e Th

Stanly Community Collegeuse Literary and Visual Arts Magazine M May 2008 MakingMaking Connections

I bbelieveelieve tthathat peoppeoplele neeneedd to ssharehare ttheirheir stories. It is my hopehope thatthat withwith eacheach year,year, The Musee will become a place for the Stanly Commu- nitynity CollegeCollege familfamilyy to share our voices and disdisplayplay our artwork, and in doingdoing so, learnlearn more aboutabout ourselvesourselves as membersmembers ofof thisthis community.

I think this magazinemagazine is a fantastic opportunityopportunity for students, faculty,faculty, andand staffstaff to becomebecome more connected.connected. As you readread throughthrough thesethese pages, I hopehope youyou are amazed, touched, startled, and humbled, as I am, byby some of the thingsthings shared here. Writer Franz Kafka once said, “A book mustmust bebe thethe axe forfor thethe frozenfrozen sea insideinside us.” EacEachh piece ofof writing andand artworkartwork here representsrepresents a partpart of another person,person, and sharingsharing that partpart can feel like a formidable risk, but it is also a tremendous gift.gift.

I thank everyoneeveryone who contributed to this fi rst issue of The Muse,, either with writinwriting,g, artwork or the creation of the mamagazinegazine itself. Your contributions aarere gigifts,fts, anandd tthishis magazine is your giftgift in return. May it bringbring you joy.

Sincerely,Sincerely, LorriLorri Barrier EnglishEnglish InstructorInstructor StanlyStanly CommunityCommunity CollegeCollege

VisualVisual Arts

Artists are always looking for a venue to share their work with thethe world.world. Art hashas no placeplace sitting, hiddenhidden fromfrom thethe world.world. WithWith The Musee we offer another outlet of visual and verbal communication forfor our very own artists and writers here at Stanly Community College. This opportunity opens doorsdoors forfor our advertisingadvertising andand graphicgraphic designdesign studentsstudents to discuss, express,express, and presentpresent their talents to the public.public. We hopehope that youyou enjoy viewing thethe workwork presentedpresented here.here.

JOSH GOOCH Program Head/InstructorHead/Instructor AdvertisingAdvertising & GraphicGraphic DesignDesign Stanly Community CollegeCollege

The opinions expressed in this magazine are not necessarily the opinions of Stanly Community College. All poetry and artwork is assumed to be the original and free expression of the artists represented. The Muse is a literary and art magazine published once a year by Stanly Community College’s English, Advertising & Graphic Arts, and the Stanly Early

College Divisions. No part of this material content shall be reproduced or used in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the college. Any comments or questions about our publication should be directed to Michelle Peifer, Assistant to the Cover Artwork: Creation by Karen Lowder, President, Marketing and Community Outreach at 704-991-0393 or [email protected]. Advertising & Graphic Design Instructor, Stanly Community College. 2 M The StanlyStanly Community College Literary and useVisual Arts Magazine

TableT of Contents TheThee TwentiethTwentieth YearYe earby Josh Wilson ...... 4 A Walk in the Light bbyy Lorri Barrier ...... 5 2020 Afraid bbyy Cody Shoee ...... 6 Dreams Defi ne Us bbyy Trixie Rogerss ...... 6 Struggles Within Ourselves byby Trixie Rogers ...... 8 Magic byby Ashley Constan ...... 9 I WonderWonder for Megan bbyy MegMeganan Hartsell ...... 9 LLooveve is About Delicious Foodsbbyy Ngoc Doan ...... 12 Nightbird bbyy Elaine Nelson ...... 12 SalvageYard Renderingsbbyy Ruth Goodwin ...... 13 Who Am I bbyy Obed Noel ...... 13 Four F by Charles Horton ...... 14 A Lesson Learned by Rhona Etter ...... 16 Beautiful PPainainbbyy Wilbur Ruiz ...... 18 A Roseless Valentine by Obed Noel ...... 18 Underwater Day Dreams by Kirsten KoppKopp ...... 20 NefNefertitiertiti by Josh Wilson ...... 21 Steal This Poem by Logan Hancock ...... 22 Only the Eyes bbyy Tim Liske ...... 23 Jesus Help byby Jessica Poole ...... 23 4 LifLifee Around Us by Manda Burleson ...... 23 Dead, LifLife e Journey, Know byby Kenneth Chambers ..... 24 The Price of an Education bbyy Obed Noel ...... 26

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3 TheThe Twentieth YearYear byby Josh WilsoWilsonn College Transfer StudentStudent

TurningTurning Twenty seemedseemed easily done No act on my part to spur it onon no indifferenceindifference to tthehe date;date; It comes like deatdeath.h. LikeLike deatdeathh comes twenty,twenty, stabbingstabbing idealsideals bloodybloody trinklets of innocenceinnocence risinrisingg from ssheetsheets embroidered witwithh ppowerower ranrangersgers leftover from youtyouthh tthehe only power left isis tthehe one in my pen.pen. TheThe end ofof tthishis period is thethe end ofof lifelife now it is rushrush and go toto be stabbed from behindbehind by cakes NativeNative Moon thatthat I no longerlonger receive by JJeremyeremy Hardy andand giftgift cards SCC Advertising & GrapGraphichic Design Student insteadinstead of action figuresfigures thatthat dwindle inin thethe mail box eacheach year. AfterAfter 16, no one cares anymore. TurningTurning Twenty seemedseemed easily done No act on my part to spur it on, no indifference toto thethe date; It comes like deatdeath.h.

