckets and returned home. Suníva said, seeing the smile on Raúl’s face. “Maybe now you can start coming home earlier, which is my gift to myself.” She laughed. and went up to his neighbor’s door and purchased fresh water from “Where did you get money for the cord?” Raúl’s fingers ran along He set the buckets down quietly behind the small brick house - the edges, comparing it to the one he saw on the boat. his well for his family to use the next day. He set the water contain “I’ve been doing extra chores for the neighbors; washing clothes, dishes, whatever they need done. It took me half a year to save.” er underneath the tarp with the fish, and one empty, one full toilet net looking up at the stars. She lay there speaking of love while he her.bucket. She He smiled turned back the and corner gestured to go within through her hand the for front him door, to come but lay nextRaúl tosqueezed her imagining his wife himself into him strangling and they the rested thief on with the his fishing new Suníva was already standing outside waiting for him. He stared at net. cry. inside. He fell down to his knees and hung his head low, refusing to

“Raúl, what’s wrong?” Suníva ran quickly and dropped down to her knees in front of her husband. Her tender voice made Raúl turn - his head away in shame. “Raúl?” He lay down in the small patch of grass with his wife. He ex 32 | Scribendi 2015 Poetry

but you needed to learn. And now you’ve burned your cookies.

What Graduate when you I’m sorry 1st happened? cried I hit harder, Anya Hawke The early grass summer in Jessica’s blossoms backyard, leave damp you fromintoxicated the water with guns the (Marks puckered and over-stretched balloons, squishes beneath your bare feet. (Our father has never been sorry.) where we would dig ourlike nailsflowers to holdon our our arms tears.) freedom from school. Your wet clothes hang off your skinny but you deserved it. waist. (You should have worn a belt.) I’m sorry I made you pick You lean against the wall near the kitchen door, waiting for the weapon I would use, aroundthe signal in abell siren for callfood for to sweetness come. You coming. already Mouthsmell thewet sugar with itI’m would sorry be your fault anticipation.and soft bread. Your stomach rolls marbles, bouncing them I told you but(The the thinner wide leatherbelt bit left thicker Only four minutes more. bruises.)into our backs like a whip, if she died, but you made a mistake. and grasping as if you are something beautiful. Special. in(Our our fingers sleep. clutchingEven our softest Jake leans next to you. He laughs at your jokes and looks at you shirts would scratch our bruises.) (But you are not special.) I’m sorry volunteer: I’ll check the food. I made you watch The monotone melody calls out from the kitchen, and you while I beat your sister, He follows, offering help and a but I was only human flirtatious smile. You eat it up against our swollen (Our hair clumped (and feel guilty later). eyes clamped shut. Remember: He wears dark jeans, washed out on the thighs. Thefaces, room smelled of salt.) They compliment his black shirt. A single bracelet on his left wrist, colorful, and it reads “What Would Jesus Do?” His clothes are wrinkled but clean. His hair 33spikes | Scribendi delicately, 2015 his your eyes. beard missing, leaving behind a smoothness you can feel with

braveYou are and wearing sexy when something you notice similar. how Jeans, his eyesboot lingercut. Without on the lowyour V belt cut. they hang low. Your wet shirt clings to you. You feel

(It’s a whore’s color red.)

repeatedThese things back to are you important. and you will You have will to be defend asked them. to repeat them for cops and judges, friends and relatives. They will be

youIn the around kitchen, in onealone but for him, you grab the oven mitt, reach for the handle, but he steals the crook of your arm and swings motion. fluid

breast.One hand Sweet in your smells hair, of the baked other promise on your nowneck. dancing He kisses around deep, you.tongue delicate. His fingers caress your collarbone, then your

pull away with a smile. Maybe it’s reserved and polite. Or maybeYour stomach it’s daring stirs and impatiently, tempting anddemanding sexy. Let satisfaction. me pull out Youthe food

, you try to say but he squashes your request before it’s given life. His soft fingers harden against your neck, twist movearound but your he’s hair. His body presses, restrains. He holds your toobreath, and when you push he squeezes tighter. You try to

Storms Art, Honorable Mention heavy.

Macy Marin Keith 34 | Scribendi 2015 You Jessica opens the kitchen door laughing: laughing as Jake fear doand not fear want keeps this you and still. you’re on the floor. Disorientated and confused. Your head throbs against the cold tiles. He becomes laughingpasses her; asks: laughing as she waves the smoke away; laughing do not whatas she looks at the oven, at you sitting against the wall; and the other slides your loose jeans down. happened? You want this and one of his hands clamps your mouth, want Open your mouth and all that comes out: You do not this and you smell him as he settles down, theon you,years around that follow.) you, in you. Access taken easily without the My cookies are burnt. protection of your belt. (You’ll never leave home without it in this you and you become him in ways you never wanted. One with You do not want and you feel him. Inside you he becomes agony, one with anguish, one with something wicked and The Mind’s Illness youtwisted feel andhim. stolen,

escapingWhy fill a downbroken my vessel arm justand tothrough watch myit bleed? chest Ia haveslit across a crack my running face they or You feel yourself breaking, broken, broke, like shattered ice you lie in pieces. leak such pretty colors blood- melting on the floor oranges and blood-blues but nothing beats the vibrant greens and yellows (No one will want you anymore.) beneath my toes and runoff from my shoes(also but all even blood-hued) as they leave that my body seep And then he’s done. He lifts himself off you and you breathe again, choking sobs escaping as you scramble to cover yourself and they’re soft as feathers and warm as pushbut the your air’s back stale against and the scratches wall. your throat. You whimper, no emotion comes I’m told to feel missing Gone as easy as he came. fresh laid eggs but I can’t feel what’s

I’ve nothing to compare. oxygen.A dark, burning taint churns the air and fills your lungs. It rolls and swirls, mocking you with stench, choking out the Scribendi 2015 | 35 At a Disciplinary Hearing

I took a paperclip, I’ll admit, 2nd a flimsy little metal thing from the top drawer and unfolded it like a pocketknife and gouged of my coworker’s cabinet, I’ll admit, Kendall Pack Heavenly Throne fullthe wallof white of my hot office, electricity I’ll admit, and burned and I pressed the tip of it into a socket Bod of God release your pent up waste that overbearing load my finger black that unassuming pinch from the refrigerator in the break room the stomach-punching pull And I took a paper bag, barely a crime, of so much devoured ambrosia then the apple then the cookies and devoured first the sandwich, barely a crime,

or soap that smells of spirit screamand I tossed for his out medicine the bag ofbefore pills, barely a crime, soapYour holythat smellshands washof justice clean in blood heand collapsed watched Bill from the fourth floor the lavender soap of mercy the green apple suds of redemption

Who is he the sinner who bears And I took a key, can’t call it criminal, happily the waste away whenfrom the he shutboss’ off desk, the alights long thinand wentbronze to key,bed who scrubs the holy throne and crept up to his house, can’t call it criminal, who dips his rough bristles and stood beside his bed while he wrapped into eternity’s porcelain dish hisand wife I entered up in his home,arms can’t call it criminal, and snored

who looks up to see the sky darkAnd who sagging is he with pastor its pressingof God load who in his zealousness cries Then I stole a child, no apologies, Thank you for your bounty from the boss’ house, his only son, and told him we would be friends, no apologies, and we drove westto Nevada while for he ascreamed chocolate shake atand the I drank wayward them women both, no apologies, along the highway

36 | Scribendi 2015 Bloodhounds he can’t resist the thrill undying They can smell it can’t they that get-it-get-it-get-it oh yes push towards hot bods untarnished the scent of criminal ne’erdowelledness stompy stomp bods asking for the kissies he gives the footsteps run that way flesh metal electric bods stripped down in the snow the imprints of bare feet his nethers press heavy toe delicate heel swinging disease and the howl of the hounds he threads the empty forest cabins pierces the path but the scream of he-who-knows-shall-make-all-known blares out and shatters windows where that stinky stinky behind which he hides no-good-son-of-a-bitch slinks away his body cold and he runs out into the night naked in the snow that bastard-son-of-a-bastard-son whose heart drips black and there with the sweat of his lungs on his brow a drop of sweat breathe heavy fall heavy and there on his face a wild-eyed oh-shit-they-knowedness and the hounds heave after him and there their feet pitter-pat in his guts so rumbly-tumbly their teethjowls snag-ripflip-flop their eyes seek-kill deep down deepthe feeling deep deepof what-will-I-do-what-have-I-done deep down they’ll catch him in the pit where he keeps his secrets they’ll grab him and his undigested snack’ems they’ll tear him woof woof

Scribendi 2015 | 37 3rd

Aiya Sakr

Graffiti

My room is pain- Remem- Believe m- ted white ber paint old splashes er meant friend. Ov- and toe I havenev- er all my splat- painte- let- d over you ters on the walls edters. too. Now I am paint-

Dampened Prayer

the shirreer As she rinsed the shampoo off of my body, my mother’s rich Classical Arabic demanded that , the evil version of me slink down the drain. I would watch, giggling and enchanted, mesometimes in my pink cheering towel along.and declare My wicked me fresh counterpart, and good. shed like snakeskin, invisible yet present amidst the discarded foam and dirty water, slowly washed away. My mother would then wrap

I was fresh and good. Yesterday I stepped out of the shower, hair dripping onto glistening skin, forming a puddle below. A stray hair or two clung to my thigh, a different towel draped over my face, this time green patterned with grey. My mother would approve. With eyes shut, I wondered if the water was not quite hot enough. Could my Classical Arabic ever be as rich?

38 | Scribendi 2015 Mint, Milk, Tea it was only tea. peppermint plant. At every dusk to wake her from her nap, I clip a sprig of our I delivered dying beside a healthy rosemary a steaming mug into her bedroom; andIt was a vibrant the last parsley. one at Walmart, mint, milk, sugar and all. hoping to save it— He and I bought it so desperately why do I want to save it?— I drop the sprig in my tea. When I pour the milk, It swirls and swerves Withlayer moreupon layer,sugar moonflowers unfurling.

I recreate my mother’s cup. Over Skype’s shaky signal, broken again, she said just this morning—to her, evening— “I miss your tea.” She showed me how to harvest mint. When I was six, crouching to my height, “Clip the stem starting itat growsthe top, bigger.” above That two emergingmint stood leaves, rootedlike that, in see?the garden That way, ground. Radiant. Potent. Glowing.

MyBecause mother of her,could make anything grow. I was sure it could make a thousand cups.

Self Creation lostOver her Skype, to coffee I found shops and UndergraduateGrace RyserArt, First Place cleaningher again. the Sometime kitchen. betweenBeyond that mint clipping and leaving; I

Scribendi 2015 | 39 soul. He got out of that hospital bed, who just so happens to take Undergraduate toeventually, go back to work aBut pole here’s to the Gage, dome butand hewhen just he couldn’t. did, he tried his damndest and suddenly he’s just 1st not What’s more his friends said he just Gage. J. Conrad Lucus wasn’t Phineas Gage Gage So maybe it’s true that we’re all just had changed. machines any more. His personality heard of and you can pull a man’s Not sure if you’ve ever favorite color but he was a railroad man somewhere the sunset anymore. or his taste in music He didn’t give a shit about inPhineas Vermont Gage, - or his eating habits and one day he accidentally blew a cakes out of his head He liked his coffee black and his pan fucking iron rod through his dry. and set them on a sterile tray fucking think-box and Which is strange because beforehand right in front of him. here’s the kicker: he didn’t drink any coffee and he didn’t like pancakes much nei- That makes sense. He ther. fucking But everything in me lived. still wants to whichHe also is became funny considering quite he hadn’t believe. hadthe drinker, a drop carvedNow, this a cavern big metal in Gage’s cylinder, of alcohol on its flight path, in his life through his frontal lobe before then. cerebrum, more specifically and they got his left eye all sewn shut and when the bleeding finally stopped personality You see I always thought that probably a loved one crowded around his was something you couldn’t he told the first person he saw, touch. to kindly That it was some grand unifying evi- Fuckfilthy Offhospital and Die. bed dence of the existence of the human

40 | Scribendi 2015 Between Spaces

who human. butIt’s nota question a question of of where They tell you all about how the world will Growing up, I am. as you grow surprise you, older and I am the median between the street and the sidewalk how cruel life can I am the threshold of every waiting room be and how heartless andI am fumes the spaces pooling between above spacespuddles people can be. ofI am spilt shadows kerosene looming What is more important is what they neither seen don’t but felt yourself— nor heard, tell you; about how you will surprise in the vignette of a dated photograph the border between incredible things— With the things you do, penciled lines fine but also your ability the things you make, to destroy— andI am streaks the mist where after raintears have stained the shells ofI am crustacean scars people you will and that, though your intentions may be pure, and embers glowing cause pain to others. I am crushing hangovers

that you, Who am I? will have moments yofes, heartlessness you, you yourself, spaces I am thebetween and cruelty. and selfishness spaces that Stairwells and parking lots is what it means unmarked graves And to be condensation on a whispered word

human. frigid twilight floating up into under an off-white half- moon. Scribendi 2015 | 41 2nd Wardrobe Neuroses

Alyssa Utley My Brother Runs Away Over peach cobbler I. they curl into each other. my brother boards a Greyhound bound for Fresno. and scoops of Dreyer’s vanilla, On a smoky January morning, He pecks her cheek, He presses nose to glass as the engine rumbles, smirking.she pats his khaki knee, lurches. The wide bus winds past panhandlers, and I watch, andbrisk the businessmen salt-streaked with city hair-gel streets. heads; past billboard bargains, dollar sign windows, heII. proposed. He hates the smog. He hates the neon glare. At three and a half weeks

He heads West. While trying on suits, they ask her he says he planned to hitchhike up the coast. blank.his height, weight, phone number. When they catch him two days later, She stares back,

He talks of sun, and rain, and soil. WeHe quotesall scorn Thoreau. him. III. It was six months before hisour wardrobe first fight; neuroses— of“Don’t bare be brown stupid,” skin we and say pumping muscles. eighteen before I learned Myto his mother dreams stacks of furrowed applications earth, by his door hanger hooks all pointing left, jackets there, long sleeves, short. and whispers in his ear: “Electrician. Plumber. Welder.” He stuffs in his earbuds. IV. In the big wedding book, I write, “You’re crazy,” I tell him. “It’d never work.” But really, I want to say he’s brave. “Good luck.” takeI want me to too.” say, “Next time,

42 | Scribendi 2015 American Sniper

In the darkened theater, aspeople Bradley stop Cooper slurping jams Coke, a scope snapping to his red eye licorice. andOily squeezes.fingers hang in popcorn bowls

A kid drops in the desert dust.

