TCC Channelmarker Volume 16

Home , Burns (musician)

 ChannelMarker Volume 16• April 2017 COMMUNITY COLLEGE From here,goanywhere. TIDEWATER  TM Richard Cooke,SirIanMcKellen , Charcoal, 2016.

 Cover Image: Cecilia Petretto, Virginia BeachCampus April Campbell,PortsmouthCampus Douglas Thiele,ChesapeakeCampus Sara Stevenson,ChesapeakeCampus Joe Antinarella, Fred Valet, Virginia BeachCampus Shannon Ponack,NorfolkCampus Leah Hagedorn,NorfolkCampus Visual Communicationsat TCC Digital photograph,2016. MichaelAngeloRodriguez, To Norfolk 2016 ReadingPanel VisualCenter Arts Rick Alley Layout Editor Chesapeake Campus Art  , Copyright ©2017 without thewrittenpermission oftheauthors. Please visitourwebsiteforsubmission guidelines. ChannelMarker canbefoundonlineatwww.tcc.edu/ChannelMarker. ChannelMarker isproduced annuallybythestudentsofTidewater Community olg. Pleaseenjoyourefforts, butdonot reproduce anypartofthiswork College. Submissions to ChannelMarker maybemailedto:[email protected]. byChannelMarker/Tidewater CommunityCollege,Volume 16

 Trees Poignancies Just FollowingOrders Sweet Dreams Silence ofNature Amelia Island Earth Warriors In MyLifetime The Commute There’s OnlyOneStereotype thatMatters My Brother’s Keeper...... My Brother’s 33 Shadows ofFear Second Chance Samantha Ogden Jordan Draves Ian Shannon Danielle Boucher Glenda DianeSmith Anna Williams Amber Stone Clifford Williams Eric Lefebvre Kasara Tattrie-Doak Lorraine FaythFereday Marjorie Day Joanne Teague

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...... Table ofContents 

...... 13 16 21 23 24 27 28 31 32 39 40 11 Through the Eyes of a Child ...... 42 Athena ...... 72 Porsha Vaughan Sarah Headley

Matthew ...... 44 Not Yet ...... 75 Emily Wood Danielle Boucher

The Knot ...... 45 Resolution ...... 76 Mary Swallow Lauren Patterson

Between The Lines ...... 77 I am a Survivor ...... 49 Jonathan Oldaker Sarah White Celestial Night ...... 79 Standing; Waiting...... 52 Amber Stone Rhiannon Morris The Poster ...... 80 My Children Poem ...... 53 Mary Swallow Walter Pearce Perfect ...... 83 Emporia ...... 55 Jessica Peterson Anna Williams The Meal ...... 85 The Storm ...... 59 Renee Murat Rhiannon Morris Losing Half of Myself ...... 87 Stygian Trails ...... 60 Adam Hess Joanne Teague Experiencing Life ...... 89 Alone Together ...... 62 Anna Zwade Dan Antignano Art ...... 91 Untitled ...... 65 Bria Tyler Taja Bailey Something Worthy ...... 93 Anew ...... 66 Iandra Postell Danielle Boucher Silence ...... 95

Salt water coffee...... 67 Jeniffer Cobb Charlie Sanford Grounding in the Garage ...... 99

Writer’s block ...... 69 John Wilkinson Samantha Ogden The Little Red Hair Girl ...... 102

Home ...... 71 Necole Beach Chad Gary The SetofAngerManagement...... 107 TeachingsThrough MyFather’s Forbidden Lady andGentDancing Blank Canvas Room ofRegretandaLostSoul In theRuefulSideview Barriers Rachad Ajaj Shemeka Daniels John Wilkinson Samantha Ogden Jessica Peterson Joanne Teague Daimion Mulligan Glenda DianeSmith

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...... 104 109 117 114 113 112 111

And fumesbeginspreading Colder thanthedaybefore The ground becomesthick Yet more welcomingstill The paintbeginspeeling As thewallturnsyellow And fallstotheground As thepoinsettiawilts Hoping forafishtale Water becomesmore As ashoefallsapart Samantha Ogden The solesofthefeet With whitepowder Than apipedream As thegreen fades The brown shades The asphaltburns Of thoseunaware Of hikingboots And footprints With nomoney As aboatsinks For alittlegirl Poignancies To thelungs On aman

11 

As theexitsignflashes Dance across the mind Of achildwhoknows The airisrunning out Thoughts ofaforest The panicensues As theplankrots And onthefloor With nohope Lies agirl 12 drops offintoa gut wrenching plummet. highestpointrightbefore it He gainsmomentumlikea roller coaster’s a car. Ya know?Somefolkswillreally try and ripyouoff. Ya know?” when buyingacar. You alwayshavetoknow thefactswhenbuying is importanttoknowthedifference betweenfactandfictionespecially think it’sthebestingalaxy, butthatisanopinionfolks,notafact.It ignorance. occurred; hehasawayofdissolvingsuchinstanceswithcomplete not laughing.Mr. Werskilla continuesonasiftheinterruption never the classlaughs,andIjoininbecausedonotwanttobe theonlyone the classroom whohasrepeated the6thgradeatleasttwice.Therest of town where nothing everchanges,Iguesshewasnodifferent. his classes,andtheyallsaidhewasjustascrazythenisnow. Ina previously; Iwon.Mygrandma,grandpa,mother, andfatherwere allin compared notesonhowmanyfamilymembershavebeentaughtbyhim cab driver. train ofthoughtthengooffontangentsabouthislifeinthe50sasataxi Often timesduringlecture, hewouldstumbleoverwords andforget his students asiftheywere theViet Congwarriorshefoughtsolongago. class. Itwassaidhestoodup,flippedhisdeskoverandbeganyellingat hallways ofmiddleschoolregarding flashbackshe oncehadduring day itis.There are talesthatbuzzaimlesslyaround theunforgiving a commanderintheVietnam War, butnowcanbarely remember what like atree trunk; Ithinkheisasoldatree ormaybetimeitself.Hewas alignment tothebestofhisability. Heisadustyman.towersoverus on thewhiteboard infront ofme.Mr. Werskilla isgoingoverplanetary “It isaplanet,folks!Maybeoneofthebestingalaxy; well,I “A bigyellowdog,” replies anotoriouslysnidekidinthebackof “WhoknowswhatPlutois?”Mr. Werskilla askswithexuberance. The firstdayofMr. Werskilla’s class,myfellowstudentsandI Sitting erect inasmall,hard plasticdesk,Itrytofocusmyattention Winner, ChesapeakeLibraryNarrativeEssayContest Jordan Draves Trees 13 

His relentless chatter is interrupted by a piercing shriek in the My world starts to spin and I lose focus of the utter mayhem of direction of the closed door to the hallway; everyone’s head shoots in people surrounding me; my heart still pounds in my ears. I grow the direction of the scream. The remaining attention Mr. Werskilla had exceedingly weak with every breath. I shuffle off into a less crowded of the room completely vanishes. A faint smell of smoke seeps into my area near a patch of trees. Staring into the sky, I watch my breath as it nostrils and I wonder if anyone else smells it. Walking to the site of the rolls into the crisp, fall Wisconsin afternoon; huge oak tree trunks tower disturbance in slow giant strides, Mr. Werskilla opens the door to the above my head making me feel small. hallway. Dark gray smoke billows in through the half open door, and the room erupts with chaos. There is a window in this particular classroom, and it is swarmed in seconds by the thirty-two children inhabiting the room. I am one of those closest to the door—furthest from the window. I turn to run for the window, but before I do I notice Mr. Werskilla calmly stride through the threshold of the door towards the fire in the hallway. This crazy ass old man is going to kill himself! I turn and run for the window without looking back. No progress has been made in opening the window. I push my way past the other kids, some crying and some hitting the glass panels. “It is locked! There’s no way to open it without the key!” a voice from a tiny cheerleader shouts. “Everybody duck!” screams a brutish boy much too large to be in 6th grade, as he hurls a desk chair at the window. The chair bounces back and breaks on the ground. Smoke continues to build in the room and sparks of fire can be seen dusting the sides of the entry way; still no smoke alarm nor water spigots have gone off in the room. Panic almost paralyzes me. My heart has never beat so fast; I can hear it in my ears. “The only way out is through the door!” a boy that lives down the street from me says. “We will all have to run out together and get to an exit.” It is the only plan we have at the moment, so we assemble two by two near the door, and just as the first kid is about to march out, Mr. Werskilla walks into the doorway just as calmly as he walked out. He is not alone, however; he is carrying three very small, special needs children and toting two by their hands. “Get us outta here old man!” yells the brutish boy. Mr. Werskilla pays no mind to the comment and proceeds swiftly to the window with the key in hand. He is followed by the mass of children occupying the almost smoke-filled room. As he opens the window, kids push, kick and scratch to get through to the safe haven of the grass below. Those of us remaining are handed the children wrapped in Mr. Werskilla’s arms to get them safely through the window. Only after the last child is out does Mr. Werskilla slowly climb his way through the window. Stumbling on to the grass, he begins counting kids.

14 15 where dotheycomefrom there’s nofoodforthem andthewindowsare with beadyeyesandsucking mouthsandflutteringwingsohgod microwave foroneminute. you cutacross their lawn. Unlockthedoorandwalkinside. outside forthree hours. out ofdrivewaysandyourealize byyourachingshinsthatyou’vebeen your neighborhood likeaNapoleonicinfantrymanuntilcarsstarttopull hope thattheneighborswon’trecognize you. an oldt-shirt.Putthemon. yourself foryourlaziness. you promised yourselfthatyou’ddothree more sets.Silentlycurse you are. Liftyourselfoffoftheflooranddecidetostophere, eventhough can’t seeforthesweatinyoureyes. trembling arms.Continuetodo so untilyourmusclesscream andyou reeking carpet.Throw yourselfontotheground andliftyourselfon everyone around you,screaming “Lookatme!Lookme!” you ofatumoreatingawayatyourflesh.Ignore thefactthatitcallsoutto better whenyougetoutoftheshower. Wait foryourbreakfast tocook.Ignore thedozen flies watchingyou Open therefrigerator. Pulloutonebowlofsoupandplaceitinthe Walk backto your house.Hopethatneighborsdon’tmind Walk outside. Closeandlockthedoorbehindyou.March through Find yourgrey hoodie. Putiton.Liftthehoodoveryourheadand Rummage through yourchestofdrawers.Pulloutapairshortsand Slip andfallsilentlyhopethattheneighborscan’tseehowpathetic Walk backintoyourbedroom. Ignore thesweatstained,off-white, Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore yourswollen,angry, petulantgut.Ignore thefactthatitreminds Run yourhandsthrough yourgreasy hair. Tell yourselfthatit’lllook Wake up.Getoutofbed.Lookatthemirror. Recoil.

Just FollowingOrders

Ian Shannon

16 

the carbeepsexactlythree times. times. the keyfobprecisely three times.Walk awayasthecarbeepsexactlythree ignition, andstandup.Closethedoorpress theremote lockbuttonon home inabox,gotosleepbox. You’re sosickofboxes. always inboxes? You wakeupinabox,drivetoschool of children walking to schoolandwishyoucouldjointhem.Whyare you neighborhood, parking, andcheckingagain. door? your car. Sitdownandslipthekeyintoignition.Didyoulockfront and openthedoor. Didyoulockthefront door? home today. hands through yourhairagainand lookatthemirror. Considerstaying and lookatthemirror. Smileafakesmile,andlookatthemirror. Runyour look likeaslob. curse ituntilliesdefeatedandyoucanalmostpretend thatyoudon’t the mirror. Findabrush andfightwithyourhair. Smackitandstab turn ontheshower. Take offyourclothes.Stepinside. you shouldn’tleavealittlesoup,ormaybehalf,fortomorrow? microwave. Burnyourhandsslightly. get in? closed andthedoorsare shutandthegarbageisouthowdothey Did youlockthecar? Press thelockbuttonprecisely three times.Continuewalking awayas Did youlockthecar? Finish drivingtoschool.Parkyourcar, remove thekeyfrom the Resolve togooutsidemore. Drive toschool.Watch theworldflybyaround you.Catchaglimpse Drive awaybefore youcancheck again.Considercircling the Check thefront door. Fighttheurge tocheckagainasyouwalkback Walk outside.Closeandlockthedoorbehindyou.Walk toyourcar Go toyourbedroom andfindclothes.Lookatthemirror. Putthemon, Step outfiveminuteslater, becauseyoucan’tafford thewater. Lookat Isn’t thislovely? Finish breakfast. Putthebowlin therefrigerator. Walk upstairsand Eat yourbreakfast. Stare atthepieceofpaperandwonderifmaybe Total Carbohydrates:31.1grams Total Fat:19.8grams Calories: 423 Find apieceofpaperandrecord thefollowing: The microwave beeps.Ignore theflies.Pullsoupoutof 17