4 A Walk in the LiLightght byby Lorri BarrieBarrierr SCC EnEnglishglish InstructoInstructorr

he children were sleeping. They were all Skeptics, including my husband, simply say Tin the car, breathing in the darkness. I like the deer was fast. Maybe he even jumped over these night rides--they give me time in the quiet the van. I suppose it isn’t out of the realm of to think, and give my husband some much possibility. I prefer to believe that I experienced needed “alone time.” This particular evening the supernatural--one of those events designed was foggy and slightly cool--fall was upon us. to help a person reassess the worth and mean- I have always felt my eyesight was not what ing of life. it should be while driving in the dark, and this I have seen deer in droves since that incident, particular night was extremely taxing. The fog their little eyes sparkling in the darkness, their was thick in some low-lying patches, and the stark white tails on the run. Once I even saw a headlights from the other cars unavoidable in young buck tripping across a main street in my their brightness. hometown, early in the evening. I cringe when I I turned left down a country road--the long see them dead by the highway, their bodies still way home. I hoped to avoid the steady stream graceful in the throes of death. I see deer so of cars in town. For a few minutes it worked. often I have come to think of them as my totem Then an inconsiderate driver with high beams animal or “spirit guide.” on failed to turn them down as I approached. In this area deer are often regarded as little I had to look away from the road to shield my more than garden pests; something to be eyes, and when he passed and I looked back, a shooed away, shot at random, or even poisoned. deer stood directly in my path. Near the fence on my grandfather’s property, There was no time to react. This was as close one year we found the carcass of a deer, antlers as I’d ever been to a deer, and I could see this gauged out, full body discarded like garbage. was a buck, large and full-bodied. I gasped, no The waste and disrespect hurts me. The deer time even for a scream, and braced to hit the has a noble history in many cultures, respon- enormous deer full-force. I was clenched, tense, sible for feeding and clothing a people, the very and hoping my children wouldn’t be hurt badly. life-blood of the community, and was honored Then suddenly, I realized that it was over. I as such. never hit the deer. I looked behind me. The In Celtic mythology, a deer symbolizes swift- deer was gone. ness, gentleness, and my favorite--“walking I wondered if it had been there at all. I had in the light.” I remember that night and the the surreal feeling that perhaps we had hit the deer reflected in my headlights, a harbinger deer, then veered off the road, collided with a of change, and I think about what it means to tree and were killed. Just like in the movies-- “walk in the light.” I think it means being true twilight-zone effect--the killed souls do not yet to your heart, and living life with a sense of clar- know they are dead and drift around in confu- ity and purpose. This is what I hope for myself sion. Were we lonely spirits in the afterlife, con- and for my children, above all else. tinuing to drive while my husband was being Sometime, when my children are older, I know informed just now of the tragedy? The darkness I will tell them the story of the deer in the road. and the fog nearly made me believe it. I’ll make sure they understand that they were When I finally pulled into our driveway, my with me, and even though they were sleeping, husband met me at the steps and helped carry they were blessed by the deer spirit, too. We our sleeping children inside. I was sure now all need a touchstone in such a world of uncer- that we were alive, and not a part of some tainty. Know things in nature are like a person. Talk to Hollywood-imagined ghost story. Later that tornadoes; talk to thunder, they are your friends and will night I said to my husband, “I almost hit a deer. protect you. -- A Navajo Poem I mean really hit one. It was right there.” It was The Native American poem reminds us that difficult to find the words to describe my experi- even the things that frighten us most are our ence. “I felt like I actually passed through the talismans. What am I afraid of? I ask myself. body without hitting it,” I explained. “It was It’s an important question, a telling question, surreal. I feel like something important hap- an ancient question. Much is revealed by the pened.” He managed to say, “Well, I’m glad you answer. I imagine a doe near me in dreams, didn’t hit it.” I have retold this story many times urging me on. She treads softly, barely making now to receptive listeners, and have always a sound. She is gentle, strong, and beautiful. failed in convincing anyone that I was touched Walk in the light, she says, and the fog may by magic. clear your vision.

5 Afraid Afraid, afraid of what you may ask, well afraid of failing my greatest task. I always lose three times more than I achieve It’s just way too hard to believe. It’s just way too much to bear,To think that she doesn’t care.When all of this is worked out, I will be with you without a doubt.

by Cody Shoe Stanly Early College Student

Dreams Define Us When you have nothing left to give What is the use in continuing anything? We live by dreams, wishes, and ideas Without those, who are we, really?

If we have no imagination Then we are like robots that are the same, Who go about living each other’s lives. We have no uniqueness that defines us. So, do you chose to have dreams or Live the life that others have?

by Trixie Rogers SCC Student

Digital Photography by Austin Poole SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student

6 Just Let Throw by Gabe Simonds SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student

7 Struggles within Ourselves

Struggling in Life. Like a child begging for love from a distant mother. Like an ant carrying food on his back to his home. Like a fall leaf holding onto the branch so it does not let go. Like a barren city in desperate need of people. Like a vine that is tangled and Abstract Dream by Michael Wadkins wants to be let free. SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student Like intimacy from a broken relationship. Like a naked newborn in search of its mother. Like a whale rising to the surface for air. That is me, struggling in life.

by Trixie Rogers SCC Student

Shark Dream by Michael Wadkins SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student

8 Tapping into the Unreal by Gabe Simonds SCC Advertising & Grapic Design Student

Magic I Wonder for Megan

Love is like magic As I sit in my room I wonder…I wonder what for it can be an illusion the dogs are barking at outside Fooling our minds To believe a trick I wonder when I’m going to clean the Fooling our hearts house and do my homework To believe it’s love Some of it’s real I wonder who is going to call But mostly fake and what’s to be said Believing only what we see Without any background check I wonder why things happen the Some of it’s true way they do and for what reason But it’s mostly lies It goes to show I wonder how the rest of my family feels Things are not always I wonder where I would be right now As they seem to appear if things were different You get lured in Ending up in a trap I wonder how things are going to be in a few Here one second minutes to a few years from now. Gone the next You think it will stay I wonder what is my purpose, why am I here Then it disappears Abracadabra… I wonder if I will ever know the answers It has disappeared to all of my questions Abracadabra… It has reappeared I wonder why I wonder and hope things Don’t fall for it will be known so there will be no Without knowing the facts more wondering. It may just be A mere magical illusion

by Ashley Constantine by Megan Harstell Stanly Early College Student Stanly Early College Student 9 (above) “Tranquilty” by Braden Harwood and (right) “Untitled” by Maggs, both are SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Students. Opposite page: “Sunflower” by Josh Gooch, SCC Adver- tising & Graphic Design Pro- gram Head.