Bullets pump chests, shrapnel snaps bone, Theand emptycredits eye roll sockets in silence. stare, blinking blood. Based on a true story.

So many corpses. So many centuries spent destroying each other— humans breaking humans. a man holdsOn the the way door. out, and veins bunch in his hands. His skin is leathered with age silver-blue eyes. He smiles at me with ofWalking hope. into the frosty night, wiping my tears, I feel a splinter The Places You’ll Go Graduate Art, Second Place

Katharina Marchant Scribendi 2015 | 43 3rd Loren Smith

Rhapsody For A Child Of The Sagebrush -After Rhapsody For Children Of The Midwest by Ben Gunsberg

1.

singingYou are tono the longer desert a child stones. of the sagebrush, or a child of the Arizona sun mother earth laying lazily over You are not the mesas of the clods of dirt under the bandstandthe terrain. that You hostedare not rowdy wood of the stair rail that led to rodeo scenes or the splintered, the pomegranate trees lined up along the driveway whosethe announcers seeds you box. savored You are with not of the garage roof or the coarse shingles ofgreedy that placefingers that on left the rockytop imprints the tire of the rope swing spinningin the palms and of twisting your hands. in circles You backare not and forth or the cotton plants craning their anorexic necks heavily to the earth or the conversations of the chit-chatting chickens chumming together in the shade. or the concrete patio it rested on or the bitter orange leave her - wild. Art, Honorable Mention You are not the chimney churning out smoke McKenzie Lowry 44 | Scribendi 2015 trees in the backyard with white painted trunks you looped up in a hug so you could press your face up against the bark or the swings of the park that was wedged into the block like a couch in the waiting room of adulthood. pickling the kitchen or the hard shell tacos madeYou are in not sizzling the smell oil in of the dill house haunted by unseen memory. hot and howling in the mouths who attacked it or theYou creamyare not lemonthe homemade that oozed chili, out from under the meringue or the olives, black as a dark room, plopped theonto bible your cartoons fingers and camped eaten out on the shelf ofone the by brown one by boxy one. tvYou or are the not blue suitcase you stuffed yourself into when you played hide and seek. you held to your nose that smelled human as you walked around the house or theYou bedare notat the the foot blanket of the decorated stairs that with you pictures laid in so of long dalmatians when you had chicken pox you were sure it would forever afterward be spotted. You are not pinkyour teabrother’s set of therooms girl atdown the topthe ofstreet the stairs, one to the left, one to the right youstanding and her big drankand tall from above like you a prince or the and plastic, princess or in the nights that belonged to adults or the books bythe Roald white Dahl teddy you tucked read underneathon the porch your during fingers the days that belonged to children.

2. teal in the tawny morning or You are not the Nevada sagebrush, Scribendi 2015 | 45 the irrigation canals feeding lusty crops or the cantankerous mud colored Muddy River churning along.

yipping and howling their strange tales or theYou squatare not mesquite the coyotes trees scuffling their feet in the dark

the tumbleweeds blown around by carriages of wind thathunkered get stuck down against and ready fences for along war. theYou highways are not to form prickly walls of thorns that guard the desert or the ethereal oasis of the steamy hot springs sweating the swimmers or

preaching yellow with the sunshine or the sunflowers leering down at you like Satan on a Sunday or the maw the trains squashing pennies,

thatof the blazed flood uptunnels the mesquite that run treesunder consuming town yourteasing self you proclaimed with darkness. Forbidden You are Forest not orthe the fires plywood of the treehouse stolen from the construction sites at night or

St Thomas, the drowned town, baptized by the waters thatof Lake suffered Mead thefor samefifty years fate or only the to blankets be recovered on the ground inby parkingdrought lots or the of swap Anasazi meets village in rows of Pueblo upon Granderows or

the scared bats that lived in the holes ofthe the wares tunnel that that waited transported on them. the You river are undernot the two lane road that you and your brothers slapped dead with wet t-shirts like whooping cavemen or the dam you built of logs big enough a child could carry so that a swimming hole would appear.

seemed tall when standing on top of them or You are not the cliffs you leapt from that only you etched scars into or the dirt path that lead to the fish you stabbed with pocket knives tied to sticks that

your little fishing spot that was filled with so many divots 46 | Scribendi 2015 of the world.” you might think that “this is where God scratches the backbone that you wondered if it had been made from an orange or theYou tiltedare not basketball the house hoop that you smelled played so dirtstrongly ball on of orcitrus the velcro sneakers whose straps ripped apart like a whoosh of rain ripping itself from the clouds in the sky. sewn back together by your brothers then jumped withYou are power not thepumped dismembered by limber bicycles legs into the sky stained gray by clouds. up rabbits and left their bloody bodies on theYou backare not doorstep Keyote, or your that dog, doorstep who ripped youstained went black out forwith a hamburgerblood or the on hitchhiker, father son night or theall grimy dirty yellowhaired pigtailsand wooden of the toothed, girl who your sat indad front picked of you up when in elementary school drawing rotund boys and girls with glasses or the clutter of your school desk that contained a jumble of smashed papers and books or the rubber kick balls that made your hands smell like recess you blasted with your rocket feet onto the roof of the school or the stinkyboy that butts assured of stink you bugs “if you next put to your the door hand of out the the classroom window thatof the bus, a sign’ll chop it off. I seen it once.” You are not thecrunchy, boy who crunched threw crunchyour backpack under your into velcro the girls’ sneakers toilet becauseor youthe teacherwere a fourwho square said “thank champion you” afterwardor or Tad, the hypnotist that hypnotized the students during an assembly or fromthe student the students under thatthe hypnotist’s followed or influence the rollerskates that said youhe wanted zoomed to around kiss Yolanda on without Barkis knowing or the collective how to stop groan

Scribendi 2015 | 47 in the old gym of the school during skate night or the pull up bar where your whole class stood in line alongside the teacher to do chin ups or the tree you tied captives to

thatduring pooped lengthy on gamesTravis ofwho capture always the threw flag thatbasketballs sat between at them or the vicioustwo overhanging games of Bumpfences Out of the where baseball you blasted fields or the the white birds basketballs of your opponents into oblivion when they came near you

if you didn’t touch the wall quick enough after you missed the ball or or Burn Ball, played with tennis balls, that others slammed into your butt when you walked home because you thought the owners were mean or the Taylors’yellow field faded that red you truck were thrown too yellow up into to acut tree across for a treehouse or

and dinosaurs eating out your guts while you’re still alive the movies, the shows about killer apes ripping out peoples eyeballs, with makeshift catapults that launched globs ofthat legos kept at you the up ignorant all night. smiling You are faces not of the lego castles men ofwho legos

never knew they had been conscripted to fight in a war or Davythe green, who wasplastic solemnly army men buried surrounding in the back the yard cowboys and then and cemented indians over from Mom’s hutch who killed plastic Davy Crockett in the battle of the Alamo. whom now remains forever lost in a tomb of stone. before you could exhume him for another fight and 3.

You are not that child of sagebrush anymore. alwaysYou are saturated not the snowy in winter nightgowns white or of the Utah’s water mountains rot that strip themselves clean during summer or the salt flats bold enough to build next to her receding waters or theof the snow Great that Salt seeped Lake thatinto theperfumes cavities the of shoresyour heart and towns so slowly that the passage of time was numbed

the rock walls of the canyons that shaded you from the sun or until all you could ask for was cold, cold, cold. You are not 48 | Scribendi 2015 the mountain lakes with diamond waters that drank the snow or the little reservoir whose shallow waters hid evendrowned though deer, others birds pulled and stray gleaming dogs or trout the frombig reservoir her bosom like up the road that had fish in it you could not catch the goats who munched on alfalfa in the afternoons of austerity or therabbits cows from giving a top birth hat. under You are the not lamplight of stars or that bent the road as it lifted up the edges of the asphalt or the foresthorses where neighing every in thetree dreams had a human of speed name or the or tree,those same trees that were toppled down by the winds that zipped the alleyway that pooled up water into puddles you stomped through duringdown the summer mountains or the into roof the of valleysthe shed on you skates ate lunchof sleet. on You while are you not that led to the front door that was evened out with sand or thewatched three the tiered dogs garden sulk in surrounding the backyard it whereor the flatvelour rock pathway stalks that gave birth to sunshine we ate with salt and butter or thepetunias deer withmingled stoic with faces lilacs that and snuck daisies. into town You are to stealnot the it or corn the mazes of corn eerily crooning when the wind blew or the green blades of grass that wiggled between your toes or the apple trees that were so overgrown with green fruit that the branches practically begged you to pick a few. gone stiff from the salt of the lake whenYou are you not swam the swim in it ortrunks the ink of the newspapers that rubbed off onto doorsteps in the early morning or theonto metal your extensionfingers when ladder you that threw shimmied them in the wind when you climbed to the roof of the house to put Christmas lights on the trim or the green strands of those lights that had cancer warnings printed on the labels or the fireworks of July Scribendi 2015 | 49 illuminating the nights with imitations of stars or the sprinkler pipes that water slushed out of when you carried it over wet rows of emerald alfalfa or the brown couch that sagged in the middle when you collapsed on it or the glowing lamp that sat next to your bed the high school band who played music in your yard onyou your spent birthday quiet nights or the under cold silver reading of theJack trumpet London you or played with them for parades or the dirt paths of the cross country races that lead you tried with your girlfriend who has disappeared fromthe runners your life into like the autumn scent ofleaves canyon or thedew last or smilethat first kiss of your grandfather and the last hug of your grandmother that rings out like a bell in your soul when you dream of them or all of your brothers and sisters and friends who no longer sing the songs of childhood joy you once shared with them or your mother and father who were so slowly touched by time you scarcely noticed they had become sunsets.

at the little hills of sagebrush outside of town andYou areheard not them the last serenading time you the really sky looked in syllables of dawn the sagebrush would live on forever. believing, that even if you could not,