Of course you did. Turn around and press the lock key exactly three Greet your professor when he waltzes into the classroom. Stare at the more times anyway, and walk away as it beeps three more times. Consider back of his grapefruit head and jot down the name of the next chapter’s what would happen if someone found your car unlocked. How would title. you go to school? How would you go to work? How would you buy Take notes as your professor rushes through his PowerPoint. Ignore food? the wild animal grumbling in your stomach. Ignore the aching pain as Turn around and press the lock button three more times. Walk away, it claws your guts, shredding through red and purple tissue and setting even though the car didn’t beep because you’re too far away for the signal forth a flood of scarlet blood. Tell yourself that you aren’t really hungry. to reach it and it’s sick of you anyway. Fight to keep awake as a riptide of exhaustion threatens to drag you Walk to class. Look up, surprised, when a boy your age compliments under gluttonous waves. Take your pencil and drive in into your hand. your shirt. Say thank you, even though he must not mean it because your Rake yourself with your fingernails. Slip your cheek between your clothes are ragged and there’s a ketchup stain near the hem of your shirt crushing molars and chew on it like a piece of taffy. that you scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed for maybe twenty minutes Draw blood if you have to, but only in the places where your wounds and couldn’t get out even though you used the nice soap and cold will not be noticed. water and you tried so hard and why would he praise you for making a Wish your professor a good day as he leaves the classroom. Drag mistake? yourself from your seat and into the next class. Repeat the above three Run away. Try not to look like you’re running away. Wonder if he more times until the sun sets and you’ve filled eight pages of paper with thinks you’re weird now. perfectly symmetric notes on every subject under the sun. Find the correct building and walk inside. Take the stairs, because Drive home. Beep at your fellow travelers because you want to charge you’ll burn more calories that way. Wonder how many calories walking through the streets like a bull and they’re actually following the absurdly up a flight of stairs burns. low speed limits. Consider vandalizing the speed limit signs outside of Find the correct floor. Walk to your classroom. Try not to make eye your neighborhood. contact with anyone in the hallways. Pull into your driveway. Sit in your car seat for the next ten minutes Walk into your classroom. Say hello if anyone wishes you good staring at the radio and try to find the mental energy to stand up. morning. Find a desk in the back, preferably in a corner. Wedge yourself Get out of your car. Lock the door behind you. Walk to your front door into it. and thank god it was actually locked, what would you have done if you Check the time. Pull out your notebooks and flip to a fresh, unspoiled had been robbed? Reenter your house and lock the front door behind you. page. There’s so much potential in a fresh sheet of paper, and you’re using Drag yourself to the kitchen. Open the refrigerator and pull out exactly it to take notes for an introductory class that you don’t care about. one oven roasted, bone dry, day old chicken breast. Weigh it, then place it Wonder why you came to class today. Wonder why you’re in school at in the microwave for one minute. Find a piece of paper and write down all. Wonder why you’re alive. the following: Adjust your t-shirt so that it lies more flatteringly across your Calories: 283 cancerous stomach. Wonder if your classmates think that you’re fat. Sneak Total Fat: 6.1 grams a glance and confirm that none of them are looking at you. Total Carbohydrates: 0 grams Reach into your pocket and pull out a pencil. Place it on the paper. Delicious. Unseasoned chicken is your favorite meal; it warms your Write the following in enormous, maimed cursive: cavernous belly like a campfire warming a nomad’s creased, dusty hands, I don’t want to be here. and you find comfort in its alabaster portions. Don’t let anyone see what you wrote. Find your pink eraser and Pull your dinner out of the microwave and slice it apart. Throw its exterminate it, or else they’ll see what you really think that and we can’t carcass to the ravenous beast that lives in your stomach and pray that have that, can we? your vile companion will be silenced. Rip the paper with your eraser. Pull it out of the notebook. Turn to a Walk upstairs. Unzip your backpack. Pull out four notebooks, four new page. textbooks, one calculator, and four hours of homework. Sit down and sigh

18 19 and typethefollowing: Consider starting. search for“howtowriteasuicidenote”vanishintotheether. cameras, severalwebsitesexplainingsuicidemethodsandoneGoogle written horror stories,homemade pornographyshotonshakyvideo even beenlookingat? accomplished, exceptthattheclocknowreads 11:51 PM.Whathaveyou your brain.Gaspinpleasure. sucking downanoverdose ofpoppers. Feelthebluelightslinkthrough addict snortingcocaine.Inhaletheinformationcarelessly, likeavirgin days. ascend. God,it’ssobig. You can’tbelievethatallneedstobedoneintwo like amanreleasing hislastbreath. You don’twanttodothis,you? I thinkmighthavelostmymind. Instead, openupMicrosoft Word. Take yourplump,bulbousfingers Glance attheatmosphericmoundofhomeworklyingnexttoyou. Close Chrome. Watch pictures ofchocolatechipbrownies, badly Three hourslater, realize howmuchtimehaspassed.Nothingbeen This isthefirsttimeyou’vebeen relaxed inmonths. Procrastinate. Fire upChrome andsiftthrough theInternetlikeadrug Glance atthemountainofacademicdiscoveryyouneedtolaboriously Why are youdoingthistoyourself?

Closer thaneverbefore. Wake mewithakiss. Danielle Boucher Deeply Ifeelyou Sweet Dreams

21  Kelsy Harris,Untitled1,Digitalphotograph,2016.

22 

Helpless, isthesmalltown A rumble ofthethunder declares war The vine’sthirstisquenched Cold raindrizzles I seealonely, darkcloudcoveringthesun Resembling ahungrypythonconstrictingitsprey I studythestalk,itisround andstrong Who amItotakeitslife? Although Icanhearitbeggingmeformercy It doesnothaveavoicetoprotest It ismyfriendandthefenceitshome I amhere tocutitdown,butIcan’t Small, lilacflowerscelebratethewarmthofspring It hasnowcovered everyinchoftheoldpicketfence I haveadmired thevinesinceIwasyoung Glenda DianeSmith Silence ofNature

23  around himandhearound her. Icantellthatsheinitiatedmove am soconflictedasIstandinches away. Hisex-girlfriendwrapsanarm left. Heissoclosetomebut Ihadmademyselfavoidhiminthepast. I seeeveryonewraptheirarms around eachother. Davidstandstomy body board. Hestopsforashortmomenttoattachtheleashhiswrist. behind us. A littleboyrushes intothewaveswithhisgreen andyellow a great photograph. stand andposepatiently. There are toomanyfactorsinvolvedforittobe and-center forthepicture. Iknowitisnotgoingtoturnoutwellas ignoring meyetagain.Hemovesfrom standingatmyright,to front- us. We fearwhatisunknownbyus.Myboyfriendatthetime,Ethan, times becausetheseaweedlazilyfloatsaround ouranklesandscares the smallgroup ofus gathered neartheocean.We movearound afew him. We are soakedwhenmyfriend,Julie,decidestotakeapicture of a bottleofthecoldseawateronme.Ireturn asprayofwaterbackat the samesweetsmileandkindeyes.Ishriekashedumps crystals thathesendsinmydirection. Davidisconstant.Hewears and Iwearashirtthatpackedmyself.danceawayfrom theliquid to wearforourbreak onthebeach.Iamoneoffewwhorebelled were neverwritten.Davidiswearing theshirtwehaveallbeengiven moving oceanleavesforus.Water issplashedinagamewhoserules alive forwhenIreturn from thismission trip.We run alongtheline my sepia-tonedsunglasses.Ipickupsimpleshellstokeepthismemory sediment oftheestuarieswiththem.Thebrown colorisintensifiedby because theriversemptyoutintoocean,carryingstinking beaches surrounding theChesapeakeBay. Thewaterisamurkybrown and makesitpermanent. by theedgeofcrashingwaves. A simplephotographtakesamemory The redneck menbobinthewateranddrink theirbeerssomewhere Fernandina Beachin Amelia Island,Florida,looksmuchlikethe We standfarenoughforwards, where webelievewillnotbehit Winner, ChesapeakeLibraryNarrativeEssayContest Anna Williams Amelia Island

24  more importantly, astartofnewbeginnings. smiles becausesheknowsthiswillbetheendofonesadchapterbut pain inthemaskedeyesofagirlstandingonedgegroup. She A wavebreaks upontheiranklesandoneboy’sbody. There ishidden memory. Isettleupononeofabrightdaywithhappypeopleonbeach. and themomentisforever immortalized. had causedme. A patientfingerpresses downonthecamera’sbutton and drenches himinasuddenattackwithsaltinesslikeallthetearshe Ethan drops downtoposeandlie infront ofthegroup. A wavecomes squints atthecamerabackedbyabrilliantlightthatislarger thanlife. to getinthephoto.HestrikesasidewaysSupermanpose.Everyone arm presses againstmyleft.Paul,David’syoungerbrother, rushes up already-placed arm.Juliecallsusallincloserandthecrook ofhisright because herhandrests onthesmallofhisbackandcrosses overher I scroll through thedigitalphotosonmyiPod,searching fora 25 Sean Matias,TheTribe ,Paper, 2016.

26  The warriorsare calledupon Draining herofallenergy A foreign entitytotheEarth Plastic puddles,stainingthesoil Amber flames roar The fire can’tbeextinguished Hands link,passionburning Poster boards linethetapebarriers Neon flashesshocktheterrain Hearts swell,tearsstream Ripping through divinity Chainsaws pierce theair Sacred spaceofthenatives This istheirland Skin oftheSioux From thesun-kissed Bronze glintsreflect Cutting through theland Sapphire free waters Earth Warriors Amber Stone

27  neighbors’ chain linkfence.Dukedidn’tevenwakeup that’s weird. He’s almost bitmylegoff.Ashewalksdownthefrozen steps hegrabsontothe over hisears.HowdidIforget Mr. Garret’s dogDuke isapsycho?He shut. Theicecoldbreeze makeshimregret hisdecisionimmediately. his smallframeashestrugglestokeeptheheavyvaultlikedoor from slamming just lethimpeethebedthisonetime.Theblusterywindpusheshardon doesn’t gotothebathroom. He’sgonna seethatI’mgone.PleaseGod even wakeherup.Hecarefully jigglesthestubbornlock.IhopeMichael sleep andgrannyalready tookhermedicine.Duke’sbarkingcouldn’t said 4to6inches.Michaelisgonnatellmeshutupand gobackto It’ssnowinghe’sgonnabelate.The weatherman should. Nope…no. himself. to beatme….sighs…Whatever…I’mdoingthis.Hestopsreason with with thatuglyorangebelt. on me.GrannygavemeandJamalawhoopingrightthere ontheporch around thecornerIwasoutofbreath. ItoldMichaelandhesnitched the tree branchesandthere wasbloodeverywhere. We ransofastback I snuckbackthere thenextday. Sowecouldmake ninja swords with All Iknowissomebodystartedcryingandthenitgotquiet.Jamal near thebushes.Iknowhe’snotlyingbecauseheard themfighting. gets crazyatnight.Popsaidthepipershavesexandsmokecrack to PopPop.Hetoldherstopgoingthrough thealleywaybecauseit to onehundred Mississippiand she wasn’tthere. light sothatIcouldseeher. IevendidlikePoptoldmeandcounted He pacesnearthebackdoor. Shewassupposedtostandunderthestreet Granny putthatstupidplasticonthewindowsIcouldn’tseeanything. Mom usuallygivesmethethumbsupwhenshe’sattrolley stop. house shewouldkillmebutIjustgottaknow. Ican’tgobacktosleep. I shouldhavewaitedforPop PoporUncleZeke. Maybe IshouldgivePopjustalittlebitlonger…yeah, yeahI His handsshakefeverishlyashetalkstohimself. If grannyfoundoutthatIwasheadedintothealleywaybehind

Winner Writing Contest,Virginia BeachCampus Clifford Williams He reaches forthedoorhandle.Grannyisgoing In MyLifetime

28  Momnevereverlistens He pullshisskullcap

down andnoticedsomethingunusual. becoming slightlynumbbuthis sensesare alert. strong...not evenalittlebit. disgust ofhimself.ThisstupidT-Shirt isn’tevenworking….I’mstill…not I beggedmomforawholeweek.Hiseyesfocustowardstheground in Hulk HoganT-Shirts sofreaking badsocouldIbejustlikeMichael. I wantedtobejustlikemybigbrother…strong. Ineededoneofthose it. Iremember now….oh… yeahthat’sright..Michaelbroke hisnose. gushed likeawaterfountain.Thatguyisstraightjerk anddeserved anybody. He beatupTyshawn really bad.Bloodwaseverywhere it began toache.Hereminisces toeasehisfearsofdeath. head awayfrom theabandonedhouseandclinches hisfistsotightknuckles don’t thinkI’mbraveenoughtosaveher. I’mnotlikeJamal.Heturnshis heart sinksintohisstomach.Ireally hopemomdidn’tgettakeninthere. I I can’tseeathingnoteventhisbrightyellowHulkHoganT-Shirt. His hopefully Freddy won’tgetme.Thelighthasquicklyfaded. slows asheinchesthrough thealleywayI’mgonnajustholdmybreath and laughed allsummerbutIswearheisbravestpersonknow. Hisstride He swore upanddownFreddy Krueger waschasinghim.MalikandI the houseandintobackyard. Jamaldidit.Hepoopedonhimself. brother Malikbethimthathecouldn’trun from thefront yard through through thebroken windowandhesitates.Iremember whenJamal’solder this placesomuchit’shauntedjustlikethatpoltergeist movie.Helooks moves awayfrom thedilapidatedhouseitisdarkenedandunsettling.Ihate through withmyeyesopenprobably becauseI’msuchaweenie.He this long.Itseemsfasterinthedaytime.Icannevermakeitallway it won’tmatteroncegrannykillsme. off andthenI’mgoingtobeinsomuchtrouble. Ohwell…sighs…Iguess never listen.ShewasrightI’msohardheaded. Mytoesare goingtofall I’m sostupid.Momtoldmetobundleupbefore schooltomorrow. I have putonmysnowboots.WhatwasIthinkingflipflops…for real? trembles from thecoldwintergust.Hetries hard tostayfocused. makes hiswayalongtheice-covered fence.Hisfeetare brightred. Hisbody It’s tooquiet. Yup… I’mgonnadiejustlikeinthosescarymovies. pane. Thehairsonhisneckraisesharply. IdokindawishDukewashere. froze todeath.Thewiltingoaktree branchesscratchagainsttheagedwindow Garret musthavetakenhiminthehouseorhefroze todeath…Ihopehe always outsideknockingovertrashcansandbarkinglikeamaniac.Mr. I betterhurryup…ohgodmy feetare really freezing now. Helooked I wishMichaelwashere. He’ssostrong and he’snotafraidof He walksslowlydownthedimlylitpathway. Thealleywayneverfelt He continuesdownthealleyway. Hisbodyis Whatthe…….yuck?Heshakes 29

Awwman…. Ishould He Are thePipersback?Hepauses.Hispulsespeedsup. Freddy Krueger getme?Hisbodybecomesrigidbuthisnervesare flighty. spots onthebleachwhitesnow. Hestoopsdowntoaknee. tangled branches.Hemovesthrough thebushesandnoticesatrailofburgundy The overgrowth cloudsthepathway, butthere isaglimmeroflightbetweenthe chicken you’re almostthere. Thewidthofthealleywaycontinuestoshrink. through thethickshrouding oftrees. Comeon…comeon,don’tactlikea I missedher. Ican’tseeanything.TheJohnsons’ porch lightisbarely visible wipes thefluidonhisshirt.Thesnowbeginstofalllikeaheavyrain. laundry day…..dummy. I’mgonna throw thatbeltrightinthetrash. here. She’sgoingtoseemywet,stickyclothes.Dangit….tomorrow is but thedarknesslimitshisvision.GrannyisgoingtofindoutthatIwas touched theliquid.It’sonbottomofmypantstoo.Hestrainshiseyes his legsomethingsonmyfoot…somethingsticky. Hereached downand scrubs are drenched asherslimframelaysfrozen inastream ofblood. notices amotionlessbulgeinthesnow. he gaspsforthecoldairtoreach hislungs.Helooksupanddownthealley no pleaseJesusdon’tletthisbemom’s. too cold.I’mnotgoingtomakeit.Iwishwasstrong likeMichael.Oh.. Please Goddon’tbe.Thesnowpilesare tooheavyforhistrembling legs.It’s He noticesasmallpinkobjectinthedistance.…..is…isthatmom’ssneaker? pushes forward. positive….think positive…thinkpositive,she’sok,Iknowsheis.He overwhelm hischildlikeface. his mindandbodywillnotcooperate. down hisfrost bittencheek.Histhoughtsare frantic.Hewantstobeahero but brave, Igottabestrong, I’mgonnaprotect mom…..Thewarmtearsroll walks closertothelight.Ohman,Ibettergohome.Nocan’t,gottabe his faithaswell.Hisinnocence hasdissipated onto hismother’s limpbodyasthepainoflosing hersplintershisinsidesand sorry mom. The windandtearshavedriedouthisthroat. Hisvoicecracksashesobs.I’m… ANYMORE. IPROMISE….promise. Theveinsonhisneckhaveswelled. MOM PLEASEDON’TDIEI’MSORRY, IWONTGOINTHE ALLEY please, somebodysheis…hurt. POP!, GRANNY!, ANYBODY HELP!…..MY MOMISHURT! Please…. He checks his entireis this?Is…thisblood?Hechecks …. wha…what… body. Did Maybe Ishouldturnaround. Mom probably justforgot towaveand MOM! No.no.….not rightnow…Icandothis…getittogether. Thetears A voiceinthedistance callstohim…Allen…ALLENWAKE UP! The ambulancesirens becomelouderbutheisoblivious. Heholds Please God,pleasedon’tletanythinghappentoher. He strugglestoreach thelifelessbody. Herwhitehospital I’malwaysthinkingtheworst,Igottabe He shakesherviolently. WAKE UP

The tearsbecomeuncontrollable Ihopemomiso.k.