10 11 Love is About Delicious Foods NightbirdNightbird

I have never tasted love before. IInn the stillness of the evenineveningg I often wonder what would love taste like. CComesomes the night wind softly nearnear.. GGentleentle wings caress her bobody,dy, Would love taste so bitter that one might spit SStrongtrong the one who holdsholds her dear.dear. And cry out in pain that love has given them a stomach ache? MMemoriesemories ddanceance across her dreamsdreams Would love taste so sweet that LLikeike shadows on a winter white. one might say it is too much? QQuietuiet llakeake anandd rising moonbeamsmoonbeams,, Would love taste so plain that one RReflectionseflections bathed in candlelight.candlelight. might say I love the taste of it?! I don’t know yet. GGlowlow of night through windows mirromirrorr Fires of passion, blanket thought. I hear people say love is just about SSpiritspirits breathe on wings of silence the sharing of souls Cloaked in darkness, stars aloaloft.ft. But to me, love is about delicious foods. Let me walk you through my universe Storm the rain drenched kiss of nightfall Soon you will understand what I mean. Covered in a veil ofof ffear.ear. See her eyeeyelidslids open slowly,slowly, I never tasted love. Eros whispers in her earear.. I observe how love might make one feel. What people eat is none of my concern PPreciousrecious time, embrace surrendered,surrendered, But love is like one of those delicious dishes Whispered flight, he’ll rise to leave. that talented chefs create. Fearless Phoenix, flees the night windwind,, BreaksBreaks the spell of which she weaves. Those dishes are then served to some special people. Gone the gallant, fitful slumber, What is in the dishes are the RReachingeaching out, she touches therethere components of the delicious love. Where the nightbirnightbirdd ssleptlept in sisilence,lence, Or I could say the ingredients of love. FFreeree he’s flying, wild and rare. Love is made up of many ingredients.

by Ngoc Doan by Elaine NelsoNelsonn Stanly Early College Student EEnglishnglish Department CChairhair

“House” by Austin Poole “Beyond” by Bryan De Castro SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student SalvageSalvage Yard RenderinRenderingsgs Who Am I?

TheThe chain-link fence supports the vines I would trust no one to answer it for me. That bear an occasional leafleaf My mom who gave me birth noddingnodding in the breeze. My dad who named me Do not know me well BeyondBeyond these metalmetal diamonddiamond shapes, enough to speak for me. HundredsHundreds ppluggedlugged with weeweeds,ds, LieLie mounds ooff rusted, twisted steel.steel. My children are not old enough, Even my lovely wife should ForFor milesmiles it seems, these carcasses take a deep breath Hint of past beauty, Before talking about my identity. potential, and performance. Old age coupledcoupled with the dauntlessdauntless My friends once were my voice courage of YouthYouth But this is not longer a reality. AreAre brought together andand depicteddepicted here, ForFor that newer model,model, Even my siblings would be a wrong choice. or forfor one last drink, Who am I? A unique person oror for one more joy ride of speed A brother to everyone withwith thrills of racing.racing. A fresh living spring water in the woods Somehow this sanctuary ofof brokenness And the shade of the trees Was created forfor Finality. I am the green grass of the valleys. A son who still believes in MetalMetal andand rubber, clothcloth anandd lleather,eather, his parents’ wisdom chrome andand plastic,plastic, A compassionate father who cares Now green with moldmold andand rot, And a husband with a tender heart. baskbask in the August sun. LookLook at this hull—broken glass Who knows? spewed front to back.back. I may change over time Blood,Blood, flowing red, once drippeddripped Even while trying to stay on the line. upon new velvetvelvet seats which now has darkeneddarkened andand drieddried with age. It will take a few more years To define my real and true identity. Crust-like,Crust-like, it stains where onceonce beatbeat that heart ofof chance. TheseThese sagging sculpturessculptures echo stillnessstillness by Obed Noel Which comes forfor a briefbrief secondsecond SCC Student afterafter the cataclysmic.cataclysmic. AsAs dust swirls in little funnelsfunnels aroundaround these bases, NatureNature reclaimsreclaims the harshness ofof this horizon.

A weed pushes through the radiator of one,one, AndAnd stretches its spiralspiral to the sun.sun. It nodsnods inin the breeze.