Red Art, Honorable Mention

Macy Marin Keith 50 | Scribendi 2015 NonFiction

berry vodka in a short glass, telling her to “keep it weak, she’s never

Graduate had alcohol before.” As we approached the bar, my dad hacked, and please.”turned bright red, and spit phlegm into a Kleenex from the box next 1st to the stacked water glasses. “Ow,” he said. “Get me a gin and tonic, Remnants Chloe Hanson I downed my drink in the few seconds it took Candy to mix the watchedgin and tonic a couple for my old dad—the men in sun-bleached huckleberry plaidvodka shirts was too and sweet, baseball cherry-stained wood columns resting on what are meant to look like capslike soda, wander and in not and even settle strong themselves enough downto burn at ona table the way near down. the door I old-fashionedThe Outlaw barrels. Saloon Thein Ogden, walls areUtah, decorated is one giant with room smoke-dulled divided by posters of half-dressed blonde models in Daisy Dukes and cowboy and wondered how I’d ended up in the Outlaw. I’d wanted to play music with my Dad’s band since I was three years old, singing along boots holding dripping bottles of Bud Light and Corona. The bar, to Alanis Morisette and Mary Chapin Carpenter in the car. When dance floor, and stage are crammed together in one corner. The rest I was eight, my dad bought me a guitar, a blue, half-sized Yamaha. onlyof the other space people is taken in theup by bar massive apart from circular the band—mytables, billiards, dad’s darts,band— imaginedWhen I taught the places myself my to dadplay, played he’d told as sold me I out was arenas so much and like glamor him;- and an old jukebox. At 7 PM on a Friday night in August of 2012, the his dad had never taught him a single chord either, he’d said. I’d who had fake boobs and a tattoo of a star just above the waist of her - setting up on the tiny stage in the corner were the bartender, Candy, ous nightclubs. I’d pictured myself in a sequined dress and cowboy boots like a country superstar, singing to swarms of beautiful, cheer instructor.”extreme low-rider jeans, and Barry, a bald giant with a full black ing people. As I looked around the Outlaw, that fantasy died. I told beard who my dad explained was the new “sound guy and line dance Candy to make me another drink, and she handed me something tall and blue. “It’s called a Candy Got Fucked Up,” she said. I tasted the drink carefully. It was strong, almost medicinal. withIt weekend was far from Drag my Queen first competitionstime in a bar. Sinceand fruity I had cocktails turned 21 to in the March I’d been everywhere from Salt Lake’s gay-friendly dance clubs My dad shot his gin and tonic and flirted with Candy, telling her neckhow hotbeneath her body the fakewas tanafter and having sunset-colored two kids, and makeup asking and me nodded. if I could White Owl in Logan where all there was to do was drink Big Dogs believe that she was a mom. I looked at her wrinkles and sagging of Blue Moon and play darts until last call. But it was my first time meanywhere over to like the Thecounter Outlaw, where a country-themed Candy stood and saloon, ordered and me it wasa huckle - “You two are too sweet,” Candy said, her hands on her exposed certainly the first time I’d ever been to a bar with my dad. He walked hips. She was wearing a pinstriped vest as a shirt. I tried not to make a face at her. “And you look so much alike! Talent51 | Scribendi and beauty 2015 must run in the family.” * “Check, check,” I said quietly. - “I’m going to go help Doug and Dave set “Barry, could you turn up number 2 would decompose completely in a matter of up,” I said, interrupting Candy. I’d been told whirledplease?” aroundDoug yelled. on his Barry, black-booted who was heels chat A body, if left to the whims of nature, I looked like my dad my whole life, but since ting with my dad and Candy at the bar, I’d gotten older, dyed my hair, and grown - months. Ants would arrive first, feeding on tlinginto my to havebaby our fat, similaritiesthe comments pointed had been out by and flashed us a huge smile. “And who’s this- eyelids, lips, and knuckles. Blue blowflies strangers.less and less frequent. It was always unset pretty little thing? You old enough to be in enzymesand carrion that flies would would dissolve lay eggs the in skin. orifices, here, sugar?” he asked, his voice easily car up to 2000 at a time. Insects would secrete - rying across the tiny dance floor. Within a year, bacteria and moths would eat drink“What down you on got a free there, patch Chlo?” of grey-carpeted Doug asked. “I’m 21,” I mumbled, the sound magni - I shook my head a little to clear it and set my fied as Brent turned up my mic. the corpse’s hair. But the bones, without the Brent called. influence of a predator or strong natural ele said. Doug and Dave both laughed. “Say that again, sweetheart, but louder,” stage. “It’s called a Candy Got Fucked Up,” I ments, can last 2-500 years, sometimes even - longer. It’s a grim thought, and at the same - “I’m 21,” I repeated myself. time, there’s a sort of peace to it, knowing “Are you allowed to use that kind of lan ball cap and winked at me. nothat more you, orlike less everything than any elsecreature in this that world, has guage?” Dave asked. He adjusted his base “Wow, 21! Brent said. He crossed from the sound booth to the stage, his cowboy are fragile, breakable, disposable. You are but with a real warning tone. Doug had been boots clicking on the hardwood dance floor. “Knock it off, Dan, she’s 21,” Doug joked, He stopped in front of me and looked up. ever lived or will ever live on Earth. Your tuning“Well, I his just guitar. might have to take you home,” body can be eroded, changed, and molded - my dad’s best friend since before I was born. he said. I glanced at Dale, but he was busy by wind and rain, extremes in temperatures, He’d warned me that Dave was a notorious and the animal kingdom, until it is unrecog flirt. I felt queasy—though from excitement but he was laughing. nizable. Yet, somewhere, all pieces of you, “Hey, that’s my daughter!” my dad yelled, or fear, I wasn’t sure—at the prospect of all of your matter, exists. The proteins in - Dave flirting with me. asked Brent who obliged me with another your flesh, the carbon that makes the core of “Will you hand me my drink?” I finally at the“You front want and to center do a mic of thecheck?” stage Doug and what you are, the sodium, potassium, nitro asked me. He directed me to the microphone likegen, beingcalcium, reborn. and phosphorus, are formed big grin. “You’re gonna dance with me later, into something completely new. It’s almost adjusted it to my height. “You’ll be singing sweetheart,” he said, turning around and walking back to the sound booth. I downed onin this when one.” you’ve I stepped been singingup close in enough it for a tolong felt a warmth spread between my ears. I know my family, however, will never the last of my drink as quickly as I could and smell the stale, rotten smell that a mic takes give me a Tibetan Sky Funeral. In a Christian that’ssociety, what a traditional people say. burial Most is of seen my asfamily an act time. Mixed together with the metallic, “That’s my girl,” my dad said. He crossed takesof compassion issue with for my the father’s deceased, request or at to least, be morguealmost sterile would metallic smell like. tang, the scent had the floor and came to stand beside Barry. always reminded me of what I imagined a “She can put it down just like her dad.” I painted on a smile at the comment, but cremated. Personally, though I don’t believe 52 | Scribendi 2015 on the inside I suddenly felt very cold. in an afterlife or spirits, I believe honoring the last wishes of the dead is much more - daver lab and managed not to faint as the in preparation for the second coming of process already; I was determined to professorunder the madeskin. I’ve an incisioneven attended in the corpse’s a ca compassionate than a burial, feet to the east come prepared. I had hoped that it would it’s the preservation of the body in its most well-lovedmake me feel recipe less forsqueamish. chocolate I canchip recite cook- curtains to reveal the red muscle under- Christ. But to my family, and to many others, the ingredients of embalming fluid like a embalmed skin, pushing it away in two pale - glycerin to keep the body from becoming recognizable state that’s important. I guess ies—formaldehyde to preserve the tissue, neath. Still, the second I enterand between the lobby, my I that’s why funeral homes, like Miner Mor to keep the blood feel a cold, dripping feeling down my spine onlytuary break in Montpelier, from the orangeIdaho, stay dust in roads business. is the indehydrated, a liquid state borax so In towns as small as Montpelier, where the It’s a grim thought, eyes, the same further from the town each year like blood cutfeeling myself I get while when grim, grey Bear Lake, receding further and nitrateit’s easier and to acetate drain, and at the same time, choppingI’m up high vegeta or I - to be the only business that’s thriving and tophenol, act as potassium disinfec- alive.being drained from a corpse, death seems there’s a sort of peace and methyl red ill-equippedbles. It’s the feelingto dyestants, to saffranin make the to it, knowing that handlethat tells my me current I’m It’s been two years since I lived in skin appear more you, like everything sunburnedMontpelier, touristsworking and fourteen locals hourwith shiftsrotting at the lake, renting boats and SeaDoos to Mix these ingre- thatsituation, something that I’m dientslifelike, together and water. else in this world, are couldtoo close go terriblyto danger, havingteeth. Once had enoughwe closed of Broulimsfor the season, and their I drove six and pump into out of Montpelier and never went back, body through fragile, breakable, a tube inserted wrong if I continue dollar loaves of bread, Kings Convenience disposable. standing where I Store, the Bear Lake gift shops full of tacky stand, doing what DIY projects priced at 15.00 apiece. Still, into the heart, I’m doing. axillary artery, alsoit’s easy houses for methe totown’s find Minertiny hospital. Mortuary The on Sam Miner, the Main Street next to the antique shop, which and, if the body funeral director, is doesn’t pump up enough, or if burial won’t pictures of the babies that have been born my best friend’s great-uncle, otherwise he electronic message board outside flashes take place immediately, into the femoral and wouldn’t have met with me. I can tell he’d brachial arteries, as well as directly into the of the pictured infants are probably walk- - rather be somewhere else, though I don’t flesh on the abdomen. I’ve seen pictures of ing.recently, The picturea number intermittedly small enough changes that some to an ing on the backs of their legs and arms like atknow me justwhere, a little as the too mortuary often and is by still the open way dead bodies in pallor mortis, blood pool for a few more hours, by the way he smiles white display that mirrors the sign hanging watched videos of students at the world’s all day!” and runs his hand over his bushy grenadine syrup in a glass of tequila. I’ve overad for the the double mortuary—a doors. tasteful, black and top school for morticians massaging the brownhe sounds and when grey beard.he says “ask away, I have

fingers of corpses to spread the dyes around I know the basics of the embalming I have a list of questions,Scribendi but I don’t2015 | 53 really know how much more Sam can tell me about the embalming