POP

Safe. Breathing. Hot breath fogstheair. A walrus. Atop astone-coldbeach, before me. I see A beigescene Heading tosea. Aye asailor, Bitter sweet. A blueberry, snapping meback. A snack. rolling withtheboat. ‘tween myfingers, Small, familiar, round, Certain death. Urging megasp. Yearning.Burning. darkness engulfing. Crushing pressure, The Commute Eric Lefebvre

31  yourself. only onestereotype thatmattersandthat’stheuniqueoneyoucreate for handed toyouatbirth,anddon’thavesearch forone.There’s because apersonisnotdefinedbyrace. You don’thavetoplaythecard and asapersonIbelongtohumanity. Ibelongwitheveryotherperson Polish, white? there either.” LostandconfusedIwandered. Was Iblack, Asian, Indian, fit here,” andIwouldmoveontosomewhere elsejusttobetold“Not stereotypical behaviortofitin.I wouldhavepeopletellme,“You don’t bounced backandforthtodifferent segregated groups, tryingtomimic I sawitasamisfortunestruggled toidentifywithapeople,race.I don’t knowwhatyouare,” andleftmycard blank. At thetime,though, down oneveryoneofadifferent color.” devalue females.”Or“You’re whitesoyoudrinkStarbucksandlook food stamps.” Another “You’re Asian somispronounce yourwords and should follow. Onesays“You’re blacksoyou eatwatermelonandcollect It tookmequiteawhiletorealize thatIamallofthose. a person, Maybe Iwasfortunatewhenbornandtheyproclaimed, “We Everyone getshandedanindexcard withaspecificstereotype they There’s OnlyOneStereotypethatMatters Kasara Tattrie-Doak

32  local telephonebookforother peoplewithoursurname.Thenshehung Pittsburgh mightknowhowtofindhimand recommended Icheckthe a MarineandwasKorean War vet.Shesuggestedthatsomeonein Fayth andJeanwhosemarried namesshedidn’tknow. Hehadbeen what littlesheknew. Myfatherwasfrom Pittsburgh andhadtwosisters, her typicalstoicmanner, “Thenwemustfindyourfather.” Sheshared or weneededtwomilliondollarsfortheoperation.Quietly, shesaidin circumstances, theinsurancehadtobechanged tocatastrophic level, to drown myheart.Finally, sheanswered. Ireluctantly explainedthe telephone line,Itenselywaited,chokingbackthetearsthat threatened familiar number. Listeningtotheshrillringingonotherendof switched onthelight,pickedupphone,andquickly dialedthe contemplating theeventsofday. Eventually, Ireached over darkening room, Iglancedoutofthewindowtostreet below, news. As Isatonthesideofneatlymadebedinincreasingly days togo,Iknewthatneededcallanddeliverthelatestcrushing so tightlythatIfeltasthoughcouldn’tbreathe. frightened me,thefearoffailingthatgrippedmelikeavise,squeezing a partofourlives.ItwasthepossibilityNOTfindinghimthat me. Ihadconvincedmyselflongagothatitdidn’tmatterhewasn’t anxious, butitwasn’tthethoughtofseeinghimagainthatconcerned years sinceIlastsawhimandthere hadbeenalmostnocontact.Iwas obvious choice,butIhadnoideawhere tobegin.Ithadbeenover25 this wasnogame;thestakeswere infinitelyhigher. my nextmovewiththecareful concentrationofamasterchessplayer. But head throbbed asIwrestled withmythoughts,painstakinglyconsidering presented somatter-of-fact inthatcold,sterileofficeseemedimpossible.My the devastatingnewsthatIreceived earlierintheday. The twosolutions behind theimposingconcrete andsteelskyscrapers,Iwasstruggling with The firstsetoftestswere overandwhilethere were stilltwomore I knewthatofthetwooptions,findingpolicyholderwasmost Sitting aloneinthesparselyfurnishedhotelroom asthesunslowlysank Lorraine FaythFereday My Brother’s Keeper

33 

up. I sat there silently staring at my reflection in the window as night sometime after midnight, I received a telephone call from a man who settled over the city of steel, thinking about my brother, only a few miles wouldn’t identify himself. He instructed me to get a pen, and then he away at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. How ironic, to end proceeded to provide the manufacturer information and license plate up in the city where my absent father was born and raised. numbers for two cars registered to my father. Before I could ask for the There was no time to waste. Tom had been given six months to a model names and colors, or even thank him, the line went dead. The call year to live and had already been on the transplant list for eight months had lasted only a few short minutes but had provided another crucial when we received the devastating news about the insurance. The policy piece of the puzzle. could only be changed during open season by the policyholder, leaving Armed with the name of the town located on Virginia’s Northern six weeks to find my father. If we missed the enrollment period, there Neck Peninsula and the vehicle information, I hoped that the place was would be no choice except to raise the money because the hospital so small that I could easily find him. The next day I headed out with a refused to perform the transplant without the first million dollars. map, driving three hours along tree-lined, two-lane winding country Anger and resentment washed over me as I replayed the transplant roads, across multiple waterways to a blink-and-you-missed-it sized coordinator’s words over, and over again in my mind. How could she town. With strong determination, I started my search somewhere I put a price on my brother’s life? guessed that many of the townspeople would gather, the tiny post office. I took a deep breath, braced myself and grabbed the phone book, I parked out front, entered the brick building, stepped up to the opening it to the page that contained a list of strangers with my last customer service counter, and asked the only employee visible, the name. I took a minute to practice my speech and then dialed the first postmaster, about the area. She acknowledged that Heathsville was a number, no luck. I dialed the next one, and the one after that with the very small town, but added that the post office covered a very large same results. When I reached the sixth person listed the woman who rural community. Feeling despondent, I explained that I was trying to answered, listened patiently and then explained that she was a Fereday find my father and told her his name. She admitted that she knew him by marriage and that her husband was away. She asked me to share but was hesitant to share any information. He had never mentioned some family names in case any sounded familiar. When I mentioned my a daughter much less another son and there was the Privacy Act to father’s youngest sister’s name, she became very excited and told me consider. She didn’t want to risk losing her job by providing me with that the week before, while checking books out of the library, a librarian the crucial information I needed. Finally, in tears I explained that my named Fayth had casually remarked, “My maiden name is Fereday. We younger brother needed a lung transplant and without it, he would die. might be distantly related.” After we hung up, I called the library only to I shared that we were from a previous train wreck of a marriage and find that Fayth was not at work. I left a message, and later that evening that the divorce had been so contentious there was minimal contact. I the aunt I had been named for but had never met returned my call. made it clear that I wasn’t there as a loving daughter seeking to reunite Unfortunately, it didn’t lead to my father because sadly they, too, had with a long-lost father. I was there for only one reason, and that was to been estranged for many, many years. try to save my brother’s life. I pulled myself together, wiped away my After Tom and I returned to Virginia, I started sharing my tears, calmly looked her in the eyes and said, “You are the only obstacle father’s personal information with anyone who might have access to keeping me from finding my father and obtaining the signature needed government databases, each time explaining the grave situation, praying to increase the medical coverage for my brother’s life-saving operation.” that someone would be willing to provide the critical information I Finally, she relented and although she wouldn’t give me my father’s needed to find him. Several weeks later, while opening my brother’s actual address, I was elated to receive directions to his subdivision. As I medical bills, I found a statement for my father’s wife sent to us in error. turned to leave she swore me to secrecy, asking that I not tell my father, The doctor was local, so there was a good chance he lived within driving she helped me. distance. I gave the information to my mother who desperately tried Once in the neighborhood, I began the tedious journey of looking to confirm my father’s address with the doctor’s office but was only for my father’s vehicles. Each time I found the right make of car, the given the zip code. Thankfully, that was enough information to identify license plates didn’t match. Without the model or color of the cars, it the name of the small Virginia town where he lived. A few days later, was practically hopeless. Finally, completely frustrated, I stopped the

34 35 only person I could find, an elderly man on a riding lawn mower and Tom died in November of 1999, a month before his 37th birthday. In desperately asked if he knew my father. To my disbelief, he did, and the 17 years since he passed away I remain grateful to him for all that he he gave me directions to my father’s street, but he didn’t know, which taught me and greatly humbled by his strength, courage, compassion, house was his. As it turned out, the subdivision was much larger than and love of life. I still miss him every day. I imagined. I immediately drove to the picturesque cul-de-sac with five homes overlooking the Potomac River. Since it was a weekday and early Epilogue: This event occurred before cell phones and the Internet. afternoon, most of the driveways were empty. However, one house Through the help of many people and fate, I located my father in less couldn’t be seen from the road. I boldly drove into that driveway, and as than four weeks. Years later, I discovered that my aunt and half-brother I turned the corner, I saw parked beneath a large oak tree a silver pick- both lied about my father’s whereabouts at his request. It was unsettling up truck with a Marine Corps sticker and a license plate that matched to learn that my brother’s transplant almost didn’t happen because of the paper clutched tightly in my hand. Because the house was extremely my father’s bitterness towards my mother. secluded, I felt like an intruder. Nervously I walked to the front door, an imaginary newspaper headline running through my mind...Father Accidently Kills Daughter Who Was Trying to Save Brother’s Life. I knocked, no answer. In despair and having no other ideas, I drove back to the street and waited, hoping that someone would eventually return home. Finally, hours later a truck appeared in the driveway. I frantically jumped out of my car and flagged the truck down. Peering through the driver-side open window, I immediately knew that the person was far too young to be my father. As my heart pounded wildly, I asked the driver if his name was Keith and when he nodded, I said, “I am looking for your, mine, our...our father, I am your half-sister...he did mention that you had a half-sister, right?” My abrupt appearance was initially a shock to my half-brother, after he collected himself, he told me his father was out of the country hunting and couldn’t be reached. I quickly told him about Tom and why I urgently needed to find “our” father. I begged him to take my contact information and pass it on as soon as possible. Then I politely said, “I know that you don’t know me and certainly don’t owe me anything, but if for whatever reason our father isn’t willing to help, will you please at least let me know that he said no, so that I can attempt to raise the $2,000,000 needed for Tom’s transplant.” He agreed, but I had my doubts. A few days later my father called and in February 1992, three months after the insurance was changed, my brother received a successful double lung transplant. Tom went on to live an additional seven years and managed to pack a lifetime of accomplishments into those precious years. He fell in love and married one of his nurses and became a step- father, step-grandfather, and an uncle to my sons. In addition, he went skydiving and participated in two transplant Olympics, inspiring many other people with cystic fibrosis to opt for a double lung transplant when all their other options were exhausted.

36 37 Anna Sobol,A Lake’s Morning,DigitalPhotograph,2016.