byby RuthRuth GoodwinGoodwin SCC EnglishEnglish Instructor Four F by Charles Horton SCC Student

he lights came on over my head pain projected to the trainees. Sergeant Tand I sprang to the position of Halpain was the worst; he was six feet, attention with my left knee one inch from two inches tall, weighing 225 pounds of the right side of my mattress; just like solid muscle mass. He generally played they taught me. I lined up the tips of my the quiet character, until we made a mis- toes with the end of my foot locker and take, then he was a tyrant. He must have gritted my teeth, waiting for the inevita- had a rough morning that threw him ble yelling from my four drill instructors. straight into the psychotic state that we The telltale pounding on the door knew all too well. sprang the dorm guard to duty, “Sir, may Senior Airman Jones proceeded down I help you?” sobbed trainee Dumars. No the center aisle of our dorm, looking one wanted to pull the early morning each of us in the eye as he passed. He dorm guard shift; the instructors were was looking for the slightest thing out always in the worst mood, and full of cof- of place; a misaligned foot locker, dirty fee. “Open the door, Trainee Dumb-Ass!” bed rails, missing articles of clothing, yelled Technical Sergeant Bell from the anything that could prompt him to fulfill south side of the eight hour burn door. his sadistic desires. He paused briefly “Wow, Trainee Dumars to Trainee Dumb- between Trainee Franks and Trainee Ass, how clever,” I thought quietly to Kavokavich. Senior Airman Jones didn’t myself. “Sir, may I see your authority to turn his head, he kept his eyes straight. enter?” cried Trainee Dumars, a bit louder I counted the seconds, one, two, three, this time. “Dumars, if you do not open before he backpedaled to Trainee Franks this door immediately, I will recycle your and said quietly, turning his head slowly ass straight back to zero week!” to make eye contact, “Should your show- I flashed back to sitting in front of my er shoes be in front of your combat boots, recruiter; I remember the brief conversa- or behind them, trainee?” Franks quickly tion we had about basic training. “They replied, “Sir, Trainee Franks reports as aren’t allowed to swear, they aren’t al- ordered, behind them, sir!” lowed to make any physical contact, and Jones stared Franks in the eyes, waiting if you feel like you’re mistreated, the for him to glance down at his footwear, commander has an open door policy.” but he didn’t, he knew it would only It’s funny how the details get overlooked make things worse. “Then why in the when they’re shadowed by stories of hell are your god-damned shower shoes world travel, adventure and patriotic duty. in front of your combat boots?” Jones “Sir, may I see your authority to enter?” yelled, less than one inch from Franks’ The stress was getting to him; I didn’t face. I felt so sorry for Franks; Jones’ think he would last much longer under breath was so bad. We all conceded that so much pressure. It was extremely Jones intentionally maintained a healthy important to follow the dormitory entry diet of garlic and tuna fish, just to torture procedures. Failing to do so would surely us. “Sir, Trainee Franks reports as or- result in having to start training over from dered, no excuse, sir!” the beginning. The instructors tried their “A typical trainee excuse, that you don’t hardest to get the dorm guards to break have one.” said Jones, with an air of au- procedure; it was a game to them, seeing thority. “For Trainee Franks’ negligence how many trainees each instructor could in the proper maintenance of his shower recycle. Finally, Technical Sergeant Bell shoes, we will be running an extra mile flashed up his Department of Defense and one half this morning during physi- form number 1, a military identification cal readiness training. Everyone, thank card, granting access into the dormitory. trainee Franks for the opportunity to “One white common access card, Tech- physically better yourselves.” “Thank nical Sergeant Bell, opening the door!” you Trainee Franks!” we all yelled-one yelled Dumars. I could sense relief in his unit, one voice. voice; he knew that when the instructors “Fall out for PT!” the instructors yelled, made it inside the dorm, their attention followed by “Move, move, move!” We wouldn’t just be focused on him, but the rushed down the stairs and organized rest of us, all fifty of us. alphabetically on the track in a single file “Everybody up, everybody up! Stand line. “Today, we will be performing last fast for inspection!” Staff Sergeant Hal- trainee up,” said Sergeant Halpain. The 14 buckle on his hat glared as the floodlight possibly could in anger. The pain in my on the front of our squadron caught it legs had moved from my calves to my briefly. “All Pain” was stamped on the hamstrings and quadriceps. leather strap that held the hat tight to his Trainee Helms began his quest to the bald head. front of the line. He had just barely “Last trainee up!” we responded-one made the weight requirements for en- unit, one voice. Last trainee up was a listment, and everyone always had to running exercise where the entire unit help him during physical training. He jogs in a single file line. At the blow of moved as fast as he could, and gave a whistle, the trainee at the back of the one hundred percent with everything he line sprints to the front of the line, and did, so no one felt bitter towards him. I the process is repeated indefinitely. This saw him approach the front of the line in is one of the many methods of torture my peripheral vision and kept my eyes employed during Basic Military Training. straight ahead, waiting for him to take The shrill blow of a whistle was heard, his place in front of me. Helms stepped shortly followed by the pounding of in front of me a half second too early, sneakers to the beat of double-time transferring every ounce of his weight march. My calves were still sore from onto my right foot. I tried to pull my foot the previous day’s five mile ruck march, out from underneath his, and tumbled to punishment for an unlocked foot locker. the track outside of the line. Unbeliev- Each footstep resonated throughout my able pain seared through my right knee entire body with pain. I gritted my teeth as I watched my fellow trainees jog past and jogged the pace I was taught-one me-one unit, one step. unit, one step. I counted each trainee I