was a definite upgrade from the barely-animated pile of parts I was process that I don’t already know. I suppose he can act as a sort of driving in 2012, but my Dad could have picked any car on his uncle’s fact checker, but I got my information from some pretty reputable used car lot to give me, and I wondered why he didn’t pick one with sources. I don’t much feel like asking him questions like “what’s the 4 Wheel Drive. He knew I lived in Logan, Utah, where winter lasts most decomposed body you’ve ever worked on?” or “how often do from the beginning of October to the middle of April. Of course, I people request open-casket funerals?” Though I’m sure that he’d should have been grateful that he got me anything at all, but on a love to tell me stories—from what I’ve heard about him from my comeSunday home night, for stuck the weekend two hours to away see my from family—a Logan in rare West occurrence Jordan, it best friend, her Uncle Sam is a great orator who will keep talking as- was hard for me to be happy with what I had. I’d simply wanted to long as you let him—I’m just not interested in any of his tales of the bizarre. What I’m interested in is seeing a corpse, watching an em on account of my work schedule. Now, if I wanted to make it back to We’d watched every episode of Parks and Recreation on catch- balming, though at the same time, I am fairly certain that I will pass Logan, I’d have to wait until morning. out immediately if I’m in the same room as a dead person. notebook and pressing the tip of my pen into the paper until the blue ink “Isbleeds the mortuaryout. a family business?” I finally ask, looking at my up, every YouTube clip my fifteen year old sister, Emily, showed us during commercial breaks, and twenty minutes of three different foreign horror movies. My dad switched them off for nudity, as if I’d “Yes, my grandpa started it. I couldn’t tell you the exact year, never seen breasts before, as if he was bothered by nakedness, as if though,” Sam says. He watches me, his mouth still twisted up in that mehe hadn’t uncomfortable. let me be hit on by cowboys at the Outlaw, hadn’t laughed too-big smile, and rolls his fingers across the desk while I study my on the drive home when I told him that their sexual advances made list of questions. I feel stupid for not having asked him ahead of time if I can watch him embalm someone. I don’t know what the legal “Will you let me take your car to the Redbox?” I finally asked my- thatrepercussions day. of that would be, if I’d have to sign something to make dad, who was lying across our almost-new brown leather sofa, the the family feel more comfortable, if he even has anyone to embalm leavingone we gotonly when the nearly we “remodeled” bare-bones the kitchen house essentials last summer and andbeat effec up diningtively stripped room table the behind.upstairs We of itsgrafted skin ofeverything paint and else furniture-flesh, on to the base - “Didn’t you bring any more questions?” he asks. He drops the smile just a little, converting it from an all-out toothy affair to a - stretched, all-lips grimace. ment, bringing it to life. Though we’d given the whole place a fresh coat of paint, covered up the dents and dings from moving things I glance down at the notebook in my lap again. “Sure,” I say, skim around, we hadn’t done much. ming over the questions I can’t ask. Luckily for me, he’s impatient. “I’ll drive you,” he said, swinging his legs onto the floor with a “Do you want to see the morgue?” he asks. little grunt of exertion. He coughed, and I remember not thinking And even though that cold feeling is threatening to freeze me to * much of it other than it was gross and I wished he’d stop doing it. my chair, I say “ok.” He hacked up phlegm and winced at what I can only assume was the taste of the stuff, though I tried not to think about it. He reached out look pretty in movies and photographs but pile up on streets and andhis hand watering. and I automatically gave him a tissue from the box on top In January 2013, it was snowing—big, fat, flakes, the kind that of the DVD player. He spit into it and opened his eyes. They were red keep54 | tiresScribendi from 2015gripping the pavement. My car, a 1995 Toyota Camry, “Ow,” he said. He wadded up the tissue and tried to hand it back do-that meaning behind my words, it might have set him off. I to me, and I took a defensive step back, hands raised. “Take care of it couldn’t remember how many years it had been since I didn’t have yourself,” I said. to tiptoe around him, hoping that I was saying and doing the right He nodded, started to hold out his hands for help standing up, thing to keep him happy, or at least the odd sort of middle area he was in in January of 2013, depressed, but not angry. and then withdrew them, pushing himself to his feet. He coughed that he meant tests for something like bronchitis. My dad was a once more; a wet sound. “I’m having some tests done,” he said, and I remember thinking “Want to go get a coffee while we’re out?” he asked. I hadn’t had - caffeine in two years, not since I found out it was exacerbating my hypochondriac, a trait he’d passed on to me. I’d had my fair share of panic attacks. But instead of reminding him, I said “sure.” mysteriousalmost-certain illnesses heart withoutattacks, aneurisms,a diagnosis. and meningococcal men - ingitis. I’d learned that it was best not to get worked up over any Dad’s car was parked on the extreme right of the garage, so close to the wall that I wondered how he managed not to hit his side mir- rors as he pulled in and out. He made me wait on the porch while he “Oh yeah, Mom said that you weren’t feeling too good,” I said, maneuvered his silver Nissan out into the snow, turning the steer thekeeping gaps. my statement as general as possible, hoping he wouldn’t ing wheel as far as it could go, swiveling around Brynn’s car parked realize that I didn’t have enough knowledge of the situation to fill in directly behind him in the driveway, ending up half-parked on the lawn. He waited until I was close before he honked the horn at me, turn“Yeah, on some well, music. I’m over Then that he now. told Theme. bronchitis, that is,” he said. I laughing as I flinched, jumped. The first time he pulled that trick on nodded and looked out the window again. I remember wishing he’d me, I cried. But I was too old to cry over things like that anymore. me he was tired or asking me to remind him what kind of coffee my I stared out the window and watched the fat, bloated flakes “They think I might have a tumor,” he said, like he was telling fall, sprawling out on the asphalt before they were ripped apart by of heat from the vent in front of me. My dad never turned the heater fast-spinning wheels. Over-confident drivers with chains on their sister wanted. I felt lightheaded and cold, despite the little stream tires zipped past us at 55 mph, spraying grey slush in their wake, music in the car skidding to a stop at the red traffic light ahead reluctantly, like it was all the way up, just like he never buckled his seatbelt or listened to an inconvenience. Our own car, creeping along at 30, fishtailed ever theso slightly expression when by my squinching dad pressed up hison theeyes brakes, and cocking pulled his into head the toleft- “A tumor?” I paused. “What?” hand turn lane. I glanced over at him and he grimaced, exaggerating this stuff.” “Yeah. Pressing on my gag reflex. That’s why I’m always hacking the side. I remember noticing that his seatbelt was unbuckled, and - shruggingthinking about off my the dad’s time ailments I asked him and to shortcomings buckle it, when for years.he told me he sist “Dad,that long. you’ve been doing that for years. You’re just now getting it was too fat to dislodge from the car. I shrugged it off the way I’d been checked?” It was out of character for my dad to let a symptom per street. My Dad coughed again, opened his window, spit into the snowAs and if on splashed cue, he hacked against again, the side harder of the than car. before. When he spit out the window, it was a mouthful of clear vomit that mixed with the - “What’s up with your cough?” I asked, careful to keep my tone light. If he’d heard the disgust in my voice, the I-wish-you-wouldn’t- “I know,” he said. He winced. “I didn’t really want to taste my din ner again.” He turned off the heater but left his windowScribendi down. 2015 | 55 All I could think was I whereto recall a corpsewhat I’ve lays seen covered in movies in a sheet. and TV Tags shows; on toes a white purple room with full of am just like my father. poolingsilver drawers blood. Butthat there contain won’t the be dead a corpse bodies, a silver table on wheels Impulsive. Making decisions , I remind myself. The first thing I notice is the odor. The sharp bite of antiseptic, I know will hurt me. like the room where my Grandpa lay, shaking off anesthesia, his leg freshly amputated. Like the smell of the wet wipes my dad used to use to sterilize his insulin injection sites. But underneath that, just barely discernible, is a smell like carrion on the highway. Death- smell. I gag. “It makes me throw up like that all the time. I can’t control it. I’ll - just keep hacking and hacking until stuff comes up. I feel like I’m tract“You’ll myself get by used studying to the my smell,” surroundings. Sam says, like something straight choking all the time,” he said. out of a prepared script. I nod and try not to cover my nose, to dis “I always just thought you had a lot of phlegm,” I said, because I was trying to be funny, because I was remembering how often, There are several silver gurneys, like I imagined, and the place growing up, that he’d spit into a tissue and open it up to show me is very white. Spotless, even. Each gurney is pushed up against the the green and red-splotched mess inside, how he’d try to force me to wall, and at the foot of each bed there’s a white wooden shelf holding take the open Kleenex to the garbage for him, how sometimes he’d a machine that looks like a blender, except for the yellow and blue laugh and sometimes he’d get mad when I said no. intotubes the wound corpse. up around the bottom. From the videos I’ve watched, I recognize this as the machine used to pump the embalming fluid “Do Brynn and Emily know?” I asked. We pulled up to the - makeup—brilliantBeans and Brews, which vermillion was completely to paint life empty back into inside the except actor’s for stage- a whitebored-looking face. barista with red hair; the shade you might see in stage Across the room from the gurneys is a long counter that re minds me of a doctor’s office, but where you might see pamphlets advertising Botox injections or microdermabrasion, the dangers of “We’ll go through the drive through,” he said by way of reply. unprotected sex or how to know if you have strep throat, there was “What do you want to drink?” a squat white box full of thin silver scissors. A green plastic bucket. Unlabeled spray bottles full of orange liquid. A bathroom cup with a any“Nothing,” more. I said, because it was easier than asking him if there - were decaf options and having to re-explain why I don’t drink coffee brush and comb. A roll of twine. workOn in the silence.” counter, there’s also a picture of Sam with his kids. A min “Whatever, dude,” he said. He leaned out the window and chirped iature radio, which Sam explains is there “because he doesn’t like to happily to the barista girl, the kind of manic energy that others - found charming and I’d always found exhausting. When we left, he “You know I can’t let you watch an actual embalming,” he finally * tipped her five bucks. says, running his hands over his beard. “But there is a funeral tomor row at one. You know where the chapel is, right? Out in Dingle? You - could get a look at an embalmed body, if you want.” I’m not sure what I expect the morgue itself to look like. Or smell like.56 | As Scribendi Sam unlocks 2015 the door at the end of a dimly lit hallway, I try I drove past that chapel every morning on my way to work. Din reason Tyler wanted to talk to me was is a collection of old farms and dilapidated gle, about ten minutes north of Montpelier, if he just complimented my shoes and told “Well, how do you feel about the whole- because he thought that I’d sleep with him - thing? I know you two aren’t...close,” he said. cows.sheds, trucks whose engines won’t start, mindI could that tell he he knew was picking the gory his details words of care my empty fields that used to hold horses and backyardme my last barbeque love interest weeks was after a jerk. breaking I remem fully, but he needn’t have bothered. I didn’t bered meeting him at my friend Hillary’s - “Yes,” I say. “The family won’t mind?” life, shared with him on another night like - make sure. The family doesn’t mind at all. things off with Nick, the guy with a serious that one, under the influence of another bot He gives me a phone number to call, to * girlfriend who was most definitely not me. tle. He handed me a white wine, and I stud I remembered Tyler’s perfectly straight, ied the label instead of answering him. “It’s a - - drinkwhite atsmile least and three plaid times button over up the shirt, course and Moscato, that’s my favorite,” he said. the way he’d asked me if I wanted another “How’s your dad?” Tyler asked, his “I don’t know how I feel about the situ - head in the fridge. He pulled out four bot ation with my dad,” I said by way of reply, shuttles of the Woodbridge fridge and leanedwine, three back the against same the of the night. How he’d told me I deserved setting the wine down. “Where’s your cork yellow-white color, one deep burgundy. He- better than Nick while we smoked hookah screw?” and listened to Hillary sing while David played the guitar. How later that night Tyler Tyler opened a drawer to his right, but remembercounter, looking telling at him me hewith should his I’m-listen buy the last instead of handing me the corkscrew, he had told David he was disappointed I hadn’t- expectantly. ing face through the thick-framed glasses I opened the bottle himself, looking at me he’d randomly texted me to come over and gone home with him. But in that moment, time I saw him exactly ten days ago, when werewith Tylerbound leaning by more against than athe group counter, of mutual ask - ing me if I preferred red or white wine, we ity.”“I mean, I have so many unresolved issues with him. Especially with his...infidel watch Harry Potter. Tyler knew the whole story—how my of his light brown hair that had grown out friends. Tyler’s dad had died of cancer, and I watched him watching me, taking note - my dad, it seemed, would follow suit. dad used to work with a girl named Ash itfrom would the nearly“hipster brush haircut” his chin he was if he so didn’t proud “I don’t know, he doesn’t talk to me,” of a few months earlier, so long on top that I half-lied, because I knew that my dad ley, how I remember visiting him when I wouldn’t disclose much if I did call him, and was eight or nine. How my mom hugged style it. At that moment it was hat-mussed also because I’d been refusing to contact him, and though I couldn’t remember my and wavy, and I wanted to play with it, but him since the last time I was home. I wasn’t dad’s expression, I heard her accusing him I didn’t. I reminded myself to have some early.sure if it was because I didn’t want to know over the phone, locked in the bathroom, of self-control, that two months ago the only his prognosis, or if it was easier to let him go mom“shooting always Ashley made a look”lists on while yellow they legal were Looking at the face of the man in the coffin embracing. I’d told Tyler about how my pads—chores, homework, and whatever feels like looking at the wax figures at else was on her mind. The list I’d found on her bed, forgotten, contained bulleted items- Madame Tussaud’s in Vegas. like “why?” and “she’s so young.” I’d told Tyler how she’d said, “I don’tScribendi care 2015what fan | 57 - tasies you have about her, it’s over.” I was eight or nine, and I never he was my age, he’d already worked for NASA, and here I am, trying forgave my dad for that moment. I had never heard my mom cry to get my degree, and I’m not even that good at anatomy and physi before that night, and except for a few tears in sad movies, I’d never ology. I’m not that good at anything.” He pushed his grown-out hair witnessed her crying since. I’d thought, fleetingly, that being Nick’s out of his eyes. “I don’t keep...him alive? Do you understand what I “mistress” would give me some insight into my dad’s state of mind, mean by that?” and I’d understand how a relationship could be dead before it took I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t think you’re supposed to keep its first breath. Instead, being with Nick had just reminded me of all him alive. You’re just supposed to remember him.” the ways my dad and I were alike. “It’s the same thing,” he said. “I have a friend,” Tyler said, “who was abused by her dad. I think sexually abused. And he got cancer and died, and she wore red to “Tyler,” I said after a moment. the funeral.” He held out the bottle of Moscato to me. “Smell,” he said. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. I leaned forward and inhaled the sweet, sharp smell, green and fresh, “I’m not trying to cheer you up.” I rolled over onto my back and like the skin of a grape under the sun. Tyler smiled at me. “We’ll let it stared at his ceiling. “I just think...you have control over your own breathe for a moment,” he said. He set the wine down on the counter.- life. If you’re not happy with it, change it. If you want to be more like tionship“As long asin youthe world.”don’t want to wear red to your dad’s funeral, I think your dad...do it. He’s half of your DNA. You already have a good start.” it’s OK that you’re so conflicted. You guys don’t have the best rela “It doesn’t work like that,” he said. He brushed the hair out of his eyes and twisted it around his finger for a moment. “Goodnight.” andTyler led me poured upstairs us twoto his glasses bedroom. of the There Moscato, were letting greyscale the picturesliquid rise The next morning, I got my keys, pulled on my dress, and found nearly to the rim. “You need a big glass for this kind of night,” he said my shoes by the door before Tyler had time to wake up. I walked - out of his apartment into the new snow. I hadn’t realized how cold it of cities I couldn’t name on the walls, leather bound books lined up was the night before. The snow blew, stinging my face, in the morn on the desk, a dresser that must have come with the apartment with ing wind from the canyon, and I thought about my dad. Not about heart-shaped cutouts on the drawers. I sipped the wine and smelled whether he was going to live or die, but about his affair so many it at the same time, because Tyler told me that it improves the flavor. - years ago. I thought about my dad and Ashley and their clandestine I felt the wine-fog growing warm and welcome between my ears, relationship, so similar to every relationship I’d ever had. I won while Tyler explained to me that he had five copies of Dorian Grey dered if they’d ever loved each other, or if they’d used each other, or thebecause time it’shis hisdad favorite got diagnosed novel, showed to the time me thehe diedwine just cabinet three he’d months if one of them had been in love while the other one got used. And I made in his desk, told me how he didn’t remember anything from thought about Tyler, and what I’d said to him—that he could control himself. That his father was already half of him, preserved in him later. I let the wine fog take me from my spot, arms folded, as close whether or not he knew it. I thought about the parts of my father in to the edge of his bed as possible, to the air above his lips, beneath me, and wondered if what I had said to Tyler was true, and whether them, and all the places in between. * or not I wanted it to be. “I don’t think my dad would be proud of the person I am now,” Tyler said. He rolled over onto his back so we were no longer looking - one another in the eye, his naked shoulders and forehead slick with Looking at the face of the man in the coffin feels like looking at sweat. “I know that sounds like a line from a movie. But by the time the wax figures at Madame Tussaud’s in Vegas. His skin has obvi 58 | Scribendi 2015 ously been painted with foundation. His blush is just a little too red for his light complexion. I feel like I can see every pore desperately corpses that once held warm fast food. I hadn’t cleaned anything trying to draw breath through the sunset-colored crap. Except, of in days, and the filth made it hard to function. But I didn’t want to To make a person appear alive for a viewing or open-casket course, that can’t happen, I remind myself. He’s dead. pretend that things were OK, so I simply didn’t do anything at all. - My grades were slipping, professors and friends were becoming worried, and there I was, day after day in bed with a beer or glass of funeral, after the embalming fluid has been pumped through the -de wine, watching Netflix on my laptop and trying not to think. hindceased, the the lower eyelids lip where are super it’s tiedglued in shut.a knot. A needleThis is isto threadedkeep the corpsbehind- the upper lip, across the nose through the nostrils, then down be supposedBecause to whenlove each I thought other tooand much, care when I remembered bad things that happened. my father didn’t know anything about me, nor I about him, except that we were es mouth closed, both because of the unsettling effect of a swollen - dead tongue protruding from a dead man’s lips, but also because the And I felt worse because I wasn’t sure I cared. I wasn’t sure I wanted organs will soon begin to putrefy, and the methane-stink is far from to try to care. I wasn’t sure I wanted words like “cancer” and “biop pleasant. The hair is washed and combed, if needed, and the nails sy” and “malignant” to mean something to me. Tyler that occurred only on his terms and ended with me fumbling are clean, a habit that many don’t take seriously even when living. So instead, I’d sought comfort in alcohol, in sleep, in nights with Vaseline or cream is used to moisturize the skin, and then cosmetics are applied. For all Sam’s talk about how embalming is an art, and for my car keys, trying to leave before he woke up. And all I could - his job is to preserve the corpse just as they were in life, the result think was I am just like my father. Impulsive. Making decisions I is a person who looks so lifelike, it’s unnatural. The cosmetics, the know will hurt me. I thought about what Tyler said—that remem sewn up lips and eyes, the organs prevented from decaying naturally, bering someone and keeping them alive are the same thing. And I seem like a form of denial. A way to keep something alive that clearly had to wonder if this was how I’d keep my dad alive—in drinking, in isn’t. It feels almost selfish, in a way. sleeping around, in never having a complete loyalty to anyone. wonderI try notif it’d to be take more too or much less timeunsettling staring than at the seeing stranger’s his body face, rolled but I hated those things about myself, and it made me hate him more. I can’t help but think about what my dad would look like in a coffin. I I’d pick up my guitar, play a couple of chords, and put it back down. I couldn’t make music any more without thinking of my dad. into a crematorium, or knowing that it’s being eaten by animals.- Or maybe dissected in a cadaver lab. Then I realize that it’s not what I knew he had given me positive characteristics. I knew that when happens to something once it’s dead that’s unsettling, it’s realiz he died, the pieces of him that he left behind, the parts of him in ing that there’s no spark of life left, no matter how much we try to me, were not completely bad. But the things that I gravitated to, the things I did not have to preserve, but did... those were the horrors. that—adisguise corpse. it. That The no matter only things what that colors won’t we decaypaint onare dead the thingsskin, no we can’tmatter control. how we Those form little faces blips into ofpeaceful genetic expressions, sameness like a corpse eye color is just or wasSo in whena nowhere I got theplace. text Cold back and that quiet said and the still.tumor was benign, I didn’t feel happy or relieved. I didn’t feel disappointed. I felt like I * musical ability. Those things I fight so hard to change. waiting for a reply to my text asking if he’d gotten any results. My Two weeks after my dad told me about his tests, I sat in my room, room was a museum of unwashed clothing, empty bottles, paper-bag Scribendi 2015 | 59 sweat and eat with. There are not many circumstances in which you in the wild without in some part, meshing with those you bathe, barf, 2nd but river running is one of them. find yourself peeing in public with recently acquired acquaintances, River Touchstones SanLori JuanLee River, Southeastern Utah the person who steps onto the raft will not be the same person who stepsOne off. thing The I water do not washes realize not the only first grainstime I ofhead sand for from the river the belly is that “You cannot step into the same river twice.” — Heraclitus