38  of yourfright in thethrill Come todelight the overbearingshadows Come toknow of decrepit unfamiliarity crawling from cracks and imaginedenemies terrifying tyranny Claws ofterrible, for she that seemedtoreach were asskeletalhands Limbs oftrees she chosethisdreaded path In foolishness&haste caused acrawlinginherskin whose maleficentmotions from tattered demonwings was assumedtogenerate and everygustofwind (as shecouldn’tseeathing) She mayaswell’vebeenblind grasping herthroat seizing herbreath of theunknown– & chokinghand the suddenchilled Every gustofwind: their fear-inducing games Shadows played with herheartbeat Her feetcouldhardly keepup Shadows ofFear Joanne Teague

39  captivates theirattention.Embedded inhersulliedattemptsatgifting She travelstovisitthemregularly, showersthemwithpresents and two youngestkidssheraised nowhavechildren thatknowtheir“GG.” irresponsible choices shemadethatputherinthissituation. resented, butherself,darkenedwithguiltfrom thepastdecisionsand with bubblingresentment. SheknewitwasnottheDays thatshe how magnificentlytheywouldhandlethefeataheadof them,engrossed the Dayscouldprovide thatshewouldnever beableto.Sheenvisioned that itwasgoingtohave.Time andtimeagainshehadrehearsed thelife time shewouldseetheexquisitechild,butcouldnot fathomthelife corners oftheroom. Shelliknewthatthiswasnotgoingtobethelast in theirarms,thebabytheyalwayswanted. Ambivalence stormedthe the distance.Nothingelsemattered exceptthepulchritudinousfigure The monthsofhassle—judges,juries,witnesses,paperwork—fadedinto that accompaniedthefemalequivered withjoy. Thedeedwasfulfilled. standing intheroom, visiblyfullofcomplexemotions.Thegrizzlyman dramatic acthavingjustoccurred, handed thetreasure to the couple her heartpleadedwithmind. experienced whenshepeered at thealien-likecreature consumedher— happen, beyondashadowofdoubt;however, theenchantmentshe and love.Sheknewwhatwasgoingtohappen,needed loathed thevoice;herbodyfilledwithmixedemotionsof resentment beautiful!” thevoiceofelationandbenevolenceexclaimed.Shelli elation revealed theirweaponsofchoice.“Beautiful,Shelli,absolutely the firstbreath filledthe nostrils ofthedelivered creation. Lamentand insatiable, shrillingcrybroke thesilenceinairasexclamationof morgue-like room whileelatedtearspierced theveilofremorse. An was already toxicandfragile.Exasperatedsighsswallowedthecold scissors didnothavetoworkhard, forthenutrientrichbloodline Before andafterthis,Shelli,my birthmother, hadotherchildren. Her The iridescentmanenvelopedinthescrubs, coatedinremains ofthe February 5,1992, 2:24a.m.:mother-daughter lifelinesevered. The Second Chance Marjorie Day

40  second chance. would havebeenlike?”Theanswerinmyeverybreath issimple:a home?” or“Doyouhateher?”everwonder whatyourlife with questions:“Whydidn’tshewantyou?”or“Didyou liveinafoster often getthewrong ideawhenIsayamadopted.Theybombard me else’s blood,butthere isnodoubtinmymindthatIamtheirs.People amount oftimethatgoesintoparenting achild,especiallysomebody of addictionanddetoxifiedbylove.Noteveryonecan understand the the insurmountableevidencethatIwaschosen—plucked from theruins everything thatIam.Myprospect inlifeisfullofgratitude, fostered by and defeat.To knowIamtheirmiracle,ameanstoanend,frames be” miracles,endlesslypursuingchildren, wrackedwithself-doubt raised inalifefullofuncertainty. Theyendured allthemedical“could- the sufferingtheysavedmefrom thatIwouldhaveexperiencedbeing could everunderstandtheabandonment,emotionalturmoil,and empower mysoulwiththeirenduringchoicesandsacrifices.Noone saviors—who mayneverperfectthescriptoflife,butundeniably better. my life,toroll thediceuntildottednumbersare invisible,tobe mine. Becauseofher, Ifeelcompelled,betteryetforced tosubstantiate children. TheunconscionableactionsinShelli’slifeinevitablyconstitute the lifesheensuedonstreets, andprocured theabandonmentofher characterized byherdrug use,whichessentiallyforfeitedherfreedom, is not.Iamendlesslyreminded ofthecatastrophic lapse ofjudgment throughout herlifeatthistimemotivatemetobecomeeverythingshe perfectly imperfecthandsofanother. Shelli’scountenanceandactions molded byherunwavering,unselfishdecisiontoplacemylifeintothe act wouldeternallyhaveontheDays’life,aswellmine.Iamfor now andagain. leading uptomybirth,butstillslipsandfallsbackintoheroldways wrapped inchains,shehasovercome thestruggles thatplaguedher her actionsarethat knowing rooted inregret.perseverance Embodied by family events,Ihurtforherandtheremorse shecarriesheavy-hearted, by guilt,andsheltered byunquenchablelaughter. EverytimeIseeherat courses through theunpleasantremnants ofpastmemories,shattered stuffed animalsandcoloringridiculouspictures isdisappointmentthat Aside from nature, Iameternallyindebtedtomyparents—my Never couldshe,however, comprehend theeffecthermagnanimous 41 ever fear andletthemexchangea hug.Thesmilesontheirfacesandtheway this beautifulmomentofempathy andkindness.Ichosetoovercome my in bumpsahugorwasIgoing toletmyfearconsumemeandtakeaway overcome myfear ofgermsandletmydaughtergivethismancovered fear hadcometofruition. Ihadtoquicklydecidewhetherwasgoing to hugher. The manlookedatmewithconcerninhiseyesandasked ifitwasok chubby littlearmsoutinagesture thatshewantedtohugtheman. to noticethathisappearancewasanydifferent thanours.Shestuckher didn’t appeartobeinanyphysicalpain.Mydaughter evenseem sizes tocovermostofhisbody. Theyweren’t openwounds,andhe gentleman hadavisibleskincondition,whichcausedbumps ofvarious beautiful childIhadandthatshethemostinfectious smile.The and ofmediumbuildapproached us.Hebegantotellmewhata went onforseveralminutesuntilfinallyagentlemaninhismid-forties daughter gigglingandsmilingatsomeone in thedistance.Thisexchange and peoplewatches. no matterhowexcitingItrytomakeitsound.Sheusuallyjustsitsback aisle. Mydaughterdoesnotshare mypassionforthriftstore shopping start mytreasure huntbyperusing downeachandeverydenselypacked blue eyesandlongblondhairintheshoppingcart.Iwasnowready to discarded belongings.Iputmythree-year-old daughterwithherbright could find.Theairwasheavywiththemustysmellofsomeoneelse’s I walkedintoaGoodwillthriftstore toseewhatkindoftreasure I brought achildintothisworld. an overwhelmingfearofgerms,whichwasonlyheightenedwhenI someone approached mydaughterandmeinapublicplace.Ihave time motherthisisthethoughtthatcrossed mymindeverytime It seemedliketheworldhadcometoascreeching haltand myworst We hadalready walkeddownseveralaisleswhenInoticedmy A fewyearsagoonabeautifulsunnymorninginLakeCity, Florida, Please don’ttouchmychild!ConsideringthefactthatIamafirst Through theEyesofaChild Porsha Vaughan

42 

be alifesaver. through somesortofstruggle, andakindword orsimpleembracecould been corrupted bywhatsocietyconsidersnormal.Everyoneis going through theeyesofachild.Theyare full ofsuchinnocenceandhaven’t beamed withpride.Irealized that maybemore ofusshouldlookatlife loved kids.Ismiledandtoldhershewasverywelcome,allwhile dayandthathejust that ourgesture ofkindness madeherbrother’s speaking withandallowingmydaughtertohugherbrother. Shesaid with grey hairandkindeyesapproached me.Shethankedmefor throughout hislife. been stared at,madefunof,andpossiblyshunnedatonetimeoranother we liveincanbesocruel andunkindattimes.I’msure thismanhad the man’sfacelitupletmeknowthatIdidrightthing.Thisworld Some timelateraswewere gettingready toleavethestore alady 43 stood inLimbo,staringatthesky, waitingforthesun,hopelessly. then everythinglostitsglimmer. Apathy andnegativityruled him.He world hadbeenbrightandshinylikethesunforfirst decade,but for twenty-twogodforsakenyearsanditfeltliketwohundred. The humanity, inlove,orhisownhappiness.Hehadbeenonthisearth Hehadnofaith;in religion, in terminally illtwicewilldotoaperson. That’s whatbeing and hissoulfeltolderthanthedirtundershoes. on hisleftforearm, buthehadn’tmadeitbacktohisartistTetanus yet. tickling hiswrist.Heonlyhadonewing.planstoget ademonwing fanned across theinsideofhisrightforearm, thetipsoffeathers carved thatoutofhisskinwhentheinkwasstillfresh. Theangelwing left sideofhischest;there hadbeenwritinginsidethetool,buthe There wasascytheonthe waded alongtheoutsideofhisrightshin. gothic fontwasscratchedacross hisshoulder blades.Thekoifish when hewore ashort-sleeveshirt andjeans.FEARLESSin American scruffy andfull. in height,buthisconstantshrug madehimlookshorter. Hisbeard was sometimes whenhewasbeingsnarkyorflirtatious.He reached sixfeet and gold.Theblondstreak through hishairfelldownbetweeneyes human thanthat. and angular, notlikethepretty boysfrom Hollywood;helookedmore close enoughtoseethemwere immenselylucky. Hisjawwaswide lips, wrinklesmetthecornersofhiseyesandchoicefewwhogot Ontherare occasionssmilesdidgracehis knowledge, andsuffering. He feltold.Hismindwasyoungandhiswitsharp, buthisbody Four tattooswere etchedintohisskin,onlyoneofwhichwasseen Curls were somethinghehadinexcess,framinghisfaceblack There were galaxiesinhismahoganyeyesechoingwithexperience, Emily Wood Matthew

44  be afewdays.By6a.m.Iwas wakingupmyhusband.Thecontractions sleep, knowingthatIhadjust beentothehospitalandtheysaiditwould celebrate thatwewere almost at thefinishline. that itwasalmosttime.We pickedupDylanandwentout todinner still beacoupleofdays.We leftthehospitaldisappointedbutoptimistic contractions, Iwasonly2centimetersdilatedandthatit wouldprobably my husbandandIarrivedwastoldthatalthough having I dropped Dylanofftoafriendandheadedthehospital.When hoping togetthingsstarted. they arrivedandnothinghappened.Iwalkedthemallevery weekend, and planningtheirvacationtimearound me.Ifeltterribleeverytime into falselabor2weeksbefore myduedate.Myparents keptvisiting great andjustknewthatIhadeverythingundercontrol. Ikeptgoing approached, myexcitementgrew. Thispregnancy wassupereasy. Ifelt I waslookingforward tohavingfamilyaround me. As myduedate attendance. world. IwasalsolivinginIcelandatthetimewithonlymyhusband early. Mywaterhadbroken andIspent12hoursbringinghimintothe a great omenofwhatwastocome.Myfirstchild,Dylan,born me thatbabiesrarely arrive ontheirduedate,butIstillthoughtitwas Daythatyear. Ithoughtthatwasjustperfect.Everyonetold Mother’s going wrong nevercrossed mymind. taking care oftwokidsratherthanjustone,butthethoughtanything still workedpart-timeandmanagedthehouse.Ihadbeenworriedabout round. Ihadplannedthispregnancy. Ididn’tgaintoomuchweight. this? Iwasn’tthefirsttimeMomanymore. Thiswasmysecondgo- How didIgofrom havingsuchawonderfulpregnancy andlaborto At 5a.m.Iwokeupwithastrong contraction.I tried togoback The daybefore myduedateIjustknewthatwasinlabor, and This timewasgoingtobedifferent. We were livingstatesideand Ethan wastoarriveonMay8,2005.Hisbirthdatebe As Iwasbeingrushed intotheoperatingroom, mymindwasracing.

Mary Swallow The Knot

45  were intense and only 9 minutes apart. We arrived at the hospital by 8:30 Knock her out NOW!” They quickly strapped my arms and legs down to a.m. and I was escorted to a room and directed to change into a gown. I the table, all while I was bucking up off the table with contractions that was dilated to 5 centimeters already and was starting to get excited and screamed through my body. The gas mask was placed over my nose and anxious at the same time. By 10 a.m. I was at 7 centimeters and getting a mouth, and I remember panicking and wanting to just run away. Then spinal block instead of an epidural because I was progressing so rapidly. the nothingness took over. My labor was going perfectly. I kept comparing this labor to my I felt a burning, stinging pain as I slowly woke up. I was groggy and last one. The contractions weren’t even that bad this time. I was talking couldn’t remember what happened to me at first. All I knew was that and joking around with my husband and the nurses. Even the spinal I felt like I had gotten run over by a train and cut in half. As I slowly didn’t hurt that much. I really liked that I could still feel my legs. With realized where I was and what had happened, I searched the room for an epidural I had gotten the feeling of being paralyzed from the waist my husband. He was in the corner chair holding our baby boy. Ethan down, but was still asked to push. It was the weirdest sensation of had triumphantly arrived into the world at 11:50 a.m. on Mother’s Day pushing with all my might and not feeling anything happening. 2005. He was our little miracle baby. The Colonel came in to explain As I lay there bracing myself mentally to get ready to start pushing, what had gone wrong with my labor. The umbilical cord had been I heard the fetal alarms going off. Nurses started rushing into the room wrapped around Ethan’s neck twice and there was a knot in the cord. to let me know that the baby was having irregular heartbeats during Every time I had a contraction and started pushing it would tighten and my contractions. The doctor was going to be called in to check me over. cut off his oxygen supply. The Colonel had this same thing happen to It was 10:45 and I had only been at the hospital for 2 hours. Everything another laboring woman two months ago, and she had not been as lucky was happening so fast that I was having a hard time keeping up. My as we had been. I was very thankful that he had known what was going doctor was introduced to me, and he was an old salty Army colonel on and that the C-section had been done so quickly. who I liked immediately. He saw that I was fully dilated now but the That day happened over 10 years ago and I am still in awe of how baby hadn’t made his way into the birth canal. He wanted me to start lucky I was. I am reminded that although I still like to plan and have pushing right away because the sooner the baby was out the better. everything go smoothly, I can adapt to the situation. Sometimes I have This was when panic ensued. While pushing we would lose the baby’s to rely on the expertise of the people surrounding me and hope that heartbeat. They rushed to get me up on all fours to stimulate oxygen to everything works out in the end. Did this experience scare me away the baby. Seconds passed which felt like hours. It felt surreal in the room. from childbirth? No way! I am the happy mother of three wonderful Everyone went quiet while we all waited to hear the beep beep of the boys. There will always be scary things in the world. It’s how you deal fetal monitor. I could hear my labored breathing as I waited, straining with them that matters. I know now that I will always just grit my teeth to not have another contraction. We finally heard the beeping and all and push through them. sighed with relief. An emergency C-section was now a must. I was rushed through paperwork while the operating room was being prepped. I was given a drug to stop my contractions and my husband was given scrubs to put on. It was 11:15 and I kissed my husband goodbye as I was rushed out of the room. The contractions had not stopped, and I was freaking out every time the baby’s heartbeat was lost. We got into the operating room and they tried to give me an epidural since the spinal wasn’t enough for surgery. The contractions were so intense that my whole abdomen felt like it was in a vise. The nurse wanted me to bend over and hold still for the needle to go into my spine. After 10 minutes of trying, with me in agony, tears and snot dripping down my face, the Colonel rushed in dressed in his green scrubs and yelled, “What the hell are you doing?