Senior Airman Jones jogged to me and saw pass. I knew that during last trainee yelled, “Trainee Horton, on your feet!” I up, there were 27 trainees behind me. I placed my left foot firmly on the track watched Trainee Jeffreys sprint by, num- shifted all of my weight to it as I at- ber 24. He made it to the front of the line tempted to reestablish my vertical base. and we all yelled “AEF!” One unit, one I took one step with my right foot and my voice. My quadriceps muscles strained knee collapsed as I fell back down to the to propel me down the track as I leaned track. “On your feet trainee! You will not forward to shift my weight off of my waste my time with your weakness, on calves. “Shoulders back, chest out, Train- your feet!” I once again tried to get to my ee Horton!” Sergeant Halpain yelled. I feet with identical results. “Lie here, do eased myself back into marching posi- not move and I will deal with you later!” tion, forcing my burning calves to project I moaned in pain as I heard the medical my 195 pound frame. sergeant start up the transport that was Trainee Jacobs sprinted past, number inevitably bound for Wilford Hall Medi- 26. I mentally prepared myself for the cal Center. In the distance I could faintly agonizing 10 second sprint to the front hear my fellow trainees shout “AEF!” of the line. Trainee Ivans ran past at One unit, once voice. full speed, number 27. I watched as he I succumbed to the pain, and fell into settled in place at the front of the line a deep sleep. When I awoke, I found and we all shouted “AEF!” One unit, one myself in a hospital bed, my leg bound voice. I moved to the outside of the line, tightly in a brace. As my vision cleared I leaned forward and ran as fast as my tir- saw three doctors in white coats huddled ing body would allow. As I ran, the line around an X-ray transparency. One no- seemed to grow longer and I begged my ticed my consciousness and approached body to keep me upright for just a little slowly. “You’ve torn a ligament in your while longer. I heard the bated breath knee, we’re transferring you to a medi- of my fellow trainees as I passed them; I cal hold squadron until a medical board took solace in the fact that everyone was clears your discharge, do you under- just as tired as I was. I carefully placed stand?” “Yes sir,” I replied-one trainee, myself in front of Trainee Ivans at the one voice. front of the line as my grueling sprint slowed to a brisk jog. I mustered every ounce of my remaining strength to yell “AEF!” at the top of my lungs, as loud as I 15 A LLessonesson LLearnedearned by RRhondahonda Etter SCCSCC StudentStudent ou have to work for what you uupp with what the instructor was readread-- Ywant.want. I knknowow this nnow.ow. I ing. AAfterfter the competition, when the rememberremember the dayday Mrs. Kegley,Kegley, mymy aawardswards were beinbeingg handed out, mmyy shorthand teacher in high school, name was never called. I felt hurthurt,, approachedapproached me and asked if I would aandnd embarrassed, but most of all I enterenter the shorthand competitioncompetition for felt ashamed for lettinlettingg Mrs. KeKegleygley the FBLA RRadfordadford RRegionals.egionals. TThishis ddown.own. She was counting on me to waswas a regionalregional competition tthathat was pputut our small school on the map of heldheld everyevery yyearear for all members of the eeducationducation and I had failed her and mmyy FutureFuture BusinessBusiness LeadersLeaders of AAmerica.merica. wwholehole school. TheThe feeling I had knowing she chose DDuringuring the ride home from the me above everyoneeveryone else in the FBLA competitioncompetition I was so uupsetpset with club made me feel so smart and myself I started to cry. MMrs.rs. KKegleyegley accomplished.accomplished. I was determined to tturnedurned and looked at me with one of make her proud.proud. Working Working hard to tthehe most disappointeddisappointed looks I have achieveachieve this goal was something I was eeverver witnessed on her face. TThehe eagereager to ddo.o. wwordsords that ccameame out of her mouth Months before the comcompetitionpetition next cut me like a knife. She, not so I began practicing my shorthand qquietly,uietly, said to me, “Y“Youou stop that crycry-- everyday.everyday. I could tell she was very ing, you didndidn’t’t deserve to win.win.”” I was proudproud of me byby the wawayy she looked ccrushedrushed that I had crushedcrushed her. atat me when I entered her classroom. I made a promise to myself after TheThe day finally came for me to tthathat event to always try the hardest I compete.compete. I was veryvery nervous, but ververyy can at ananythingything I do. I never want to confident. AAllll of my hard work had sseeee a look like the one I received from paidpaid off. Out of hundreds of other MMrs.rs. KKegleyegley or hear the words I had competitors,competitors, I placedplaced third. I was hheardeard from her from ananyoneyone else for proudproud of myself knowing I had not let aass long as I lived. I know now that if Mrs.Mrs. KegleyKegley down. you want to succeed, you cancan’t’t just sit The followinfollowingg yyearear Mrs. KeKegleygley bbackack and hohopepe it hahappens,ppens, yyouou have approachedapproached me again and asked if to ddiveive in hheadead first aandnd woworkrk fforor it. I would compete in the next level up in the shorthand competitioncompetition at the RadfordRadford RRegionals.egionals. I couldncouldn’t’t say yes fast enough. I was once againagain delighteddelighted and excited. MMyy confidence had risen so much since the competition of the previous year that I knew I couldcould do even better this timetime around.around. I had made a dreadful dedecisioncision that I would later reregret.gret. I decided since I was so much better this one particularparticular year than I was the previous year,year, I could breeze rightright throuthroughgh the competition without practicing all that much. Mrs. Kegley did not agree. She mentioned to me evereveryy dadayy for two months before the competition that I needed to ccomeome into her cclassroomlassroom andand ppractice.ractice. I would alwaalwaysys tell her I’dI’d be in a little later on,on, but I never went.went. The dadayy of the comcompetitionpetition arrived andand I was very nervous, rethinking my decisiondecision not to practice on my shorthand. During During the comcompetition,petition, I knewknew I had failed. I just couldncouldn’t’t keep