- consequencesof the rock; it washes of the step from onto me themy routine,river are takes as opaque me to as a momentarythe red silt - place, a liminal space, where so many things cease to matter. The A warm breeze hums through the screens along the top of the pa lapa-style hut. Grass walls swing like skirts as I stroll in, unintention- water. It is a time and space where, like the rock, I am carved… we ally late, my Chacos picking their way across the dirt floor scattered are carved, yet added upon one grain at a time. with peanut shells. My navy sarong wisps around my tan legs, natu ral air conditioning in the hot, dry desert air, and the pre-trip dinner It’s only been a few months since I took my children, divided fills with the chatter of strangers. “Where are you from?” “What do space.nine years There of isbelongings the loneliness and left when my one husband simply to wants try and companion find the - you do?” “What brings you to the San Juan?” “Have you been here - happiness I was certain I deserved. Loneliness is a multi-sided before?” I see him then. But at the time it means nothing. He means nothing. Instead I glance at the lady wearing the red and blue Hawai ship; there is the terrible loneliness one can have despite being with- scientistian shirt withfrom nakedColorado surfers and aon newspaper it, and the ownertwo older and gals his wifewith chatterfunny another person; and then there is the compound loneliness of being sun hats and drooping skin that fill the first table. A pudgy rocket untouched, unappreciated, unconnected. This is the loneliness I car ry on my back as I step onto the river. as their verbal exchange disappears on the San Juan breeze. I am the introducejournalist-on-the-job ourselves and and make I plop pointless down by chatter an artist about from the New wonderful York and him, the writer for the New York Times, at the corner table. We At 6:00 a.m. we struggle to push the rafts from the shore, the sun filling the desert with color and warmth, the blue bulk of the rafts- week ahead. We have no idea the difference seven days will make. In scraping the sand, the trailer, our legs and hands. The water laps at our mid-thirties, we claim the title of “youngest in the group.” It’s the us, pulls us in, and we find our place in the sun. Eyes locked down beginningnight before of weour launch. metamorphosis The energies from and single gestures, to collective. some indifferent, yearsstream, of wehuman scan use the andsilt-laden occupation. waters When of a prehistoric John Wesley desert Powell river some intense, have started to intermingle between everyone; the that has held its course for a thousand lifetimes and watch 12,000 - - edged it. Powell and his crew of archaeologists and geologists spent Tonight we will sleep in our B&B’s, our motels and lodges; to thepassed next the decade mouth exploring of the San and Juan mapping River inthe 1869, last blankhe barely spot acknowl on the ofmorrow sunscreen. we will Tomorrow pile, one weon topwill of begin another, to share into morecargo thanvans, we our ever torpedo-like gray dry-bags filled with too few clothes and a shortage United States map –the Colorado Plateau. Like others before and after, Powell could see no practical use for the river and so the San 60intended--the | Scribendi river 2015 requires intimacy. You cannot live for seven days - - Juan stayed a terra incognita, difficult to access and even more diffi thosecult to brave harness. and Ourhardy first pioneers days and who nights made on their the riverlives atreveal its sandy snatch es of history, give the tiniest peek, just enough for us to wonder at

flanks. It is along these sandy flanks that I begin to pick up stones. Our first day we raft to River House. River House claims status as the most extensive Ancestral Puebloan dwelling on the San Juan thisbetween dwelling Bluff has and given Clay upHills secrets Crossing. and cluesWith to14 an storage ancient and people living we rooms, a kiva and petroglyphs along the upper reaches of the alcove,

will never know. The 1,500 dried corncobs, hundreds of potshards, whicha sandal the and Mormon fragments pioneers of cloth struggled and yucca to pull date their the sitewagons. at 700 The A.D. ef - fort– 1300 was A.D. so extensive Hiking west oxen we died climb in theComb yoke Ridge, and stumblinga 700-foot horseswall over left blood on the rocks. Our efforts require nothing more than sipping our Gatorade® and at the top we peer across the vast muddy swath

washing through the desert; burnt rocks lined in millennia with andchocolate his brother-in-law browns, frosted are oranges,out for their burnt annual sienna trek and to buff. a Utah James, river the journalist with the New York Times, banters with me as we hike. He- - and I think little of his attention. It’s no more than I would have ex changed with anyone else…but quietly, in my own mind, I am enjoy ing his attention, his verbal sparring, his company. As night falls we wrestle our tents, despite the wind, flapping and willcolorful keep onto me grounded.the sands below The cooks River make House. the Here futile I learn attempt that at sand using theirdoes notsuntanned hold tent hands stakes, as sandand only shields large over stones—inside strips of sirloin my sizzlingtent—

and popping for fajitas, while the monochromatic browns surround us: the water, the sand, the cliffs in their patina and lichen clothing. Before I learn of stones, my tent lifts into the air, a green kite on the thewind, coursings my river of mates the muddy catch andriver secure in my itTherma-rest for me. George ground and chairNancy, Scuba Diving my tent neighbors, go about my business while I sit unknowingly, by Art, MariaHonorable Williams Mention watching the river flow with a quiet, but startling power. These two have known me only hours, but my tent now sitsScribendi staked—7-mm 2015 | 61 a man’s face so completely no one has to rope and river rocks. When I find out what mykneeling mother on to the bring floor me over water a cold or sodaapartment and they have done, how they saved my only toilet, the first time I’d been sick without point it out or describe it. It is simply there, shelter, I am touched. We have floated only James.across the river, looking down, a guardian. rememberone day together. their kindness. I put this small touchstone, butbrush because the hair of fromthe realization my face. I of cried, the solitarynot Guardians surrounded me. And so now does rubbed smooth by the river, in my pocket to because of the wretchedness of being ill, remember it 13 years later. James becomes Down the Colorado aspect of growing up—the pang so stark I DayThe two first surrounds night is me the like last a night gorgeous I sleep blis in- In 1965, in , Robert small to the giver makes all the difference to - my tent. Too much sun. Not enough water. Brewster Stanton wrote, “The red is not in thea touchstone. one who receives. At critical That times night what something seems ing and evening sun shining upon the cliffs my swimsuit clad body perched unprotected itself brilliant, but the effectthrough of the the morn pecu- ter: chocolate desert water, the friction of invisible happened. liar atmosphere of secondon the baby night blue curled tube next of theto the raft, coolness forgetting of Tomorrow we will sleepingHis hand byon my my produces a most the sun holds the power of gods. I spend my that dry country, sideback, through his body the begin to share the whole side of the river my head a throbbing mass I’d like darkness and heat of thestartling Canyon effect, seems till to tear off and send downstream. I don’t go more than we ever ablaze with scarlet to my tent, the stuffiness a prison, but more importantly it is too far from the river and I the desert night, the intended—the river 83 mile stretch of need quick access as I repeatedly retch into kindness. It wasn’t - meanderingflame.” Rafting river the the sienna current as the night passes. I lie buta gift, from it was that a nighttie— requires intimacy. still, curled in fetal position on my sleep invisible, unspoken, ing pad. Late, dark, but desert warm with a takesfrom Sandus through Island a to solid black sky of screaming stars. I expect on I always knew history from which we lieClay so Hillsfar removed takeout, it nothing from anyone. It’s my own fault I where James sat, is hard to fathom the eons that have passed wasn’t more careful—I know better—and walked or swam, in forming the faces and layers revealed. the flat desert night spins around my head, showsand I could me how feel ithim. feels Heat to sleep stroke under sends a black me Shortly after the initial launch the river runs around my body. And it is here, in this scene to the river, lays me out under the stars, that James comes, sits next to me, brings black streaks of desert varnish where min- his sleeping pad out and lies by my side. He sky of delirious, glowing orbs unfettered eralsby Navajo from sandstonethe dirt atop walls the lined cliff have with bledthick tethers me, keeps me from spinning away. by human light, unblocked by tent mesh. Of theall the freedom stones of I collected,the dark desert this small, night smooth without down the face year after year after year. “I’m sorry,” I grumble. “You don’t have to pebble is the one I kept. This touchstone of doesstay here.” not leave I’m embarrassed.me to the loneliness I hardly of knowbeing him. He keeps his hand on my back all night, filters; this I can always return to. The cliffs have the look and name of “Tiger love him forever simply for that comforting Walls.” We pass through the Honaker Trail - In the morning when I groggily force my sick with no one by my side. I think I shall towering red-rock structure that resembles formation dated 290 million years old, we- eyes open, I find we have slept beneath a pass through the Triassic, Jurassic and Penn hand.62 | Scribendi My first year 2015 at college I found myself sylvanian eras. And yet the San Juan is fa primemous for example the Goosenecks, of an entrenched a tight twistingmeander. path When the taking river has the cutpath into of On the last day, when Duckys are being divvied, Joan adamantly the rock where it takes eight river miles to cover one mile of land. A stakes her claim. “We are going to die sooner than the rest of you,” entrenched meander. We talk on the back of the raft mile after mile. she says, “so you will all have another time to row a Ducky. We are least resistance the route is seldom direct. James and I become an not getting out!” I thought of offering to wrestle her for it, but am afraid I might lose. They do their thing. We do ours. His vocabulary astounds me. I want to have him just for the words The days and the nights pass and the older crowd says “the he knows. I’m kind of ashamed to call myself a writer next to him. river cannot claim independence of the larger landscape surround- younger generation just likes to spend time together,” but I know- Shit, I need a dictionary to keep up, but it’s gorgeous on the ears. The this is how they let us save face, how they justify his attention to me when the sun glints off his wedding ring. Fun, gentle, intelli ing it; it has evolved as a consequence of the land. We are the same. gent and the tension between us is a tightly woven spring. It’s day The sun catches up with me despite wet draped towels across my five of seven and the guides paddle the bulging blue rafts toward shoulders and a wide brim hat. My skin screams in vibrant red and a sandy beach take-out. As the rafts slide ashore, rubber grinding sand, everyone scatters like candy tossed at a parade, finding space yet tomorrow is more sun that I can’t avoid. Nurse Lynn takes me from each other, putting up our tent city; but somehow James and I to her tent and pulls out a bottle of soothing after-sun burn relief. I gravitate like magnets to a desert waterfall just south of camp. It- is hot and wet and we rinse the grit from our hair and feet, the water can’t remember the brand, but when she sent me out with the bottle- guish in the pool beneath the falls water splashing off my upturned in hand and told me I could keep it, again I was surprised at another splashing from us in joyous hops, reflecting in the sunlight. I lan personal kindness. The lotion smelled tropic and clean and I slath face, and he slowly sits down next to me. “Are we going to do this?” pocket.ered it on, day after day, cooling my skin and blessing nurse Lynn. I picked up another stone, this one speckled, and added it to my he whispers, as he looks me straight in the eyes, water running - down his cheek, the air alive with tension, with the unknown, with the hopes of the body. In one sentence James, with his words, trans Duckys. Each day we choose to either ride the big blue rafts while a forms what is visceral, unspoken attraction into something concrete. The river guides have two inflatable kayaks referred to as Into a stone. I look back, into his blue eyes, needing him the way the - desert needs this waterfall, and say, “No. I won’t do that to you…or guide rows, or to row ourselves in these bright yellow banana boats. badlyyour wife.” wanted The to words hold on are to. a stone in my throat, I swallow hard. It has Near the beginning of the trip, Joan and Jean, the two older wom become real. It has become words. And I have let go of the tether I so en, carefully scoot their bodies into position in the Ducky. Joan, in thoughback, her the face two lost have in herrowed lifejacket, together becomes off and nothingon over abut forty-year a hat, a life friendship.vest and two Each arms. day Jean, they in choose front, seemsthe Ducky. less secureThey have with discovered this idea, OurAt feet week’s touch end a concrete when the ground rafts slide that leadsinto Clay us away Hills fromlanding, the oneriver. tan leg, then the other slides over the hard, bloated muscle of the raft. stars. Their second day we notice the Ducky rocking. Jay guides our Only then does leaving become real. Only then do we realize we their place on this trip, like I have discovered my place under the will never step into the same river twice. Only then does the liminal - boat toward them. “I was just trying to hang over the side to pee,” responds Joan matter-of-factly with a bit of a sheepish grin. “Coura rises.space disappear and the reality of leaving him, the river – wide and geous,” says Jay, “but your technique requires refinement.” fast, dark and powerful, hit me hard in the stomach and the panic Scribendi 2015 | 63 own category because it thrives in the dark.