46 47 Rebecca Ferguson, Self-portrait,Graphite,2016

48  self-harming anddidsofor about elevenmonths.Iwasproud ofmy and tostartlookingintocolleges thatImaywanttoattend.stopped I actuallysawmyselfhaving afuture, ImadeplanstotaketheSAT make goodgradesinmyclasses. Iwassociableandmadenewfriends. making progress. year wounddown,Istartedtofeelabitbetterandfelt likeIwas time, thiswastheworstoffIhaveeverbeen.Luckily, once sophomore with schoolandmylifeathome;everyonefoughtallthe time. At the even prayedthatIwouldn’twakeupthenextday. Ifeltoverwhelmed my mindwouldbeoffofhowIfelt.sobbedatnight, and sometimes with itproperly. Iself-harmedforabit;anduseddrugs togethighso but shesaiditwasjusthormonesandbrushed itoff. alone tosleep.Itriedtellmymomaboutwhatwasgoingthrough didn’t wanttoeat.Italkanyone.justwantedbeleft well. Inoticedwouldwakeupandjustfeelsad,forreally noreason. I about herdadpassingaway;andshewentthrough adepressed phaseas passed awayalittleoveryearago.Myyoungercousinwasstillupset My uncle,whoIwasveryclosewithandconsidered himlikeafather, noticed symptomstowards theendof myfreshman yearofhighschool. of 2016;butIknowhavedealtwithitwaylongerthanthat.first another person,force, orillness; I foughtwithmyself. and wellbeing.Iamoneofthesepeopletoo.Insteadfightingwith people wouldbeconsidered “survivors”sincetheyfoughtfortheirlives a tremendous miraclehappens;andtheymakeafullrecovery. These People whohavebecausedeathlyillandare notexpectedtolive,but the destruction oftheplacestheylovedandpeoplecare about. held captiveforyears.Peoplewhohavelivedthrough warsthatcause theirs abitmore challenging.There are peoplewhoare kidnappedand Junior yearIdefinitelyfeltlikewasbetter. Iwasmotivatedto I wasofficiallydiagnosedwithMajorDepressive Disorder inMarch There are somanybattlestobefoughtinourlives;othersjusthave I knewwasn’tgettinganybetterbuthadnoideahow tocope I amaSurvivor Sarah White

49  progress with my mood and temperament. It felt like everything was finally doesn’t work as well and I feel down, but I am making progress. I am going to be okay. I felt like I was on top of the world, and nothing nor getting better. Since my diagnosis, I was able to graduate from high anyone could stop me. That was until about December of my senior year. school with honors, I was able to become licensed a certified nurse It was the holiday time, and I was unusually down. I stopped eating aide, I was able to meet a wonderful man who I care very deeply for, again and started to sleep more. I really kept to myself; occasionally and I was able to discover my passion in life to become a nurse and to having short conversations with one of my only four friends. spread awareness about mental illness. If you decide to skip through Overthinking plagued every crevice of my brain. I tried so hard to hide my narrative about my struggle with depression, just take the time out how I was feeling on the inside. I had assumed I was down because I of your day to read this statement: It does get better, and the first step to missed my uncle and I thought about how much it sucked spending getting better is getting help. You are a survivor, too. yet another Christmas without him. But Christmas had passed, and I still felt the same. I relapsed and self-harmed again in January, just two weeks shy of being one year without self-harm. I hated myself. I felt ashamed. I felt like a failure to my family and to my friends. I seriously started to think about ending it all. I reached rock bottom in the beginning of March 2016. I felt alone, useless, and unwanted, so I made plans to end my life. I remember being very emotional and mentioning the plan to my closest friend via text message. She was upset with me, which caused me to become very aggressive towards her and eventually stop texting her at all. She kept the messages I had sent to her phone and showed the guidance counselor, who in turn called my mom and told her about what I was planning. My mom was beyond angry; she thought I was being dramatic, and selfish; and until recently, she thought I was faking this whole time for attention. I was hurt that she didn’t believe me, that she wasn’t supporting her only daughter who needed her more than anything. She called our family doctor and set up an appointment to evaluate my mental status as soon as possible. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this day changed my life. I was eighteen and about to graduate high school; one would think that would be enough to make me at least content with my life situation. But I wasn’t, and in all honesty I did feel bad about it. I hated the way I felt and I knew I shouldn’t have felt that way. After I was diagnosed, I felt embarrassed since there is a huge stigma with depression, but after months of counseling and prescribed medications; I realize now that there is no shame in having a mental illness, just like there is no shame in having cancer or diabetes. I want to share my story, not for sympathy, but as a sign for someone going through what I did. If you feel like something is wrong, get help. This is your sign that everything will be okay in the end. You are strong; battling your mind is not the easiest thing to do for anyone. I won’t lie; it still does get hard sometimes. I still have days where my medication

50 51 another cyclepassed.Istandhere, waiting,foritalltohappenagain. wind rustles myhairandarms;alight,warmbreeze. It’sthat time again, the creatures inmyarmsscamper around, feeding theiryoung.The explode ingreen. Thechildren are growing againinmanycolorsand waiting. frozen earth.It’snottimetowakeandflourish,soIstand,asleep nothing asmycore isfrozen solid,andallIhearisthedullcrunch of my feet,butIbarely notice.Isleeptheentire coldseasonaway. Ifeel falls outandIknowitistimetosleep;standhere, waiting. the colderseasons,althoughtheywouldhavefallenanyway. Myhair my armstakeeggsfrom meandhidethem,ortakethemforfood needs tosurviveintheheat;Istandhere, waiting. shelter in.Myfeetspread out,searching forthenourishmentmybody is cool.Mycanopycreates plentyofshade,whichmanycreatures seek glides across thesky;Istandhere, waiting. by myfeetastheyoungchildren bloomaround me. A peacefulradiance young withwhattheyfind. A fallofmynourishmentisbeingtakenin It istimetowakeagain;Istretch myarmswide,lettinghair The freezing airmakessheetsofnourishmentontheground above The airiscoolagain;mybodyshakesinthewind.creatures in The heatfrom theharshradiancesimmersatmyhair, butmybody I swayinthelightbreeze asthecreatures inmylimbsfeedtheir Standing; Waiting Rhiannon Morris

52  Those are maybe,maybenot. Maybe evenlateornot. I maycryornot, While cuttingthecord, I maypassoutornot, I don’tknowhowI’mgoingtoreact toyou. Zariyah, mybabytocome! You willforever bemine. That I’mnotthinkingaboutyou, Not asecondgoesby, Elementary tocollege,chasingknowledge. Education iskey. We bothlove schoolandelectronics, My shadowlivedwithme, Only difference isIgotcustody. Another motherthatdidn’tmakeit Can’t believeIgotanotherone. My excitingballoffun, Aaron, myonlybegottenson, You willforever bemine. That I’mnotthinkingaboutyou, Not asecondgoesby, I’m alwaysmissingyou. When younotaround, Your smileshowedmeitwouldbealright. I wouldholdyou, I stillremember whenIhadasleepless night, For herbutforyou. But Istayedaround, Your motherandIdidn’tworkout, You were myfirstchild. Mikayah, before Ihadmyownkids, My ChildrenPoem Walter Pearce

53 

You willforever bemine. That I’mnotthinkingaboutyou, Not asecondgoesby, Then Iwillbeateaseandfine. For rightnowjustmakeithere, That’s laterdowntheline, It foryourowngood. We’re beinghard onyou, Even attimewhenyouthink, Just knowI’mgood. Aaron andMikayahwillbethere. So wewillalwaysbethere, Mommy andDaddyare onlyhuman, Protect, Defend. Guide, Teach, Hold, Love, What’s guaranteedforyoufrom us: 54 into view a few short seconds later. There was love put intothatbuilding road turnedtogravelandwepassedthehuntclub.Thered cabincame continued downtheroad etchedclearlyintohis memory. cabin togetthefour-wheeler anditstrailerfrom his garage. Granddaddy winding road through thehills.We madeaquickstopatmyUncleJim’s the window. We turnedontothelowgrounds anddrove downthesmall, all thewayandprobably lookedlikeadogwithmyheadstickingout the rear soIcouldsitnexttoaworkingwindow. Irolled thatsuckerdown long. Granddaddycameoutanddadvoicedthathewas going toridein that point,Iwasjusttryingnottothrow upfrom being inthetruck forso with mewhileIateacouplebiscuitsthatmomhadpacked forme. At Granddaddy Joewentintothestore topickupafewitemsanddadstayed nauseated Igot.We finallystoppedataLowe’sontheedgeofEmporia. the mistcurledoutontoroads from the fieldsaround usandthemore empty andscreaming atmeforfood. Thefartherwestwedrove, themore driving.Itdidn’thelpthatmystomachwascompletely grandfather’s I stared outthesmallbackwindow andtriednottobesickwithmy and leftthecomfortofoursbehind. Greenbrier, pickup where we transferred ourthingstomygrandfather’s the scentofdieselsomewhere around 4:30inthemorning.Daddrove to considered rising.We leftwiththeloudrev of dad’struck engineand Mom cameintomybedroom towakemefarbefore thesunhadeven of me. into bedaround midnight,Iknewwasgoingtohavealongdayahead time thatwasthethingalmostforgotten. WhenIfinallycrawled choruses oflaughterfrom theadults.Everyonewashavingsuchagreat Taylor familyoverforadinnerparty. Itwasatimeofmerrimentsand likeness ofawarm,fuzzyphotograph.Thenightbefore, wehadthe When Isawtheoldcountry store, Iknewwasalmosthome.The The lightstartedtopeekthrough thetrees whenwehitSuffolk. My fatherhadplannedforacuriouskindoffather-daughter trip. Some ofthebestmemoriesfrom mychildhoodhavetakenonthe Anna Williams Emporia

55 

but time had taken a hold of it. The local idiots had shot the sides of the ditch in the four-wheeler and I nearly slid off of the metal rack I was house my great grandfather had raised from the ground. The windows clinging to. He hopped off unscathed on the other side. I knew I didn’t were shattered and the door had been busted open. The only thing have the same luck. There was a gaping hole torn in my pants and I people hadn’t stolen was the kitchen sink. I walked around and let the was so glad for the long t-shirt I was wearing. At the very end of our weight of things sink in. I felt the happy memories and the heaviness of work trip, the sky clouded over and a light drizzle fell from overhead. It abandonment seeping out of the old wood beams. We wired the door was perfect timing, right after when we’d finished and it would help to shut and continued on. germinate all that we’d just planted. Granddaddy backed the four-wheeler off the trailer and hooked We drove home as the sun shone dazzling colors behind us on the the trailer to it. It was finally my time to drive it. Granddaddy walked highway, calling us back to the place we all knew and loved. I felt at over to the hunt club and got his tractor and dad got into the truck. We peace for one of the few times in my life. I got to call this place my drove in our little caravan down a dusty trail to the fields. The sky was a home, a place where I grew up and learned who I was. Hard work was brilliant blue and the sun beamed down brightly. The autumn wind that something special out among the leafy green branches. There was no flew by me was cool and made me feel so free in that moment. greater privilege to me than to spend a day or weekend in Emporia. We turned onto the first field and I had absolutely no clue what we were to be doing. Dad popped down the tailgate of the pickup and slid big bags to the edge. I got the picture quickly though. We were to be planting Austrian peas, clover, and other low growing plants for the deer. Dad started setting up the four-wheeler to spread seed and Granddaddy Joe lowered the tractor tiller’s old blades to the ground. I jumped eagerly on the back of the four-wheeler to take care of the spreader. Granddaddy had attached the spreader to the frame on the rear of the four-wheeler with the exposed bolts sticking up. As I sat on that frame, I knew those bolts were going to have it in for me eventually. After seeding a couple of the fields that weren’t going to be rented out for farming, dad pulled the little Hibachi grill out of the truck. It hadn’t occurred to me but I didn’t pack food. I assumed we were going out to one of the little diners in town. Then he slid forward a small cooler and pulled out sausages and buns. My mouth watered in hunger. Dad started the little grill on the uneven dirt and put me in charge of the food. After a few minutes, I knew I needed to rotate the links or they wouldn’t cook properly. The harsh slant I was working with scared me to roll them over. I called dad over for his opinion. He took the thin stick I was using to move them around with and accidently rolled a sausage right off onto the dirt. We both laughed and he put some sticks vertically through the edges of the grill slats so they could no longer roll off. Before walking off, he sneakily put the sausage back on the grill and said that he’d eat it if no one else would. The meal was amazing, probably due to the fact that we were all so hungry. Afterwards, we continued going to the fields that were fallow and sowed seed for a hopefully bountiful rut season. It was in the final field where my dreaded prediction came true. Dad went through a shallow

56 57 Kelsy Harris,Untitled2,DigitalPhotograph,2016.

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But itwillhelpyoubuildsomethingnew. It’s unfortunateIleaveyouwiththeaftermath Not onpurpose,Iassure you I endupcrushing everythinginmypath I justwanttobringsomethingnew I don’tknowwhyyouare sosad I justwanttoplaywithyou I amnotangryormad As mytempestcomescallinghello How theyrun around torally All thosehumansbelow I lookouttothevalley Rhiannon Morris The Storm The Storm

59  My lipsquivered tobeatmydartingeyes.Theyfollowedthe passing long stringoftraincarspass. Theytraversedthehillfrom which Ifell. around andlookedupthehill.Disbeliefheldmestill.Iwas watching a timid breath hadbeen knockedfrom me.Scramblingtomyfeet,Iturned cold, slickrush ofalightlysnow-dustedhillside.Ihitthebottom.My the placewhere Ihadmysteriouslyawoken.landedharshlyon the my lungs,breath retreated. A piercing lightscreamed atmyeyes. a sudden,yetfamiliarwaveoffrightthrough mychest.Backdowninto dwelled onthecooldampness. was asmallpeace.Forbarely asecond,creeping second,myawareness my face.Themistfloatedontheairandcooledpervadingaches.It nearly obfuscatedthetrees entirely. Suchheavyfog,itleftchilleddewon uncooperative eyelids,Idimlymadeoutadistanttree line.Thickfog a bedofjaggedgravel. cut ofcountlesscold,damp,stonyedgestoldmethatIwasresting upon lightly swungtoandfro. Ishiftedmyweightbackontohands.The unsurely atopmyneck,asthoughtethered byrope. Itdrooped and fact, stillliving. nostrils whichpainfullydelivered theambivalentnewsthatIwas,in was theburn–caustic,almostsandyinvadingmythroat and and struggled; head achingwithatraumacurrently eludingme.But it icy, theystungwildlyfrom fresh scrapesandcuts.Myeyelidsfluttered me, intopain.Mypulsethrobbed withinmytrembling hands.Bare, and An instinctualpanicliftedmeontomyleftkneeandflung mefrom You needtomove…No,really……… move! The momentthenshattered. An utterlyshockingblaringofahornsent Vision slowlysurfaced.Through thecracksformedbymyweary, A dizzy, drowsy senseinundatedmybeing;headfloundering It wasthesicklycurdling ofmy stomach thathadfirst rudely awoken Joanne Teague Stygian Trails Prologue:

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darted fortheshadowedtree line.. haste thatIcouldn’tbesure ifmyfeetwere eventouchingtheground, I wings andbidmeflee! Across the frosty fieldbehindme,withsuch had comeintosight.Myfeetactedbefore mymindcould.Theygrew revealed somethinghorridtomy eyes:apackofhungryhounds. my attention.Inthemistyair, aglowwithlunarshine,voracioustumult from verity. There wasmovementbehindandaround him,drawing the veiledstarsinskythatrolling walloftraincarskepthisgrasp volcanic magma.Hiscruel stare tookmyheartintoitsgrasp.Ithanked pitch-dark figure ofaman.Hiseyeswere assmolderingorbsof ashen passing wheels,illuminatedbythesoftglowofaplumpmoon,was reveal thetruth ofmycurrent situation. cars andscannedmydread thoughtsforphantommemoriesthatmay

I lookedtomyright,andforfeitedallrelief; thecabooseoftrain A terriblehowlthen,Ithink,pierced mysoul.There, through the 61 have 20poundsofsquirrel huntingfuryatmyside. movie. Any concerns of anuntimelydeathare easedknowingthatI causes atunnelofwhiteon the path.Itlookslikecoverofahorror heavy withraindrapeacross theorange leafcovered trail.The fog backyard. Sheistheperfectcompanion totakeonaweekendadventure. finding thebottomofherbowlatdinnerorchasingasquirrel outofthe lunch. Sheisasmallandtimiddog.Hermostaggressive momentsare never complainsaboutgoinganextramile,orpushing further before jumping orsleeping.Sheisalwaysexcitedforanewadventure and woods—just meandmydog. and coolairhadotherplans.We beginourhike—three daysinthe developed alongtheway. We hopedforasunrisetostart,but themisty dim orangesunstruggles tofightthrough thethicklayeroffogthat are theonlywarningsoftheirpresence. Bynowitis7a.m.andthe marks thetrailhead. A rusted yellowsignandabumpintheroad Shenandoah Valley. A smallgrasspatchnexttosomerailroad tracks their highbeams? eyes likethelightofathousandsuns—whycan’tpeoplelearntoturnoff headlights ofthefewcourageousmorningroad warriorsshineinmy barely acarinsightonthenormallytraffic-plaguedI64.Theoccasional the overcast sky. Themorningdewdrapesthewindshield.There is me tocompletethisjourney. Thefaintlightofthemoonilluminates but theweeksofanticipationandmugfullcoffeeare motivating front door. Ihookherupandweheadouttothecar. Mysleepissacred, her leashfrom thehallclosetwhile sheslowlymakesherwaytothe this isonlyadrill,butsoonrealizes thatourdayisbeginning.Igrab squinting asIturnonthebedroom lightstogetready. Sheishopingthat old FoxTerrier— iscurledupatthefootofbed.Hereyesheavy, disrupts mydream desperatefor aconclusion.Lilliana—thethree year Hiking through theforest issurreal insuch densefog.Thetrees Liliana isneverupset.Shehappytobewalking,running, Our journeybringsustoawindingmountainroad inthe It’s 4a.m.onacoolNovembermorning.Thesoundofanalarm Dan Antignano Alone Together

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free. Justmeandmydog. important tothemeaning.I end thetripfeelingalive,accomplished,and weeks before. Omittedthepartaboutsplendor, I thinkthissentenceis alive. Everythingwasdifferent thanIimaginedthistripbeinginthe roads andundevelopedcountrysidemakemefeelliketheonlyperson the commercialization of the interstateonwayhome.Thewinding like asweaterstraightoutofthedryeroncoldwinter day. We avoid from mypruned andtired feet.Thewarmthoftheheaterholdsmetight look upatme,thedecisionisclear. remnants ofdayspast. As theround beadyeyesandmudsoakedpaws abandoned ruin inthewoods:fallentrees, emptyshelters,andcampfire rock tocontemplatespendingthenight.Thecampground lookslikean point reveals adiminishinggrayhorizon.We sitonawetmosscovered shine through aslife’s truepleasures. become normal,painisaccepted,negativespositivesandthelittlejoys roaring riverofwhitenoise.Stayingdryisnolongeranoption.Wet andcold to thenextcampground. The rainhasturnedaslowmovingcreek intoa mud soakedgearintoourpacksandcontinuetrip.Itissevenmiles of coffeehelpstobreak thechillofmorning. We quicklystuffour hoping thatthenextdaywouldbringsunnyskiesandwarmerair. fire andahotdinnerconsumeour minds. We settleinforthenight, the slowrolling creek reveals thefirstcampground. Thoughts ofawarm hard ground. As weround acornerthetrees partandaclearingbeyond the potentialforinjury. Mykneesare tired from thesteepdescentand Calculating everystepisrequired. Onemistakecouldleadtoafalland 1,500 footdescentlieahead.Thewetleavesslideoverthesharpr expected sowetakesometimetorest underatree. Three milesanda of amountain,surrounded byacushionoffog.Ourpaceisfasterthan that disappeared intothefog.Itfeltasifwewere floatingontheedge spectacular. Insteadofendlessviewsweare metwitharocky shelf to themost.Itishighestelevationandviewspromise tobe the mountainrange.ThisispartofhikeIamlookingforward blowing wind. the Virginia landscape.Insteadweare blindedbysunbleachedfogand ground. We hiketothefirstclearinghopingweseesweepingviewsof is spendingthetripjumpingbetweenrocks avoiding thecoolwet We return tothecarcold,wetandtired. Ipeelmysoakingwetsocks By 1p.m.wereach thefinalcampground. A shorthikeouttoahigh We wakeinthemorningonlytofindsamegrayskies.Eachsip We stopforlunchataslickrocky overhang thatlaysatthecrest of Lilliana isgrowing accustomedtoplaying“thefloorislava”and 63 ocks. Elizabeth Teller, Untitled(4),Digitalphotograph,2016

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To beuntitled Just asafew Because weare entitled And startbeingyou So stopwithallthesetitles Of whatwasnotsought Be definedbythelies Should notandwill The rightsofourlives It makesusthinkaboutwhatwewere taught And inreality That makesusapart Each ofushasapersonality We are notbooks This isn’tagamethat’sfun Based onlooks To labelsomeone But whycreate allthisfuss Sure sometimeslifecanstink That theycandescribeus Of whyweletthemthink It’s timetoendthisstupidfight It’s totallyunfair It justdoesn’tseemright All thosetitlesoutthere Taja Bailey Untitled 65 

Sprung flowersaftersnowleaves. Constant growth cycles. Danielle Boucher Perky likenewly Anew 66  made it,theonlythoughtis that ofthenextwavepeekingupon breakers, andrest inthecalmmorningcurrent. Ifinallyfeelthathave the surfaceislikethatofporcelain. Imakeitoutbeyondthecrashing submerged under thefirstwave.Thewateriscoolandwithnowindon finishes mycoffee’sduty and Iamnowfullyawakeafterhavebeen sandbar, beckoningmetojoinit,become itsdancepartner. Thewater up overthesanddunestoseeaperfectlygroomed waveyawningonthe am nowrunning likeachildtothesoundofcrashingwaves.Icome on acoolmorningbreeze. Myboard inhand,mywetsuitdonned,andI home afteraweekofworkandresponsibilities. Fresh saltairgreets me parking spotIsitforamoment,feelingasthoughI’vefinally madeit the beach,andIfeelanticipationrisinginmysoul.Pulling intomyusual favorite aroma inthe world.Ipulldownthetree linedroad leadingto circulates around thecarmixingwith thescentofsurfwax,creating my open withclassicBobMarleytunesfillingmycar. Thesmellofcoffee the car. Nowitisfinallytimetoheadthebreak. racks feelcoarseinmyhandsasItightendownboard tothetopof together withsurfstickersandmeltedwax.Thethickropes ofmysurf I approach myvehicle,a1995Camry, nowalmostcompletelyheld and headuptheyard tothedrivewayloadupmygearandboard. coffee inbetweenstrokes upanddownthefiberglass. Ileavetheshed apply afresh layerofcoconutscentedwax,takingshallowsipsmy weapon ofchoicefortoday, aretro twinfinbuiltforstyleandflow. I interior covered witholdsurfpostersandartfrom the70’s.Ifindmy to makeitstriumphantentry. Ientertherustic pinecolored shed,the board shed,theearlymorningmoonexitingstageleftassunbegins at theclockwhichreads 5:45a.m.,timetopackup.Iheadoutthe pot humsasIproceed tomindlesslychomponsomegranola.Ilook work andmakemywayhaphazardly downthestaircase. Thecoffee ritual. After afewminutesofnegotiation,Ifinallyconvincemylegsto it isnowtimetostumbleoutofbedanddepartformyearlymorning I bumpalongthefamiliarroad downtothebeach,windows The firstsoundIamconsciousoftodayismyiPhonealertingmethat Salt water coffee Salt watercoffee Charlie Sanford

67  some morningsaltwaterand coffee. bring, youcannottruly appreciate aglorious sunrise,orthesimplicityof today special.Becauseuntil we haveexperiencedthebittercoldlifecan and thecloudshanglow. Foritis those morningsthatmaketheonelike each morning,eventhehard mornings,whenthe sunrefuses toshine me. InthismomentIreflect onhowgratefulIamtohavegivenbreath eating Isitbackandwithdrawfrom theconversationsgoingonaround delivered, andIfinditeasytosmilewarmly atmywaitress. Justbefore My regular granolaandfruit bowlcovered inshredded coconutis they doeverySaturday, andsoonthelaughter andjokesbeginasusual. on overbreakfast. My goodfriendsJakeandVance walkinjoinmeas player, andthefresh artinspires mypoetrythatIbrought alongtowork and freshly slicedfruit. A timelessBob Dylanvinylspinsontherecord on thewalls.Iwalkingreeted bythefresh scentofhand-ground coffee to enjoyawell-earnedbreakfast, andseethenewestartbeingfeatured of sandfrom myflannelshirt.Iheaddowntofavoritecafé,Zeke’s, home. MycarisnowpackedupandIbrush offtheclinging remains sand duneslookingbacktocatchafinalglimpseofwhere myheartcalls responsibilities asasenseoftime returns. SlowlyItrudge backupthe without thepursuitofarider. Ifinallydrawmyattentionbackto watching mylovedancealone,shecurlsovertodieoutunattended, to leavetheseaandreturn toland, torejoin reality. Isitnowonthesand, flood mybody, andIpaddlebackoutinsearch ofmynextpartner. whispers tomeasherfoamandsprayreturns tothesea.Lifeandenergy collapses, heavingitsfinalbreath ofenergy ontothesandbar, she But alas,Imustdepartfrom thecavernastoweringwallofwater slows asIbecomeonewithmysurroundings andmydancepartner. hollow cavern,thesunlightbreaks through theclearwaterandtime me underhercurlinglip,caressing megently. Lookingthrough the drawing linesbehindmeinmywakelikePicasso.Iletpartnercarry of watertoweringovermyhead.Iarc upthesidewithperfectstyle, morning, Ifindmyselfglidingdownthefaceofabeautifulgreen wall accuracy, combinedwithflowandindividualstyle.Onthisparticular basin, yettakesprecision andtechnique.Muchlikedance,surfingtakes stomach drops andthedancebegins. board begintospeedup,allinonemotionIamnowupmyfeet, turn around andforcefully paddletostayoncoursewithit.Ifeelmy sun. Alas, asizablewavechallengesmedaringtotread uponit.I only todisappearbackintothesea,stilldarkfrom thelowmorning horizon. A dolphinbreaches beyondthebreak forasipofprecious air, After aboutanhourofdancingwiththetides,Idecidethatitistime The artofdanceisfluidandgraceful;itflowslikewaterouta 68 Writer’s blockisafeeling too Writer’s Until yourealize you’vewrittenaboutanentityallalong Until itdoesn’tmatterthatyou rhymed sensewith headbecauseit’syours Until it’snotfishandthat rhyme,buttwoandblue Until orangerhymes withdoorhingeinanIrishaccent And writeagain You writeand write And I’mstruggling withthethird grade conceptoffeelings When peopleexpectthebest How doyouexpectmetoread thisoutloud? What evenisanentity? Not evenanidea Not asinglestanza And youcantellbymylackoffingernails I’m frustrated Who rhymes sensewithhead? But allthat’scomingoutisapoemthatmakesnosense There are thoughtsinmyhead My pencilisonpaper It’s embarrassing I justwanttowrite I couldn’treally care less Fish andfish But whenallthatseemstorhyme are Yes, I’maware it’snogood Because whatifIhaveanaccent But eventhat’sastepinthedark Except maybedoorhinge Nothing rhymes withorange Bubble, peach,tree, orange

Samantha Ogden Writer’s block

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Emma Lynne, ChildhoodMemories,