16 “Freestyle”“Freestyle” byby Bryan De CastrCastroo SCC AdvertisinAdvertisingg & GrapGraphichic DesiDesigngn Student

1717 Beautiful Pain

No, without painpain there is no winner Everything has a pricpricee For which you must fight Even ifif we failfail WWhathat ddoesoes it matter to win IIff it is easy to reach our successuccesss AAndnd what aafterfter thatthat??

YYes,es, I know sometimes you have to bbee hurt so we can be abablele to grow AAndnd reach a little bit of maturity BBecauseecause then we wouwouldld not knoknoww HHowow to controcontroll what lliesies aheaaheadd EEvenven though the pain can be crucialcrucial,, BButut GoGodd wiwillll not lletet us stastayy in that conconditiondition anymoreanymore time thathann you cannot stanstandd

YYouou ddoo not want to ggoo through difficulties A Roseless Valentine BButut sometimes it wiwillll hehelplp To awaken the tatalentlent that is in yyouou I wish I’I’dd brought you some roses, AAndnd it will helhelpp you come out of your ssoo yyouou couldcould smellsmell the cuscustomstoms perfumeperfume of our love. Which bury you in one pplacelace anandd TThenhen you will reach ItIt would make you think ooff the taste ooff your goagoall with pripridede ourour first kisses, reminding you of the day by Wilber Ruiz you melted in my arms, and the ppromiseromise StanlyStanly EarEarlyly CoCollegellege Student wewe mademade to each other that our lovelove willwill lastlast forever.forever.

Truly, honey, flowersflowers live only a limitedlimited ttime,ime, but these words will last more thanthan a lifetime.

OnOn this specialspecial day I hopehope you under-under- stand without the shadow of a doubt thatthat yyouou were not forgotten.

MayMay these lines comfort you, bring jjoyoy and happiness, and fill your empty heart withwith my endless lovelove.. byby OObedbed NoeNoell SCCSCC Student

1818 Taj Mahal by Bryan De Castro SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student

19 Underwater Day Dreams by Kirsten Kopp SCC Student he sea is a complex world made When I’m not soaking in the sounds Tup of its own food chain, mini and warmth of the beach, I lay at home ecosystem, and protected in its own curled into a ball in the cozy corner of little world by boundaries of water. I my couch snuggled deep in the folds sometimes daydream, while basking in of my red fleece blanket. There I day- the warm sunny rays of the sun, listen- dream of what my darling girl will be ing to the tide swish in and out, about like when she is older, when her cre- what life under the waves is like. Some- ativity begins to bud of its own accord times I dream of mermaid adventures and not just from what she sees in tele- and aquatic fairy tales, but other times vision and books. My dreams consist of about things that are more realistic, like her combining the imaginations of her finding sunken treasure or what whales parents, not just following the dreams have to say to each other. I prefer the of one, but borrowing from the dreams fairytale epics myself, but that is me off of both. in another time and universe. I dream of her developing her own My daughter shows much of the same sense of self-fantasy and it being new creativity. She pretends that she is a and unusual for the norm. She might mermaid swimming in the deep sea dream of her Barbie being a world when in sooth she is splashing merrily famous marine biologist obsessed with in our Victorian claw foot tub. I often underwater discovery, and that she one wonder if her interests will follow a path day discovers an underwater realm of much like mine or if they will take a intelligent mer-creatures. Or maybe realistic turn to become more like the her dreams will be beyond my compre- daydreams of her father. He was never hension until she shares her unique one to be very fanciful, but more realis- views with me. It is so very hard for tic in his make-believe play. When he me to even begin to imagine the ‘what played with his GI Joe ‘action figures’ it ifs’ for my own fantasies, let alone the wasn’t a quest to kill a kraken, (a giant fantasies of others. Thinking like that mythological squid) or save Barbie from makes combining two completely oppo- a horrid sea hag determined to turn her site types of daydreams almost impos- into a sea creature; it was to rescue the sible to fathom. But then again, dream- country from a ninja threat and Barbie ing she will be like that is more like me, was the enemy spy or even a double unique and weird. Like water from the agent. sea, I am potent, chaotic, and full of life.

“Crusade”“Crusade” byby Chandler JJohnsonohnson SCC AdvertisinAdvertisingg & Graphic DesignDesign StudentStudent 20 Nefertiti by Josh Wilson SCC Student When I think of my grandmother, I see twins, long lost like a soap opera plotline. her skin. Such deep, bronzed goodness Nefertiti became the icon of everything that she could’ve been mistaken for an an- I was not. Egypt became an obsession, cient goddess by the way her skin shone and it seemed to parallel a life I knew. in the sun. Her hair was stretched to its The great river Nile gave life to Egypt, and complete limit in a small, managed afro where I lived, we had the mighty Cataw- that never failed to be in line. Her smell ba, whose waters granted good crops, bad was unique, too. She smelled of nicotine ones, or water feuds. It was easy to see and Chanel. why Nefertiti worshipped the sun in order She was the essence of sophistication to get a good harvest. We worshiped the ‘son’ to me then, and her skin was always what in order to have good gardens full of the ripest I noticed. We spent long days lounging beans and potatoes. And the clay ground re- in the sun, walking here or there, or just minded me of her skin as I pulled sweet potatoes getting stuck to her vinyl seats when we from its depths. Nefertiti became how I saw my drove to town in her tiny car. She would grandmother. A queen, with the power to dis- turn on the radio to some static country miss people as she pleased, the way she did my station, and throwhrowrow her hand oout the win- mother; casting people she deemed not worthy dow in the wind.d. aside with a slide of hand and fl ick of cigarette. Sometimes shehe would take me to this Now, my grandmother doesn’t look like wonderful place where a fellfellow would fix Nefertiti. She looks like any grandmother. She her hair,ir, arranging it just so, until she wwas quit her sun worship to gather herself inside. satisfiedd and threw her cheekbones out The old ways we lived are gone forever. The as she staredd at it in the mirror, runningr cigarettes carved cracks in her face, and her eyes her slim fingerss through it, givingiving him no longereer slightly hover in a sexual stare. Now the smile thatt meant he had gotten it just they hoverve in a vigil towards death. I wonder if right. she remembersmem how she was then. I would like She was a woman with an opinion and a to knoknoww ifi tthe sunn eevever warms her in passing by mouth, always saying the complete oppo- a window, and I wowonder if she longs for the days site of what you would exexpect. Her words off her youth, whewhen her skin was radiant, her hair were chosen with much less care than an amazing pouf oof volume, and her eyes the her hair dye that covered a growing wisp envy of every woman wwho knew her. I wonder if of grey that swept up above her brow. she misses the old ways of her mothers, who had Looking through my memories of her, plentynty of secretsecrets all their own. I feel as if that I’ve come to wonder who she was at that wholeole world has passed away so quickly, and I time. I was so young I never asked myself wondernder if anyone anyon ever noticed it all but me. before. I never took the time to notice how Now she lives alone, a foggy image of what nicotine was slowly carving away at her she has been. My grandfatherfather can still see the eyes, or how little rivers were beginning beauty he let go of years ago, and so she is no to carry her tanning oil from her face to longer spoken of inn his house. BuBut I know he her neck in the cracks time had given her. keeps her picture in a fold in his wallet, and that Still, she was glorious, and no one I had he knows her phone numbermber by heartheart. His new ever seen looked like her. I didn’t think wife is unfamiliar withh this, her paupaunched belly she was beautiful; I didn’t know what that and pale skin betray her wish to hidehid the plain- was. I just saw her love for me, and that ness of her soul. I wonder iff he misses my grand- was all I required. mother, whom he decorated wwith diamonds, and It was during third grade when we were left to the side, for no reason other than an urge. having Egyptian day that I first saw my Sometimes, when I pass by my grandmother, I grandmother. A picture of the statue was can see the wispy remains of a queene in her man- shown to us to increase our interest in nerisms, her customs, her wink.nk. And whwhen she history, supposedly. Her features were the has gathered herself into her cotton shesheesheets, after same. The cheekbones, the long neck, the reading a novel that makes herer sigh, I wwonder. I eyes, the dazzling eyes, half drooped in wonder if she misses being a queen. But tthen I sexual suggestion, even those were the realize she never knew she was. same. The only thing my grandmother didn’t have was the huge crown. Nefertiti was my grandmother’s name. Her skin was a beautiful, tanned milky smooth- ness, un-roughened by thousands of years of sand. My grandmother was fifty, and that was ancient to me. It wasn’t hard for me to imagine that Nefertiti and my Grandmother had been wonderful sisters, 21 Steal This Poem