Washing the red desert silt from our clothes cannot be done; - washing it from the soul proves equally difficult. This is the way Velociraptors stopped thriving; they don’t live on in the same water carves. The way of creation. I have filled my pockets with balancefashion theyin the once madness did, probably of its wild because life. The the Velociraptor flightless bird had suc to adapt worn river touchstones, and as I reluctantly step from the river to cumbed to its animal nature. Couldn’t sort the chaos. Couldn’t find knowthe cement it is gone. launch The pad, river I dig we my stepped hand into myhas pocketswept pastto make us. sure I haven’t lost them. I want to turn around, get back on the river, but I to survive, evolve into something new, thus giving rise to the vulture, the osprey, the harrier, the buzzard, and other birds of prey. survive.That’s But how the it owl happened, wasn’t content. Velociraptor’s While weaknessother birds giving of prey rise ceased to a new species, creating creatures that possess the necessary skills to

adaptation, obtaining flight and other minor adjustments to their 3rd genomes, owls persisted, becoming exceptional. Paden Carlson - Nocturnal Navigation Not only have owls acquired the ability to effectively navigate the dark, they have also developed a wonderful silence, using the ser depthrated edges perception. of flight Such feathers vision to enables muffle themtheir wingto better beats. discern The eyes their of - surroundingsowls, different in from the otherdark. birds, are forward facing, allowing greater

Night isn’t bad, only misunderstood. Owls know that; their sau- cer-eyes, black pearls bobbing in yellow yolk, are more moon than I saw one a few nights ago, an owl, though I couldn’t believe it. neveranything—mysterious, sharing the secrets peculiar. tucked It in seems their lethalthat these beaks. feathered When they stat do At first I drove past, barely catching sight of the creature, charmed uaries have forever known something terribly great, never telling, by the notion that the downy effigy may have been the elusive bird I sought. But I wasn’t convinced. When I turned back, guiding my car - manage to regurgitate information, it’s usually as they hack it up in south on Bridge Street, I saw it clearly: a gray-white tuft perched on private, sliding furry cocoons of bone and beak up their gullets. a city sign, species determinable because of two horns, one protrud Motionless plumes, owls are an appendage of trees, breathing theing fromdark. either side of its head. Jerking its neck with sharp accuracy, anbranches. owl’s talon Disguised slashes in the earthy underbelly tones, they of its are victims swift asautumn they are leaves swal - the owl watched me for a moment, and, as I neared, floated away in lowedthat plummet whole. through air, silently crunching their prey. The stroke of Some compare the owl’s talons to those of other raptor’s—birds I couldn’t help thinking we - of prey such as the eagle, hawk, or falcon. I prefer to think of them are all visitors of some sort, distinctiveas being distinctive to the moon-bird to the owl, too. living Owls fossils and other that areraptors firm shareand im a movable, striking flawlessly in the dark. The dark. That’s something- to mortality and life and the common ancestor: Velociraptor, the bird-dinosaur. But unlike Velo unknown. ciraptor’s64 | Scribendi other 2015 descendants, the owl is nocturnal, subclassed in its - Once the owl uncovered the sign, I could better read it. Big white tence. We should yearn to flourish like the owl. In time, we too could letters spelled “VISITOR INFORMATION.” I couldn’t help thinking- we learn to maneuver the dark, silently (even nobly) manage our strug are all visitors of some sort, to mortality and life and the unknown. gles, use new vision to glimpse meaning in the madness. So, I say we Unlike owls, we don’t gracefully maneuver the dark. We aimless adapt, evolve, prosper, thrive. We’ll no longer rely on owls to guide ly clutch at our problems, the metaphorical prey in our lives–the spirits through the afterlife; we’ll not worship the wisdom of the bird- pests–never able to strike our difficulties dead. So we cease to thrive, as Greece once did, or fear its mysterious presence as the Arabs do. flightless and chaotic like the Velociraptor. We’ll pursue the owl that swoops down from the “VISITOR” sign, ac birds of prey–adapting just enough to prolong their species’ exis- But it’s not enough to simply go on surviving, either, like modern company him into the dark, and obtain his knowledge for ourselves.