70  Digitalphotograph,2016 my cheek.ThenIheard asloudasiren thewind’svoicewhisperin home?” Iaskedmyselfwhiletheslowflowingstream oftearsrandown was boltedshuttoprevent thelocalsquatters.“Whathappenedtomy of plywood;thescreen doortornoffitshingeswhilethefront door sight ofmychildhoodhome.Windows were boarded upbyhugepieces resemble abarren wasteland.Icouldn’t helpbuttoshedtearsatthe planted were uprooted. Thefront lawnwhere theyonceresided, now embrace. Thesunflowerand rose bushesthatmygrandfatherhad summer seasonshaswithered awayandno longershares itsloving that usedtowelcomemewithfresh red apples duringthespringand to anavalshipthat’sbeenoutseaforseveralweeks.Theappletr that Iwasraisedinisnolongeryellowbutanuglygrey colorsimilar my homewasn’ttheplaceIknewanymore. Thefadedyellowhouse my ear, “Homeiswhere yourheartis;youwillalwaysfinditthere.” “I’m home!”Well, atleastthat’swhatIthoughtuntilnoticedthat Chad Gary Home 71  ee

was outonajobshealways hadtimeforme. count on.Shewasalwaysthere forme,without question,evenwhenshe the most,knowingthatIdidn’thaveanybodyleft couldalways I washeronlyfamily, andnow, I’mallthat’sleft.That’swhatgottome darker withoutherhere. Mostofthemdidn’tevenknowher, notreally. blamed thepeoplethatcouldn’tprotect her. myself fornotgoingwithherlikeshehadwanted.More impatiently, I but, mostly, Iblamedmyselffornotabletoconvincinghergo.Or I blamedherforgoing,ornotleavingwhenshe had planned, to liveforever, justlikeDorisandRaulin‘Fame’.” same response. she wouldbeheadingbackhome,tosafetyalwaysgavemethe end, despitebeingclosetoanactivewar-zone. WhenIaskedherwhen little more comfortable. forever intheheartsofthosethat shediedfor, helpingmaketheirlivesa could thinkofwasthatshe’dneverbeforgotten, mysisterwouldlive about beingabletofindheralive. AtthatmomenttheonlythingI that shewasgone,Ididn’tneedthemcallingbackgivingmefalsehopes the placewhere shehadbeencampedbeingconsumedbyfire. Iknew me toturnonmytelevisionthenews.Isatthere inhorror, watching them, tomakethemselvesfeelbetter, ortolooklike theycare? something thatwe’vebeentoldtodo,expected?Isitfor She laughed. “Why don’t youstayhere? Can’t youstayhere thisonce?” “They haveanotherjobcoming up.Comewithme?” People cameandwentsayinghowtheworldwouldbe just alittle Blame, forme,wasn’tonthepeoplethatattackedvillage. At first “The workIdoisimportant.You knowthat.You alsoknowthatI’mgoing I hadjusttalkedtoherearlierthatnight.Thingswere quiteonher I received thecallsomewhere around three inthemorning,telling That’s whattheyallsay. Butdopeoplereally meanit?Orisitjust “Sorry foryourloss.” Sarah Headley Athena 72  somehow knewthatmeeting herwouldmakeeverythingfinal. tarmac. Iwasn’tevensure oftheperson’snamethatIwasmeeting, butI unbearable anddidn’tletuptilltheplanelandedI was onthe I’d go,thatIcouldn’tdenyherlastrequest. wanted toexplore theworld,butneverquitelikethis.Phoebeknew that am abouttoembarkaplaceIneverimaginedthatI’d go.I’vealways flying across theplanet tofinishwhatPhoebehadstarted.Buthere I green hair. to bebetterthanIwas,am,where asIwastherebel with only onevillageatatime.Shewasthepersonthatmade mewant that shedid.Shetriedtomaketheworldabetterplaceevenifitwas to helpthemselves.Ididn’tunderstandwhatdrove hertodothethings her ownperson.Shewantedtohelpthosethatdidn’thavetheability have driedfaster. long ittookmetopackmybags.Shewouldhavesaidthatpaintcould my decisiontogo.Ifshecouldonlyseeme,she’dbelaughingathow wish andIhadtodoit,forheratleast. couch, cryingintomyhands.Iknewwhathadtodo.Itwasherlast safe foryou.” tomorrow toseeifyouhaveananswer...Athena, we’llkeepeverything scrambled tograbthephonefrom thefloor. knew thatshewasgone,hearingsomebodyconfirmitmadetoor you’d rather, Icouldsendthemtoyou.” what itiswe’re doingoverthere.” photography.” Sheleanedbackonthecouch.“You couldreally showpeople “Athena, I’m Alice. Your sistertoldussomuchaboutyou.” I couldn’tbelievehowlongtheflightfelt.Dread soonbecame Our parents neverwouldhavebelievedit.ThatIbetheone We were close,“twopeasinapod”mymomcalledus,butshewas The waitwaswhatdrove mecrazy. More thanonce,Isecond-guessed The phonefellfrom myhandonce more before Ifellbackontothe “Yeah...I’ll talktoyoutomorrow.” “The nextflightoverhere won’tbeforanotherfewdays.I’llcallback “I’m sorry. Ijustdon’t...Idon’tknow.” My phoneslippedfrom myhandsbefore Irealized it.Even thoughI “Phoebe wouldhavewantedyoutocomecollectherthings,but,if “It washer, wasn’tit?Shedidn’tmakeitoutintime?” Sure enoughthecallcameatfive-thirtyinmorning,herboss. “I can’t...I haveprojects tofinishhere.” “You havenoideawhatyou’re missing.It’dbeprefect foryour She wastallwithlongstrawberry blondhair. Shelookedmore 73 eal. I capture what Alice andhercompanywere doing. affected bythewarsgoingonaround them.Ifeltanurge tostayand and IraqIhadtoldherexactlywhatthoughtatthetime. who neededthem.ShehadbeeninTurkey closetothe borders ofSyria everything thatshedidtoprovide houses,schoolsandhospitalstothose for everythingthatshestoodfor, everythingthatshebelievedin,and room. Thiswouldbetheonlything thatIhadleftofher. Iadmired her understanding. ThatwassomethingIdesperatelyneeded. lived andwhoshesurrounded herselfwithwouldgivememore ofan that Inevercould.Butjustmaybebeinginthisplace,seeinghowshe emails withPhoebedaily, sheknewandunderstoodthingsabouther like mysisterthanIeverdid.feltjealous.Eventhoughexchanged I understoodwhyshefelttheneedtocomeandhelpthosethatwere The reality ofwhathadhappenedfinallyhitmeasIwalkedintoher “I thinkthatyou’lllikeithere.” She grabbedoneofmybags. “This workwasimportanttoher, butI’msure thatyouknowthat.” Alice smiled. “I know. Shetoldmeaboutyouandyourworkaswell.” 74 For now. Guess theprivatethoughtswillsuffice. Dreams ofPublicDisplays Affection. Stimulating embraces, Moments ofpassionateconversations, Or recall. Or recollect. Strategically positioned,simplyformetorevisit. A pieceofmyheartremains. Time tovacatethepremise. Investments failwhenchecksare void. The numberofdepositsI’mallowed. One stipulation...mylove,and Small donationsofadmirationare welcomed. No requirements ofcircumstance. Though -endowedtomeyouare not. That eventually, thefavormaybereturned. Yet, itistheonlywayIcanfilluponhope. Pouring myselfintoyouleavesmyspirithalfempty. Danielle Boucher Not Yet 75 

You knowyou’re really dying Though through allthebliss You feelasthoughyou’re flying As youfallintotheabyss Close youreyesandgo You leanfurtherovertheedge As youwavertoandfro Toes clenchalongtheledge This miseryinside,youcannotdefeat Hopes anddreams shattered atyourfeet But allyouseeare theirlies Faces flashbefore youreyes Before youseethosepearlygates You thinkofallthat’sprecious Staring atyourfate When youstandontheprecipice Lauren Patterson Resolution

76  is totheendofblockor to theothersideofcountry. Theyhave Icanfinda road totake meanywhere andeverywhere, whether it out. anymore. It’sacontinuously pavedjourneythatiscompletelycharted back towhere Igrew up,it’snotoverahillandthrough thewoods reach. IfIstopandthinkabouttheroute backto grandma’shouseor between families,thelifelinethatkeepsmyheartandloved oneswithin served theiroriginalpurposewell,weusethemtomaintain thelinks stimulated theliterature andimaginationofartists. Although roads creating legendsofthenewworld.Thediscovering ofnewlandscapes for fertileland,pannedgoldandbecamekingsofthe wildfrontier, They searched of immigrantstonewcornersthevastlandscape. Roads allowedformovementacross theland,spewingoutwealth roadways were developedtoincrease thegrowth ofournewnation. to leapthelastfewstepsmakeitintocoolgrass. few stepsare warm,thenwarmturnstohot,andhotpain.Ihad to walkacross thesamehotsurfaceonashoelesssummerday. Thefirst eyes andscorching mynasalpassages. Itbringsbackmemoriesoftrying constant gameofdefense. trying topredict themovementsofeveryotherdriveraround. It’sa traveling relaxing, eventhoughit’safrenzy ofwatching,listeningand tradesman, Irefuse tocommitanyonecompany. Oddly, Ifindthe this country, barteringourtradesforpayment. Along withmanyother Like abandofgypsiesornomadsmycoworkersandItravelacross average annualmileageformost Americans. A road whore Iamcalled. Icurrently quadruple the nation whilesupplyingsustenanceforhome. steel, buildingmaterials,anddrygoodstoquenchthethirstofthis road truck drivers;father, grandfatherandunclesalldrove, distributing Drivingisinmyblood,stemmingfrom afamilyofover-the- on myfeet. Initially thetrailscrossing the landwere forexpansion.Our The smellofhotasphaltcanburnthesenses,sulfurwateringmy I feelasthoughhavespentmuchtimeinanautomobile Between TheLines Jonathan Oldaker

77  return flight. fluorescent blurofthehighwayconeismy runway beacon,awaitingmy way through themostminusculecrevices, it’sawelcomefeeling.The arms andchestorthecoldseepingairfrigidwaterfindingits is mytomorrow. Whetheritistheheatofasummerdaywarmingmy chariot ofchoice.Therearview ismyyesterday andthemirageahead location ofanewlifeenteringtheworld. been thefinal resting placeofmanyanimalsaswelltheoccasional Through thebug-markedglass,hazedheadlightsguidemy 78 That holdacelestialnight Close thespiritedeyes Why dowe Of atornplanet Beats therhythm An openheart A child’srosy cheek Drips down A crystaldrop ofpain It’s gettinglate Time forbed That littleboy But whatabout Must bestopped The terrorists They hurttheboy The bombs Our countryisthere, trying We canhelp There’s foodhere Stop askingallthesequestions He hasnobed He mustbehungry A smallboy Shatters bravepersistence Until theridicule Questions wondered Before words are spoken Pure innocence Of existence Into awhirlingorb Glowing newperspective See aworldtobehealed A child’sstarryeyes Celestial Night Amber Stone

79  little nervousatbeinginastrange environment. After beingtucked in, remember. Iwouldcrawlintothebedfornapsor bedtimeandfeela The posterhungonthedoor ofthespare bedroom foraslongIcan look exactlyasIremember it! vibrant colorsitoncehadhavefadedawaylongago,but itreally does There are deepcreases inthemiddlewhere ithasbeenfolded. The see layersofdifferent kindsoftapeclingingtoeachthefourcorners. amazement. It’sexactlyasIremember it.Theedgesare tornandIcan on mykitchentableandstarttounfoldit.Isitback stare atitin poster before carefully pullingittherest ofthewayout.Igentlylayit crumbles andfallsintomylap. Ipausetocollectmymemoriesofthis In myhastetopulloutthecontents,asmallbrown pieceofpaper The smellofmustyoldbooksfillstheairandIcrinkle up mynose. quickly pullitacross theenvelope likeI’mrippingoffabandaid. in thehole.Iwigglemyfingeraround tomaketheholebiggerand down. SlowlyItearacorneroftheenvelopeandcarefully getmyfinger further, butIsnatchituplikeakidonChristmasmorning. Itrytocalm that itwasveryfragileandfallingapart.Idon’twanttodamageany did Iwantit?WhatwasgoingtodowithMyparents warnedme realize thatI’mafraidtoopenit. Whatifit’snotlikeIremember? Why away anddidn’twanttofessupmakingamistake. without everfollowingthrough. Itoldmyselfthatsheprobably threw it poster from mycousin,whohad beenpromising tosendmetheposter parents recently wentbacktoIllinoisfor avisitandfinally retrieved the years. Ialready reconciled myselftonotevergettingit.Fortunately, my arrived here soquickly. Ihadbeenwaitingfor“theposter”overfour mailbox. Myparents toldmethatitwasontheway. Iamsurprisedit to sweat.Istare atthelarge yellowenvelopethatIjustpulledoutofmy I amtransportedbackintime tomyGrandma’shouseinIllinois. I peekinsidethedarkinteriorofenvelopewithopencuriosity. I sitdownatthekitchentableandstare intentlyattheenvelope.I My heartbeatsrapidlywithanticipationandmypalmsare starting Mary Swallow The Poster

80  kind offramewillworkthe best. Iwanderaround thehousetryingto for ittomorrow. I’malready tryingtoimaginewhatcolor matIandwhat down theinfoasIgowithsatisfaction. Iwillpurchase amatandframe me smileandgigglealittlebit. probably notveryappropriate behavior. All Iknowisthatit stillmakes way. Thelittleboycheckingoutthegirl’s buttunderherdress is of view, Iguessit’spretty dirtyminded,butinsuchasweet,innocent my phone,butfindnofurtherinfoonthisposter. From anadult’spoint that I’msure itwasprintedin1975.IperformaquickGooglesearch on Oregon, andafullphonenumber. Ihavenoideawhatthismeansexcept under layersofoldtape.Icanalsomakeoutthewords postoffice, 975 andwestern America corporationinthebottomleftcornerburied just screams the1970’s.Upon furtherexaminationIfindthenumbers displayed onthecounterandoldfashionedcashregister thisposter dress ishilarious.From theblueandwhitecheckered floortothecandy look ofutterdelightonhisfaceashegingerlytouchesthebottomher colorful bluestripedbellbottomsandalightribbedturtleneck.The has intriguedtheboystandingnexttoher. Heisdressed insomevery her whiteruffled underwearisonfulldisplay. Thisisthesightthat knees andblackpatentleathershoes. As shereaches uptothecounter pay thecashier. Sheiswearingasmallflowered dress, red sockstoher at whatlookslikethecornerdrugstore. Thelittlegirlisreaching upto But…” incandystripedsplendor. Thepicture isofalittlegirlandboy I nowown.Thecaptionatthebottomdeclares “CandyisDandy… evokes. ThisiswhyIchoseit. as Ivividlyremember allthosehappymemoriesofmychildhoodthatit and tumbledoutofmymouth.Ismileattheposterlayingontable last 35years?Thisposterwasthefirstthingthatpoppedinmyhead thing couldmemorializethewomanyouhadknownandlovedfor from thehouse?”—duringdaysleadinguptoherfuneral.Whatone away in2012.Iwasaskedthatawfulquestion—“Whatdoyouwant it afterschool.MaybethisiswhyIwantedposterwhenshepassed pictured myownGrandmapickingitoutandsurprisingthegirlswith different scenariosinmyheadinvolvingeachofthem.SometimesIeven to figure outwhohadpickedthisparticularposter. Iwouldplayout and auntshadalllivedinthisroom atonepointintime and Iwouldtry new smellsandsoundsaround me.Iremember thinkingthatmymother peace inadifferent house.Iwouldstare atthisposterasIadjustedtothe the doorwouldbeshutandIhavethatmomentoftryingtofind I grabmymeasuringtapeand startmeasuringtheposter, jotting Putting mymemoriesaside,Itakeacloserlookattheposterthat 81 as shedriftsofftosleepinmyhome. faceas she stares atit put itin.Icanjustpicture thelookonmymother’s figure outwhere I’mgoingtohangit,wishingIhadaspare bedroom to 82 until thenextsunnyday. want to.Ithurtstoomuch.I likeithere.” With that, theywouldpart will youwakeup?Won’t youpleasewakeup?Thiscan’tgoonforever.” same way. moment couldonlylastbutsolong.Theconversationalways endedthe were inachildren’s storybook,shealwayssaid.Thoughthebeautiful moment couldpossiblybemore beautifulthanthis? Itwasasifthey loved hisstained,crooked teeth.Helovedherlarge, hookednose.What smiles. Any possibleflawontheirfaceswasbeautiful.She each other’s eyes. Admiring The warmsunontheirskin.Lookingintoeachother’s tea theydrankthatday. All thatmattered was themoment.Himandher. night before. So itdoesn’tmattermuchwhatwassaid,norkindof stories. Sometimestheydiscussastrangedream oneof themhadthe talk about?Itdidn’tmattermuch,mostofitbeingsmallorrandom gentle orangeglowonthesky, tellingthemthatitwastimetogo. There theywouldhaveteaandtalkforhoursonenduntilthesuncasta white tablewithvinedesignsandtwochairstomatchsatinthemiddle. picket fencearound thegarden, makingthecolorspopevenmore. A small garden filledwithallsortsofbuddingandbloomingflowers. Awhite would read overandagain. they live.To her, herlovewouldmakeagreat lovestory. Onethatshe that they’re allfilledwith real, complex emotionsanduniquelivesthat differently though.Every relationship, includingherown,wasspecialin love storywithaverageproblems andaverageromance. Shesawit any randomonlooker, herlifewasn’tanythingspecial.Justyouraverage love atsixteenliketheydointhemovies,butthenithappened.From simple, yetsocomplicated.Havingalwaystoldherselfshe’dneverfind A fewthornshere andthere, butnothingtoopainful.Herlifewasso She wouldtakeasipofher tea andavoidlookingathim,“Idon’t The manfrowned ather, astrong lookofconcern onhisface,“When A youngmanandwoman,asinloveonecouldbe.Whatdidthey Every sunnyday, withoutfail,shewouldmeethim.Inaradiant A rose. That washerlife.Somanydifferent colors, bothboldandsoft. Jessica Peterson Perfect 83 