I, in my infinite boredom, am writing this poem duee to assignment.nment. How dark and twisted is this blatant and irrevocablyb offensiveive woundw to my creativity?c Poetry is not to be assigned. It is to be dreamt.dream

It is to be germinated like the seeds off somes unknownnknow flowerower in theth mind of the poet, Twistingg and sighinghing asa its tender petalsp tals unfurl, And yet, I aam writingng thithis Poemoem due tto assignment.

This seemseem a sadistic,distic, heretical,h tical, blasphemous,blas , and outrageous tragedy.ttraged I am meant to feelel as thoughtho gh mourning thet he death of mymy veryv er y inspirinspiration. I wallowallow in ddespair as I type these vveryer y words!wordw I am suffocatinguf focating amidst clouds of unauthenticunauthhentic emotion!n!

When did tthehe noble banner of education becomeecome soilesoiled by thee blblood d of murdemurdered inspiration?ratio When did some abhorrentabhorrent twit, unknouunknowing ng ooff the conseqconsequence of his actions, AssignAss poeetry tr y?

YYou,ou, beholdersbehol of this poem,em, havhavee witnesseded a crime. And tthathat crime is tthehe unjustified raper andnd murdermur of the very soul of poetry. Youou cannot be assigned poetryoetry any more thann yoyou can be assigned an orgasm, Youu simplsimply have to feel it.

Wasas that a simple enough mmetaphor for complete comprehension of this catastrophe? Do you truly understand the depth of my anguish? Or are you laughing because I said orgasm? You are probably shocked that I said it, aren’t you? Well never-mind; I’m probably just basking in the glory of my bravery. Being politically incorrect is kind of a big deal, you know.

by Logan Hancock Stanly Early College Student

“Bullhorn” by Maggs “Bone Yard” by Jeremy Hardy SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student

22 Jesus Help

Lord help me to be Help me to know Help me to see Please just show Me how to be Like you Lord help me to be

by Jessica Poole Stanly Early College Student

Life around us

The wind was blowing The rain was streaming but the Ocean was calm and silent.

Only the Eyes by Manda Burleson Stanly Early College Student Only the eyes of a person, Can tell the truth of one’s soul The pain, The anguish, The sorrow, All lies in the holes,

Which the mysterious Crystal balls slumber in, No one knows the fear a person sees One’s eyes can retell the stories of life; Stories of Love, Stories of Hate, Stories of the unknown, Stay hidden in the labyrinth of the mind

The eyes never forget, No Never.

But if the eyes of a person do not speak How will one know the Truth of thyself? Only the eyes of a person…

by Tim Liske SCC Student

23 Dead

Leaves fall on the ground it is time to see things die for new things to come

Life journey “Untitiled” The road is very long by Karen Lowder you have to move on and on SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Instructor still you find what time is lost

Know

Do you see those people who look at you? How dare they! Do they know who you really are? Do you see those babies cry when they are born or do you hear yourself for you know the things that you do? Do you see time passing by or do you see the wild move as you walk on the foundation of ground ? Now I tell you do you see what you really are?

by Kenneth Chambers Stanly Early College Student

“Art Nouveau” by Bryan De Castro SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student 24 Poster Copy by Jeremy Hardy- SCC Advertising & Graphic Design Student