Attachment Undergraduate Art, Second Place

Norian Cruz Scribendi 2015 | 65

blink them away. trickled down their well-worn path, even as I tried to blink-blink- *** 1stUndergraduate Tracy Jones It had all started about a month before. Okay—if I’m honest—it The Cost of Love started a lifetime before that. But after years of begging, of fighting, of pleading, of rationalizing, of broken promises and lies as thin as force-feedthe first freeze him theon a heaping wintry marsh,spoonful it becameof that awful clear medicinethat nothing that but a bitter dose of tough love would work. And as his mom, I knew I must unendingChin cupped cerulean in mysky hand, and the I gazed swirls through of clouds the that small, seemed oval-shaped to carry *** window of the airplane. Staring absent-mindedly, I meditated on the might prove to choke us both. I had my grown baby boy arrested. - us along on a lazy, white cotton-candy river, 35,000 feet above the ground. Below that lay a sheet of sapphire blue Atlantic Ocean, occa Haiti shares the western half of a large Caribbean island with its sionally dotted with tiny white specks of ships, much larger, I’m sure, neighbor, the Dominican Republic. Originally home to the Arawak than they looked from my vantage point. We were Haiti bound. Indians, the island is well known as the landing spot for Christopher- Beside me, Zach*, my 17-year-old son, shifted in his sleep. We’d Columbus, which he renamed Hispaniola, claiming its people and had to get up at an ungodly hour to catch the shuttle to the airport, their land for Spain. Typical for this period of history, Spanish own ership didn’t last long. Over the next 100 years, French buccaneers and he’d fallen asleep almost immediately after takeoff. He had - French monarchy eventually established command over present-day stole the western half of the island from Spain bit-by-bit, and the nationalgraduated mission from high trip schoolwith our 3 weeks church’s prior, youth and group. this trip The was foray part had graduation gift and part dream fulfillment of helping on an inter Haiti. They established massive sugar plantations throughout the and there were no male chaperones available. Unwilling to see him - been planned since early in the year, but he was the only male going, country and imported huge numbers of African slaves to provide the- necessary labor. This group of strong, beautiful, spirited and spiritu the money to cover the costs for us both. miss out, I offered to come along, trusting we would somehow find al people united themselves together in the 13-year-long Haitian Re bellion, in 1804 becoming the first nation to break free from slavery. Surrounded by heavenly looking crystal-blue seas that I had only downThe at rest the oftextbook our group resting had onscattered my pull-down throughout tray: the Stress plane, with so a we ever seen on postcards, Haiti measures just slightly larger than the- Humanhad only Face each. Taking other foran onlinethe next class 4 hours. to nibble I sighed away and 3 more glanced credits back state of Maryland, with a population of 10.5 million, nearly double that of Maryland. Sadly, over 80% live below—far below—the pov - in the interminable quest for my degree, I needed to steal every erty line, the poorest nation in the western hemisphere. The causes of that poverty are extremely complex, and they began almost imme eithermoment a freak possible foreshadowing during the trip or cruel to keep irony up ofon what my homework. would soon I both corruption by a small group of elites within the country and had signed up for the “Stress Management” class back in the spring, diately after the new nation’s 1804 birth. At their root they involve and the United States. come. I again looked over at the window, my own stress-filled face interference and pressure from outside nations, including France reflected back as my thoughts turned once again to Denny*, my firstborn. The always-threatening tears from these past two weeks 66 | Scribendi 2015 fallen far since her glory days. Like a wayward child, the country has time, I immediately understood why Mandi, He was nearing 20, but my husband and *** help him get back on his feet. We hoped that my friend leading this trip, fondly refers to I had invited him to live at home again, to her as “Rambo in a blue dress.” Others who - pullvolunteer anything there past call her. her “the General.” You timethis time he would would follow be the through turning with point, the that coun - As our plane swooped toward the lone can’t help but love her, but don’t expect to this time he would keep the job, that this andrunway, shouting the Haitian praises passengers to God. Unsure erupted if it joywas *** *** aously, show hooting of love andfor their cheering, homeland clapping or the wildly, seling appointments I set up… sweet as golden honey one minute and in the Alwaysnext drive strong-willed, me over the Denny edge with could un act- sweltering air to get through Customs and thrill of having arrived safely at all, I couldn’t- After an hour of waiting in the sticky, help but share their enthusiasm. I grabbed- he didn’t have frazzled passen- ingmy booksto the excitedand my Creolecarry-on, chatter and waitedall around pa reasons—theirrelenting arguments and attitude. Not that fighting through the throng of other sweaty, us.tiently We behindhad reached Zach toour exit destination: the plane, Port-au-listen childhood had not “I will have you their luggage in - thegers free-for-all trying to find - arrested...This. Has. that constituted Prince and the Touissant L’Ouverture Inter hadbeen dreamed the innocent, of national Airport, a lofty name for a bedrag forcarefree either time of my I Got. To. STOP!” angled old 2-story movie. concrete Portions and of the glass building edifice were that sons—with an routebaggage to theclaim, or- we barricadedresembles a and 1970s-era covered prison by battered I’d seen plastic in early divorce from were finally en their father who had abandoned his com- repair damage from the deadly 2010 earth- mitment as a parent and the later challenges phanage. Lucien, quaketarps, largetwo years areas before. still under construction to oftenour driver, creating careened a third in or and fourth out laneamong on thethe other vehicles, pedestrians, and bicyclists, Our group was there to volunteer in an andof blending defended into and another enabled family, with justthe besttwo of - their many trials. As his mom, I rationalized- one’stwo-lane horns road, a-blaring. miraculously We drove avoiding the pitted the orphanage for two weeks, founded and run ly see him through: past the overly-angry oncoming drivers all doing the same, every them. I felt sure my love would eventual by the most amazing woman I’ve ever met,- outbursts after a missed goal at the soccer and pocked chalky-gray roads, most with Barbara Walker. A large woman, 68-years-- tire-eating craters, past untold numbers of dersold, Barbara one minute bustles and around laughing in withher trade the kids siblings and parents to gain what he want- standing in stark contrast to the drab gray game, past the manipulations against his street-side vendors, their cheerful colors whomark run blue and gunny-sack play in the dresses, orphanage barking court or- - - bage poised precariously on street corners ed, past the stolen change off the bathroom that cloaked the city, past heaps of gar yard the next. Her tough New Yorker exteri counter or the pocket of my purse. As he or attempts to camouflage her golden heart. grew, so did the problems: failing grades, and overflowing the gutters, spilling down - When I first learned of the work she does, learnedlarger amounts he’d used. of money stolen, vanishing the embankment and into the river, past I couldn’t help but envision a modern-day items likely sold to buy the drugs I later outsidefree-roaming the electric-blue goats, pigs, gatedcows, compoundand the occa of Mother Theresa. Meeting her for the first sional chicken, until we shuddered to a stop Scribendi 2015 | 67 the general and get settled in to the cement-block guesthouse. - Ruuska Village, our home for the next few weeks. It was time to meet Orphanages in Haiti don’t necessarily house just orphans, as *** the name implies. Of the estimated 30,000 “orphans” in the coun try, 80% have at least one living parent who has given them up for liveadoption, on less literally than $2 choosing per day. betweenTwo-thirds life of or the death adult for population their children. don’t I received a call from my bank the Monday after Zach graduated. They have made this choice because of their extreme poverty—70% “Mrs. Jones,” said the brusque voice. “I need to know when you’ll and 14 are forced to supply child labor to help support their families. bring your account current.” With her words, I felt the roar, the tear, have formal jobs, and nearly 2.6 million kids between the ages of 5 newsthe annihilation in the earthquake’s of my heart’s aftermath. walls, my emotions crumbling like the mounds of rubble amid the Haitian devastation I’d witnessed on the My husband had lost his job a few months before when the Malnutrition is rampant. Add to this widespread health problems due to major infectious diseases such as malaria, cholera, typhoid, another innocent bystander driven to our knees by the struggling Hepatitis, and Dengue fever. A lack of medical care then exacerbates- dealership he’d worked at for years crumbled, and we had become derthe problem:then that Haitithey havehas 25 a child doctors mortality per 100,000 rate over people ten-times compared that toof - the US’s 250, and the depressing numbers go on and on… No won economy. After a few months of fruitless job hunting, he decided to open his own shop. Because of this, our savings had already dwin the United States. No matter what social measurement you want to dled down to nothing, even without the constant stealing. study, Haiti always seems to be on the losing end. I soon learned that hearing the stories and reading the figures is I had checked online the week before and seen that, once again, *** alwaysDenny haddid. siphoned off more money without my permission, only one thing, but watching them play out in real-time is quite another. this time he had left me slightly in the hole. I confronted him, as I First, I called my mom, then my pastor, and finally my husband. “If I see so much as five more cents missing from my account, I Hide it from him! My instincts begged. I knew he would be furious, will have you arrested,” I had threatened. “I absolutely do NOT have and rightly so, but I feared his anger would take aim at me as much the money to keep covering for you. This. Has. Got. To. STOP!” accompanied by manufactured tears meant to show his sincerity. as at Denny. We’d battled constantly over our years of marriage, “I know… I’m sorry… I’ll pay it back.” I’d heard this mantra before, unable to agree on how to discipline him: I thought him too harsh and he thought me too lenient; the truth probably lay somewhere in between, but pride and baggage kept us both from admitting it. RatherThe than woman’s a manageable voice continued $50 dollars buzzing in the in myhole ear, as myit had brain been and in the heat of our arguments. heart staggering drunkenly when I heard the amount I now owed. “It’s your fault he’s like this,” became the refrain he’d fling at me pre-dateddays before, to itmake now it yawned look like into it hada chasm-like been done $700… before He we had had stolen the Rather than tell him over the phone, I drove to his shop. Eyes my checkbook and written several checks for hundreds of dollars, blood-red and blotchy from crying, I poured out the whole story: the confrontation I’d had with Denny days before (which I’d neglected - talk, but the bank’s dates clearly showed they were cashed after. crumbled like chalk dust and sloughed away with my tears. edto mentionfor the storm. when it happened), today’s call from the bank, the new Sickened, I slumped to the floor. The remnants of my emotions charges I’d just found in our joint account, everything… Then I wait *** kissed one of my palms. Holding my trembling hands in his, sad eyes locked on mine, he 68 | Scribendi 2015 to bring her here. her center through those cappuccino-col- ored eyes. “I’m behind you, whatever you want to *** do,” he said. “Come back tomorrow,” Barb said The important job of claim-staking our the mother had available: as an alternative through the interpreter. “If she survives the I had asked Barbara earlier what options - *** night, we will talk about her future.” der the blessed shade of the covered patio keep the baby but come to the orphanage rooms and our bunks done, we all met un forto giving regular her food up forpackages adoption, and she commit could to also - to Barbara go over the expectations for us eventuallyI knew Iwould could andno longer he’d face protect far greater him. If to get our marching orders. As we listened I didn’t turn him in, I knew someone else some sort of job training. After their meet gate. We could hear several of the nannies ing, I watched in disbelief as she left, having during our stay, a commotion arose near the consequences. The time had come to act, signed papers surrendering M.C. (as we’d- gesticulating and pointing toward Barbara. and I must do it. I dialed the phone. speaking in their rapid-fire Creole, hands come to call her) to the orphanage’s care. I Originally I wanted an officer to talk to thought for sure she’d take her home, giv Finally, one of them led a defeated-looking him, scare him straight like they did on that en the promise of help. However, there she woman and her tiny, sickly baby over to us. show I’d seen on TV. However, I knew that awent, scrawny-looking food packet in little one boy hand of whileabout the3. My Our meeting over, Barbara shooed them into wouldn’t work. He needed a wake-up call, - heartother brokeheld tightly as he glancedto her next back oldest over child,his her office, taking Mandi, a nurse, with her. not another threat of a wake-up call. Not shoulder before they passed through the - only that, without a complaint and a corre gate. Later that evening, after stocking the sponding case number, the $700 in charges storage depot with all the donated food, dia ouron my household personal account account, belonged hundreds solely more to in wepers, gathered and medicines once again we broughton the patio with to us, enjoy and fees, as well as the charges he’d made on having eaten our sausage jambalaya dinner, “Help me, too,” his eyes implored. money left either. cradled the baby brought in earlier that day. me. Already emotionally bankrupt, I had no The days leading up to Zach’s and my - the cooling night air. In her arms, Mandi - *** departure had been filled at first with phone calls from jail, then angry, profane-laced ti She looked about 3 months old, but with an rades after his friend’s family bailed him out, One thing he’d purchased with my cient eyes, the color as deep and rich as the her “Isbaby’s she dead?”fate. the mother asked upon followed by accusing, hate-filled emails. Haitian coffee I would drink each morning. returning the next day, seeming resigned to Her skin sagged elephant-like from her tiny stolen money was a new iPhone, which got underlyingform, drooping bones in clearlyfolds on delineated. her legs, around So tiny Thankfully, she was not. of my friend Mandi and her nurse friend left behind when he was arrested. After his andher armpits,weak that and she the could scruff not of even her neck,lift her the who’dLittle served Mandi-Carole—named at the orphanage when in honor the actuallyrelease, hesaid called was thatthe police he couldn’t on me, come saying get I earthquake struck—had not only survived wouldn’t let him retrieve his things. What I’d was 11 months old. With 3 other children at the night but seemed to have blossomed in head, her mother informed Barb that she his things unless his dad or I were home to - snatchedsupervise. it Technically and the boxes I paid of hisfor otherthe iPhone, things I home and little food, she made the decision her short 24-hours with us, our own vibrant wanted to yell at him, but I stood aside as he to stop feeding this one, her youngest. Un smile and personality bursting straight from hot-house flower with a huge, toothless able to watch her die, friends convinced her I’d packed up. The policemanScribendi stood 2015 watch, | 69 his embarrassment outmatched only by my own. been. out of jail, proclaiming them “more family to him” than we’d ever *** For many months we corresponded only through email. Each How had we come to this?

flaming barb he’d fling my way I tried to douse with love. I signed As a mother myself, I couldn’t imagine how that woman could aneach open letter wound “Love with always, steel Mom.” wool toLogically, make way I knew for the I was eventual doing theheal - hand over her baby and just walk away. Looking around at all the ing.right thing, for both of us. Still, I felt like a sadistic nurse scrubbing other children in the orphanage, ranging anywhere in age from one week to about 13, running around, playing in the sandbox, a gaggle of the preschool crowd helping Zach as he loaded the wagon with *** the buckets of well water that we’d use for our baths later that night, I’ve never had the stomach for nursing. I grew angrier still. How had they come here? Where were their mothers? Their fathers? After our return from Haiti, the return to real life quickly swept How could they do this? I asked myself, again and again. me up and flung me back down in a relentless undertow as Denny’s away in the background as it powered the oscillating fan perched as That night I lay in my bunk, the sound of the generator humming case moved at a snail’s pace through the court system, but somehow I had changed. My thoughts constantly strayed to several of the kids I’d grown to love in the orphanage: Phadline with her sing-song fromclose theto my heat. bed as I could get it, the thin mosquito netting blowing against me, the air flow not nearly strong enough to provide relief “Merci!” after she’d drink all my water, Sarah subduing Zach’s short hair into cornrows before dragging him off to the swing set for “just - beingone more” tethered push, in and his sweetcrib at little the hospital Davidson where with hehis had haunting been aban black- When my eyes finally closed to sleep, I dreamt of that little boy eyes and the thick corded scar around his wrist, most likely from and his last backwards glance. The face and body were his, but Den *** ny’s striking blue eyes, the color of cornflowers, gazed back at me. doned, a common practice. - age Iwhen especially Mandi missed and the M.C., other though. nurses My had mind gone kept to a going village back high to up one Needless to say, all this put a damper on my excitement for this inparticular the hills moment:and wouldn’t I had return kept her until with morning. me one She night had at fussed the orphan every trip, and I worried it affected Zach’s as well. Usually unflappable, I could sense that even he was not quite himself. I felt torn between them, wanting to make everything perfect for them both. so often throughout the night, so I patted her back and tenderly Why does love always have to hurt? I tormented myself. And how whispered each time to get her back to sleep. The next morning I can you put someone you love through this kind of hell? woke, and slowly opened my eyes, careful not to move so I wouldn’t wake her. Studying me intensely were her beautiful eyes, her body What if he never forgives me? Will we EVER get past this? held up in perfect pushup position. Eyes crinkling, her entire face lit How can he claim to love us and continually put us through this?- up with a grin when she saw I was awake. - the angrier side of me would counter. After all, he’d stolen from us ter too as they each watched their relationships with him implode. Months later, Mandi returned to Haiti and sent me an up-to-date many times before. He hadn’t only hurt me, but his brothers and sis picture of M.C. She was almost unrecognizable, except for those ex as family and claiming kinship with the family who had bailed him pressive eyes! Months of good food, attention, and love had filled out He carried out a one-sided war on social media, disowning all of us her drooping flesh, and she could walk where before she barely had 70 | Scribendi 2015 the strength to sit upright. The best news yet: a family from - two years before. ization mere months away. as the sun set. Somehow he steered the conversation to that awful June day, Argentina had begun the process of adopting her, the final “I really should thank you,” he told me, “for turning me in. I know I Happy and relieved for her, I thought back on my anger wouldn’t have stopped if you hadn’t done that. I’m so sorry…” toward her mother. It occurred to me that we really weren’t Hugging him, I feel we have finally turned a corner. Will there be detours so different, we two women from different countries and on the path ahead? Undoubtedly. But at least now there is forward motion There will be no more looking back for this mom. lives. Rich or poor, educated or not, the most painful role we and we are getting there, step by cautious step. may ever endure is motherhood. It means putting yourself last and doing your best for your child’s future, no matter the cost to you. It means sitting up during long nights with a sick- ingbaby, constantly or endlessly about massaging their choices aching and pre-teen doing everything muscles when you they go through a growth spurt. It means worrying and pray awaycan to from help athem child through, so she can intact. have It a means better makingfuture than a phone you knowcall that you will can alter give your her. lives forever. And it means walking *** - sentenced.Six months We stumbledafter I had awkwardly Denny arrested, through the another case com year pleted its trek through the justice system and he was finally after that before we had much communication, although I never quit trying. I sent “thinking of you” texts and emails on a regular basis, trying not to let it bother me when I got no response, reminding myself that at least he knew I still cared. Still, it hurt trying to bear up the collapsed walls of - our relationship, more erect but still tottering. Late this past summer, my phone made its peculiar chirp ing noise that indicates I have a text: “Hey. What are you doing Friday? Want to go to dinner? I’ll buy…” Stunned, I immediately wrote back: “What time should I pick you up?” Full Art, Honorable Mention Sitting outside under an umbrella at a favorite cafe, we Macy Marin Keith chatted for hours, watching tables fill and empty around us Scribendi 2015 | 71 They want me to find love. They try to fix me up. I have a great personality, they tell me. I am smart, they assert. By the way, had I 2nd thought about going back to the gym? I tell them I am doing yoga, Sarah Timmerman that the size two version of myself could ruin a relationship just a Conversations with My Past and I don’t mention the repressed bundle of my soul that believes

fast as the size twelve. In downward facing dog, I glance up at the How we remember, never changing mound of my stomach, and moving into cobra press it hard into my green mat – as if I can force it to disappear. Taking Mad, passionate, extraordinary love that foams in the pit of my belly when a man looks at me as if he’s with it, the fear embedded within the soft flesh. The intense panic confess a fear that men won’t ever love me – that they just want me They were desperately in love. This is how the story sometimes imaging me entwined around his life instead of his body. Instead, I

to love them. And I’ll never tell them how reassuring this thought goes. An epic love reminisced over mashed potato dinners, or again actually is. How I draped that thought around myself as he moved over Sunday morning golf. Synchronized reassurances that I wasn’t his warm hands against my shoulders. His fingers pressed into my- someborn out cartoonish of a selfish person desire in totheir outrun memory loneliness. that they’ve But most painted times over the skin as if he was sculpting me, as he softly told me about the project account is just that they were in love, isolated and manipulated by he was working on. Instead, in deep discussions over shallow ad vice, I tell them about my other crushes, ask about their most recent the reality: they never really loved each other. When we talk, I tell timedate, andand haveagree sex that on it a isn’t semiannual their fault basis. they She are needed alone. They her father were justto stayedthem I don’tfor an remember early dinner. seeing We pushedthem in chunks love, and of darkI don’t chocolate tell them too different. He needed someone who could serve him dinner on about last month. He stopped by to satisfy a limited hunger, and into our mouths – danced recklessly. Moving like Celts to the Wild keep his hands to himself, and my father to recognize her depression fudge cupcakes topped with whipped cream, raspberries and mint fifteen years earlier. But the pillars of the temple stand alone Rover. His hands warm against my back. When we stopped twirling become a bandage for dirty sores and jumping, I climbed over the back of the couch, next to him, and touchingglanced back each into other the with kitchen. an ease For that a minute, seems I impossible.recalled a glimpse Jazz danc of - them as they must’ve been twenty years ago. They were laughing,

They are sure that it’s better to have loved and lost. I try not to sworning to a they song never I never did. heard again. I curled into his arms and watched my memory parents smile at each other and softly kiss. I could have statement.drop the phone They as try I maneuverto prove they into are my right. trench They coat, are trying happy to with hold themy notebook and coffee in the other hand, and laugh at that ridiculous- and daydreams lived in music way things turned out. They learned, they have six beautiful chil Risk your heart dren, and they did their best. They are happy. I smile, move out the front door, and let them have this one. I am happy they are happy. I talk around the money I lent them, the upcoming court dates, the 72 | Scribendi 2015 job hunts, the therapy sessions, and their latest breakup. I am just They want me to find love. They try to fix me up. I have a great personality, they tell invitationThey call to jointo ask match.com if I considered that they trying for - wardonline me. dating. They I inviteignore me the to newest hallmark email movie me. I am smart, they assert. nights or send me articles defending male chivalry and the importance of letting your to go to sleep. They tell me they failed at - they treated each other. They accuse me of thehappy phone they closer are happy. to my I earcheck to blockmy watch, out the and date get the tab. I reminded them how shitty pick up the pace to get to my class, pressing raising their kids. I try not to take this per andsonally, clean and the remind dishes them from howhis visit hard last they night try. morningsonly remembering ending in the the bad. kitchen I think table silently heaved wind. I start to tell them about the giddy thatI hold were the phoneleft undone in place because with mymy shoulderhands of frivolous restraining orders, Christmas feeling I felt this morning. I tell them that I- were exploring more interesting surfac- that became standard whenever one of am in love. They assume that I am talking across the room, and the look of contempt myabout newest a man. poem I try and to describe felt it hum the it satisfac life. The or forget. The defensive note in their voic- tion I felt as I slipped the right word into es. I remind them how much I love them. I them was speaking: things I can’t mention aboutremind committing them that Isuicide. will always Everyone love them, would love I have for this thing I created. They that I’ll always be there for them. They joke don’tes rises happen even withoutwhen you these love recollections, someone – that therapylaugh and sessions recommend are full therapy. of the issuesI laugh they and theand bad I try sometimes not to tell themmakes that the those good thingsirrel- pushedquip that my I don’t way ashave they time. tried My to fifty-minute shed their be happier. I sigh and rub the rag around the own. They are silent for a moment. Then inside of another mug, repeat everything they say they are proud of me for pursuing again. They ask what I did last night, and I inevant. the morningLater, I sit and on histhe hands kitchen are counter holding latertell them they I reminisce made him about dinner. my They little try sister’s not myacross favorite from volumehim and of try poetry. not to The fall. images It’s four to seem too interested, but a few sentences my dreams. They are happy I have found - can almost taste the words along with the something to occupy myself with while I am bandwedding. cried Didn’t when I henotice saw howher comingin love theydown he’s reading blend into my other senses. I waiting for Love to find me. were? Wasn’t it beautiful how her now-hus But smile dark chocolate and wine residue. I casually Life’s a bitch and god is awake the aisle? Don’t I want that eventually? wonder what his mouth would taste like, Hasn’t she chosen a better life? I wipe my andand, movesas I twirl around my fingers the lines around on the his page. knee, The I resthands of onthe a evening red dishrag, planning tell them our funerals. my own thoughtplay with of the doing idea just of trying.this for His another voice twentydrops They are depressed. They feel like fail- wedding is a long way off, and we spend the ures. They are bothered that they couldn’t an obesity of grief years whips around my brain, and I start to doesn’t go away entwine his life with mine for a few minutes, make their marriage work. At eleven o’clock before I pull back my hand. at night, the events of the last month are once is enough ready for an emotional reheating. I tell them Scribendi 2015 | 73 how I remember, Insanity without music apart their heart, trying to stuff these pieces into the holes of your own soul. I happened to choose a different life. So, BE lonely, isolation is a gift. I’ve never been in love. Not the sticky sweet, weak knee, meet cute, irresistible fantasy love that I grew up hoping was the reality. Not the everyday version where loving someone consists of tearing

Liberation Art, Honorable Mention

McKenzie Lowry 74 | Scribendi 2015 when we were dirt-poor. The house we lived and beef to add into a stew or hash. She wouldI remember have to chop my momstraight chopping down to potatoes sep- in was entirely hardwood, with dull, blue 3rdPreston Grover paint chipping on the outside, and it was anything we stored in cupboards literally Like Magic arate segments of the root, but she would air-tightinfested withor we ants; would we come would back have to to it sealrid- have to slide the blade along the fibers of dled with frantic black specks. But despite ofthe completely meat, tearing different it until consistencies it separated. andWhat - build!a magic knife, able to separate substances my mom would cook in that tiny kitchen theall of range this, topwhen being my momthe star entered attraction the kitch that in thatI wish tiny I couldhouse remember for her tiny everything family. There that peopleen, the entirewould placepush turnedand shove into just a circus, to get with a strandsI used of toher beg dark to helpbrown my hair mom falling cook. out She easy way to make what little food we had would come home from work, exhausted, were a lot of soups, because that was an glimpse of. It was the poorest circus in the go a long way. Every once in a while there her room to change into an old shirt rid- of her bun into her face, and would go into world, but it was still magic. - thewould way be my a small mom hamlooked or exactlyroast, celebrating when she a dled with holes and some sweatpants, and ing Whenas a jack-of-all-trades. my mom remarried, She becameshe stopped an holiday or a birthday. But I don’t remember go straight to the kitchen. I would follow exactly what she would say. enthusiastworking as for an printingaccountant, logos but and started other work im- her and ask her what’s for dinner, knowing barelycooked, remember I don’t remember the plates specific that the smells food that would come from her craft. I can just with a tired smile. She would start taking - “Depends on what we make,” she said ages on tee shirts, embroidering, crocheting, them somewhere in the house she lives in was served on, though I’m sure she still has She’sworking the payroll sort of personfor my stepdad.that needs Not to to have men ingredients out of the fridge, the cupboards, tion, she had three more kids to take care of. blue with a yellow trim and a hideously ob- - now with her husband; they were a vibrant the spice rack, and placing them on the counter. I know that she knew way before a project of some sort. Not a hobby, though. could love). always used to treat it like she was as much noxious floral pattern (plates only a mother hand what she was going to make, but she A project: something someone will reward - - theher holidays.for in some shape or form, whether it’s an observer of this magic act as I was. Every money, praise, or a thoughtful card during andBut tamping I remember it down helping perfectly her for cook. an exact I re step in the recipe was a suggestion, a ques member measuring out spices, sugar, flour Though she was no longer employed as an tion posed by a magician. “Now if I could March and April were always the worst. - have a volunteer to chop these carrots… and friends privately at a fraction of the cost ingcup asor the spoon. particles I remember separated adding and variouseventually Ah! You, ma’am, if you’ll be so kind as to powders to soup, pouring slowly and watch thataccountant, professional she would companies do taxes would for familycharge. disappeared completely. Cooking was akin thatassist would me! And be grand!” you, young man, if you would please measure out a tablespoon of basil, - We used to be so poor after my mom left to magic to me, before I understood the She would hold herself in the family office for days on end. I would come home from happensproperties easier of powders at higher in temperatures.liquids, the dissolv ing and dissolution that happens, and why it my dad. I don’t really remember them ever school and find her there, surrounded by being together, so my earliest memories are greasy plates, half filled cups of water, and Scribendi 2015 | 75 sometimes one or both of my half brothers asking for attention and - ally caught her full attention. She turned to face me again, and now withbeing her shooed urine. away. If there wasn’t a bathroom right next to the of she was the one who was irritated. “Could you please just go do what fice, I often wonder if I would have found two-liter Coke bottles filled I ask.” This wasn’t a question. “I will.” I said back. “I’m just tired of playing the mom is all.” The closer she would get to April 14th, the more she would “You’re not playing the mom,” she said, and I could feel the heat rely on me to do cooking for her. It would start as defrosting some coming off the words. “You’re helping the mom, ok?” hamburger or chopping some potatoes in mid March, but by the beginning of April she would be asking me to cook entire meals that “Sure.” I started to leave. I thought that was the end of it. she would sometimes not even come to. The problem was, by the “Tax season’s almost over, ok? I told all these people I’d help homebeginning until of six April, sometimes. I was involved with a Every step in the recipe them out. I’m obligated.” high school show and I wouldn’t even be myself“Ok,” for I said,being with such an a undertonebrat. of venom. If I could go back in time I’d slap was a suggestion, a - weekMy out senior of performance year I was the and lead drastically in ceremoniously dumped the frozen block the musical, “Kiss Me, Kate.” We were a question posed by a I stomped into the kitchen and un the leads had literally none of his lines started a pot of water to boil as the meat underprepared (the set wasn’t up, one- of magician. wasof ground defrosting beef intoand raucouslythe pan to pouredbrown. I try between me and the leading lady). noodles into it when it was ready. When memorized, still no romantic chemis

One day, after an especially strenuous the meat browned I drained the grease rehearsal (“I’m getting about ready to call this whole thing off”–My- and added canned tomatoes, tomato paste, water, oregano, basil, edgeDirector), my presence. I came home to my mom hiding from the world in her minced garlic, onion, and let it simmer. I was a fine cook, great for mountain of numbers and papers. I went in and she didn’t acknowl my age, I’d say, but it was just a chore. The magic was gone. all sitting down. “These noodles are a little chewy,” my mom said, when we were “Mom,” I said, annoyed. “Have you started dinner?” someoneShe took waking a couple up from of seconds a coma. to process what I said, then turned “You’re welcome for dinner, by the way,” I retorted. My mom away from the computer screen. “What time is it?” she asked, like looked up from her plate, and I glared back. My stepfather didn’t say anything; a battle of looks between his stressed out wife and moody “It’s almost six.” I tried to suppress my irritation. teenage stepson. He was best to sit this one out. “Sheesh…” she said, like a cuss. “We’re having spaghetti tonight. Nothing more was said at the table that night, and after dinner Can you go defrost the meat, and I’ll be in in a few minutes.” potmy momof soup. went back to her cave. I loaded the dishwasher and went to I glared at her, but her eyes were glued back to the computer bed. When I came home the next day, my mom had already started a - screen. “No you won’t.” Again, she took a while to hear what I said, but my words eventu 76 | Scribendi 2015 My first summer away from home, I ended up calling my mom She chuckled softly, and I used to think she chuckled because connectionabout mid June. will be.She picked up. “Hi, sweetie!” she shouted. My mom she knew I was making it to impress someone, a love interest. But seems to think that the louder you talk into a phone, the better the now I think she did because she was relieved. Relieved that I didn’t family.think of cooking as a chore anymore, but as a performance, as a feat, I gingerly pulled the phone away from my ear. “Hi, Mom.” I said. like I used to, back in the tiny kitchen in the tiny house with the tiny I couldn’t help but smile at how excited she was to talk to me. She asked me the same questions as always, am I doing good on money, When I hung up, I went to the cupboard to start taking out the am I seeing anyone, etc. etc. Then I asked her what I called her for: things I knew I’d need: tomato paste, diced tomatoes, garlic, onion, The Spinach Artichoke Lasagna recipe. basil, oregano. I would need to go to the store for most of the key She whistled like she was impressed. “That’s a pretty tough one, players in the recipe, spinach, artichoke hearts, parmesan, feta, but sweetie. You sure you want THAT one?” what I had was enough to get the show started. “Well, you know how I like food. It’ll be gone in a couple of days.”

Ascension Art, MariaHonorable Williams Mention

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