25 The Price of an Education by Obed Noel SCC Student

chool for most of us does not have my older cousin Moise to look after me. Sthe same meaning since we are all Things changed! Now when I was late I different and have been raised in di- got a good whipping from Frere Titi, the verse parts of the world. I was born in principal. a third world country named Haiti. It is Lessons were especially hard since a poor country, but its people are very we spoke Creole (a mixture of African proud of their 207 years of indepen- and French) at home, but all lessons at dence. They have pride of being inde- school were in French. During the first pendent for so long but arrogance does year, my Papi helped me with reading, not mean progress; they need education counting, and writing every day after and the system of education in Haiti is school. By the third year, he could no working against the success of its citi- longer help me because the lessons zens. In Haiti, like in several other poor were over his head, so he paid for a countries of the world, being educated relative, Lucene, to tutor me. He helped is a privilege for only some children. me a lot. By my fourth year, Papi did The fact is that just a small percentage not think I needed a tutor any longer, of the population is able to afford pay- but school got harder and harder. Papi ing for their children to go to school. would sometimes whip me when I I was very fortunate that my parents brought home bad grades, but he did got me started. My entire school life not go to the school to see what could was tough, but the most challenging be done to help me. time was my seven years of elementary I did not want to go to school at all. school. School was a jungle. I was afraid of the I started going to school when I was bigger boys who wanted to fight me, about seven years old. My Maman and afraid of getting a whipping for being my Papi were very excited about my late, and especially afraid of Maitre Hu- leaving the house on a regular basis, bert, my teacher, a short, light-skinned five days a week, seven hours a day, in man who was mean to all of us, but search of the bread of instruction. The especially to me. He had no patience school was a Catholic school, maybe with any of us. If we missed a word of one of the best schools of the town, dictation, we got our knuckles rapped. located on top of a steep hill about four If we didn’t know our lesson, we were to five miles from my house. It would whipped. It seemed like I was getting take a good 45 minutes to 60 minutes of punished all the time. walking at a constant pace to reach the I still have the scar on my hand from school every morning. an accident I had in his class. We all The first days of school, Maman got paid our extra money for a field trip to up very early and cooked breakfast by Furcy, the next mountain town, to play candlelight since we had no electricity. soccer and have a picnic. There was no She woke me up while it was still dark money for a bus so we all walked the at a quarter to six. She gave me a quick four miles, carrying our sports equip- shower, dressed me in my tan and white ment and refreshments. I was carrying gingham uniform shirt and khaki short two glass bottles of soda. I got behind pants, fed me, and headed with me the group and ran to catch up. My foot up to the mountain top. Maman knew hit a rock and I fell with the bottles in almost everyone in the town, so she my hand and gashed my hand. There always made stops to greet people and was a lot of blood. Maitre Hubert took talked to her friends she met on our way me to the clinic in Furcy where a nun to school. I always tried to pull her hand stitched up my hand. After that, Maitre as kind of a reminder to tell her that we Hubert was much nicer to me. If it had needed to move forward to our desti- happened earlier in the year, maybe I nation. Those first days, I was lucky would have not been so afraid of him enough to have my Maman with me and could have passed the class, but as which avoided my getting a whipping it was, I had to repeat that grade. when I arrived late. Unfortunately, Ma- About this time, I gained a new re- man no longer took me to school in the sponsibility. My six-year-old brother Joel mornings after she had arranged with was going to school for the first time

26 and it was my duty to see that he got I don’t know how I learned anything to class. He was a slow walker and was at all in the harsh environment of my distracted by almost everything he saw. elementary school. I don’t know how I was in a race with the other boys to see anyone learned, but we did. School was who could get to school first, or at least hard and I dreaded the punishments, early enough not to get whipped. Now but I stayed with it and finished my with Joel tagging along, we were always elementary school years. I even went late! I would encourage him and actu- to high school and passed the national ally drag him up the last steep hill, but exam to graduate. I learned French, Eng- nothing helped. Late again! I knew we lish, Spanish, biology, history, algebra, were late when I could see the students spelling, and composition. But the main assembled in the schoolyard for the rais- lessons I learned did not come from ing of the Haitian flag and our national books. I learned to stick with something anthem. It was really a beautiful sight even if it was hard or not pleasant. I to look up the mountain and see my learned responsibility for myself and for flag ascending the pole, but I couldn’t my family members. I learned to value really appreciate the scene because I education because I knew it was the knew what was waiting for me when I only way I could amount to anything in did get up that hill. If he wet his pants the world. or messed in his pants, they called me Since I have come to America, I have out of class to take care of his needs. I noticed that children here do not value cleaned him as best I could. He would their education. Maybe it is too easy for have to sit by himself for recreation and them. Parents and teachers do too much everybody laughed at him. I was his big for them and do not expect much effort. brother, but no one had taught me be- Perhaps if they lived in my country of fore how to handle a situation like that. Haiti for a year, they would have a differ- They expected me to be mature and ent appreciation of the schools here. responsible. One day, Joel and I arrived late; it was about 8:15 am. Charlemagne the jani- tor was still at the gate and told us that he was going to let us in. I told him that we were late and that he did not have to and we went back home. On our way home, we stopped at the market place to spend our lunch money to buy toys because I was not planning to go back to school that day. Unfortunately, we found Maman home and her first question was, “Why were you not in school boys?” I said that we arrived late and the gate was closed. I did not dare tell Maman that Charle- magne wanted to let us in. She decided to take us back to school; it was not our lucky day since we had to climb the hill twice that day. With my Maman, it took us less time to get there; she was so angry that she didn’t stop to visit with anyone on the way. Guess what, Charle- magne was still at the gate. He told Ma- man about the whole story. Maman was furious. She walked us in, and we went to the office. This time Maman was the one who gave us a good whipping and “Butterfly” then we were sent to class. We learned by Michael Wadkins our lesson and never tried to skip school SCC Advertising & Graphic again. Design Student

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