woman, “There’s nothingIcould doforher. She’sinyourhands now.” “Are youready?” the tablesatanoldwoman.There wasnotea.There wasnoyoungman. the garden takenoverbyweedswithvinesgrowing overeverything. At paint almostcompletelyfaded.Theflowerswere allwiltedanddead; clouds hung heavyinthesky. The white picketfence was broken and the downtrodden. Hehasn’thadagoodnight’ssleepindays.Darkgrey Closing hiseyes,heletoutaheavysighbefore staringagainattheold A maninwhitewalksuptohimandplaceshishandonshoulder, Standing outsidethefencewasaman,lookingbeatenand 84

Once Iamsetdown,havesteamingwarmcontentspoured ontome. It feelslikeasoftdinnerroll, savory green beans,andfluffymashed I amtheonewhohasachipfrom beingdropped whenshewas Hands reaching in,Iambrutally awakenedfrom myslumber I amtheonewhoheldherbirthdaycakeon1stbirthday. I havebeenthecourierforcountless mealsyearafteryear, Lately thecontentsIholdare metwithangerand anxiety. My contentsseemperfectlyandmeticulouslyprepared The humanbefore meisagirlIamveryfamiliar with. Yet somehow, insteadofbeingmetwithexcitement, She looksfraillately. Almost asfragile their porcelain glisteninginthesunlight. The teacupssitpeacefullybesideme, Losing someoftheirshineovertime. in thecupboard amongmyfriends. The otherslooklonelysometimes. I amusedmore often,andforthat I amfacedwithalookofdisgust, I amtheonewhoisn’tsavedfor but Iamstillfrowned upon. The smellisheavenly, Hands outstretched, special occasions. grasping hastily. Gathering dust, Renee Murat I’m saddened. I amgrateful. frightened. The Meal potatoes. 85 

when shecamehomecryingafterafailedexamorsome othertragedy. but Ifeelasadnesstowards thehumanIhavecometoknowsowell.

I havebeentheonewhowasgentlyliftedfrom myperch tohave I havealwaysbeenabletoprovide thishumanwithsomesortof “Please doitforme.”Icansensetheworryanddespairin If onlysheatethecontentsIsowillinglyprovided I havewatchedhergrow upinthis smallhouse. I feelasharpcrackencapsulatemyentire being. I amnotafraidformyownpredetermined fate, Creating miniature cratersintheirsofthills. I feelsomethingwarmbegintofallonme. Would shegetstrong andhealthyagain. Suddenly, Iamshovedagainstthewall, “Just onebite,”Ihearinthebackground. comforting contentsplaceduponme And anunscathedroll surround me. The contentsbestoweduponmeare The porcelain thatsleepsbesideme. A warzoneofsplattered potatoes, violentlystrewn across theroom. Blend intothemashedpotatoes, The softsaltypearlsbeginto And forthat,Iamsad. Crushed green beans woman’s softvoice. Up untilrecently. I feelconfusion. comfort. Drop Drop By 86

investing mostofmypaycheck intomembershipandapersonaltrainer; with theobviousfirststep, going tothegym.Iforced myselftogoby improve myself; although atfirstitwasjusttoimpress her. SoIstarted, that Ididn’tknowhowtomeasure myselfanydifferently. measured myselfwiththestickofhowmuchshelovedmeforsolong lean onwhowasn’tme.OverthenextfewdaysIfeltworthless, Ihad her offforawhile,whichstungwhile.Shehadfound someoneto she honestlydidn’tevenreally seemtobebroken up withmecutting that maybeIcouldfinallymoveonandletmyselfgrow up. Atthetime hours talkingthatnight.Itoldherneededtimeaway from her, so that shehadaboyfriend,Iwasdevastated.We satinherdrivewayfor began to develop a relationship with. When she finally told me the news, She wasattendingcollege,whichiswhere she foundsomeonewhoshe I spentamajorityofmyfree time,ofwhichIhadaglutof,withher. took longroad tripstoconcerts,Ieventookherschool.Sufficesay that sheandIwouldstillenduptogether. We hungoutallthetime, over ayear;butIwasstillincredibly hunguponthisgrandillusion someone else. this beganwhenmyex-girlfriend,first real girlfriend,begantodate complacent blobwithnoambitiontochangehislotinlife.Iguessallof some kindofchangetoturnmyselfintoanadult;andnotjusta giant balloffaileddreams. So,Ihadtogothrough somemetamorphosis, overinflated senseofselfrighteousness. Allofthiswascumulating intoa your stereotypical “basementinternettroll” withtheponytailandan paid mybills,andIneverevensaid,“Thankyou.”hadbecome was mylandlord (rent free), andmycook;shedidlaundry, percentage wasaround 30%(whichisto sayunhealthy).Mymom my own.Iwasworkingtwojobs,butnotsavingadime.Mybodyfat school, becauseIthoughtthatwassmartenoughtojustmakeiton Two orthree weekspassed afterourtalk;Ibegantoactuallystrive So itwasaround October, andmyexIhadbeenbroken upfor I was,toputitlightly, afat,wasteofspace.Ihaddropped outof Losing HalfofMyself Adam Hess

87  space. that’s whatittakes,thenatleastwillhelpyoustopbeingafatwasteof take anegativetogetyouoffyourassandgive real ambitionbutif friends todate,nounrequited love,nohard feelings.Itshouldn’talways and Ihaveafive-yearplanforthefirsttimeever. MyexandI are close freshman yearofhighschool.Iampayingforschooloutpocket, of now, I’velost70poundsandamunder200forthefirsttimesince before hewouldbestopped. driven adultwhowantedsomethingoutoflifeandwouldbedamned the transitionintonotonlylookinglikeanadult,butbeingambitious, looked, butalsoinhowIcarriedmyself.guesshadstartedtomake mature haircut. Obviously, shewassurprisedatthedifference inhowI my “basementinternettroll” ponytailchoppedoffintoashort,more my worktoseeme. At thispointIhadlost25poundsandgotten someone elsefadedintomore ofadrivetoimprove myself. passed, thefruits ofmylaborbloomedandtheideadoingthisfor to givemyselfastrong motivationandgetmyassoffthecouch. Astime

As timepassedmygoalsfellmore inlinewithmyattitude. As So three monthspassedsinceIhadlastseenmyexandshecameinto 88 want nothingmore than todivetowards life,jumpin,andbeinvitedto would haveleftbehindifmy suicideattempthadbeensuccessful. at theearthbelowmewitha bird’s eyeviewofthe lifeandthesceneryI sense ofwarmththatbalancesoutthefrigidOctoberweather. Istare down and collecttheirpurity. Thegoldensun gentlycaresses myface,creating a through theclouds, clouds thatare socloseIcouldreach outtotouchthem motion, allowingmetimetogathermythoughts.Nowwe are soaring earth, theopenedparachutemakesworldfeelasifit’s inslow upwards from themotion.Compared tothefastpaceddivetowards time Ihavemyparachute.pullthecord andtheinstructor andIjerk me. Everythingcouldhavecometoagrindinghaltthat day, butthis no onetosaveme,justmydemonstellingmeIhadway toescape. and consumeme,suffocatingmyselffrom theinsideout.Backthen,Ihad experiences. And witheverybreath Itookallowedthosethingstofill Substituting theautumnairwere painfulthoughts,emotions,and around mybody, creating aconstantsensationofbeingoverwhelmed. a jumpsuitIwasclothedinanxietyanddepression thatfittootightly the whitenoiseinmymindwaslife’strialsanddifficulties.Insteadof but withnoparachutetosaveme.Thesituationswere similar, except my life,twoyearsago,whenIwantedtobedoingthesameexactthing the ground asthoughtsracethrough myheadjustasquickly. and suddenlymybodyisinafullflightdownwards, rushing towards matching thecloudsbelowus.Hecountsdownfrom three totwoone the blaringwhitenoise.Inodmyheadslowlyandexhale,breath me. “Are youready tojump?”theskydiveinstructor yellsatmeover fill mylungswiththecrispautumnairthatoccupiesspacear plane’s opendoorwaythatawaitsexpectantlytobeanexit.Inhaling,I noise actsasalullabyinmymindandeasesfears.Igazeoutofthe Today, asI’msurrounded bythevastlimitlessnessofuniverseI My mindsnapsbacktoreality astheominoussimilaritysweepsover I haveaflashbackasI’mfallingthrough thesky. There wasapointin The poundingoftheplane’sengineroaring asaconstantbackground Experiencing Life Anna Zwade

89 

ound

terns afterallhopehadbeenabandoned. past mistakes.Iamthebeautifulimageofliferesurrected onmyown tribute tothefactthatIamnotsummationofunfortunateeventsor and whatIhavebecome.I’mlivingforthegirllostwithinmyself,asa A senseofcalmovertakesmeasIcometotermswithwhooncewas I findmyselffilledwithblissasstandsoakedbytheraysofsun. darkness Ionceheldinside. A newfoundpurposeawakenswithinme. I amreminded thatdecidingtoembracelifeistherightchoice. me back.Peoplesurround mewith laughterthatechoesinmyears,and of windgreet mewithasenseof playfulness,asifearthiswelcoming mixture ofadrenaline andexhilarationcoursesthrough myveins.Gusts instructor andIlandinanemptyfield.Thesoftdirtisstabilizingthe and proud, nowateyelevel.Finally, myfeetsinkintotheearthas yellow, andorangeencircle measwerush pasttrees thatstandtall away toreinvent myselfinanewlight. in anddayout.Iam,atthisverymoment,achangedperson,stripped my pastandfree oftheinternalstruggles that tormentedmylifeday have atruthful answer. “Ifeelalive!”Iyellback,currently atpeacewith be askedbydoctors,family, andfriends.ButforthefirsttimeIfinally if healready knowswhatI’mthinking.It’sthesamequestionIusedto everything ithastooffer. “Howdoyoufeel?”theinstructor asksmeas

As Iunbucklemyparachute,amthankfulchosetorelease the The ground grows closerandvibrantshadesofgreen, 90 image Ihadenvisionedtocreate. drawn-out image.Istared atmycanvaswithdisgust.Thiswasn’tthe features first.Finally, ahintofjetblackpaintsweptacross the face ofmy corresponded withthebackground andthehat.Istartedpaintingthose out theoutline,thenmixingandblendingcomplementary colorsthat to create asilhouette,herskinhadtobepure black.Ibegansculpting worn tochurch onSundaymornings.IfIwasgoingtochallengemyself of apaleskinnedladywithwhoppingflowerhatthat resembled ones drove myinspiration. After doingresearch, Istumbledacross apicture came tomind.Herhistoricalsilhouettesbasedoffrace and religion on theinternettopaint.Myfavoritepainter, KaraWalker, immediately and chestoutasifIwasJohnnyBravo.coulddonowrong. never anartshowIdidn’tplacein.marched around withmyheadhigh But ifmyartworkwasn’tcominghomewithme,aribbonwas.There was teachers wouldeitherkeepthemforexamplesorplaceinartshows. came withacockyattitude.Ineverhadworktotakehomebecausemy courses, eachyear, artwasalwaysmyfirstchoice.Havingexperience classmates rushed tosignuptakecookingclassesandtechnology about are thelines,textures, colorsandotherfeatures inmyartwork. a paintbrush inmyhands.Theworldaround meissilentandallIcare knowledge abouttheartist.It’sasifIreceived agoldenticketwhenIhave everyone intheclassissleeping,myeyeswere gluedonsoakinginallthe days wewere reading andwatchingvideosaboutVincent Van Goghand energized toseewhatwasplanned,nomatteritwas.Eventhe class becauseofthefeelingitgaveme.Iwouldentereveryday placed infront ofthem.Unlikethose students,Ichosetotakeanart mold cold,squishyclayintoafigure, anddoodlerandomstill-lifeobjects easy A. Theyfigure allittakesistopaintmulticolorlinesonacanvas, My sophomore year, myteacherassignedtheclasstofind anypicture Art becameanoptionalcourseinmiddleschool.Whenmanyofmy M any studentsinhighschooltakeanartclass,hopingtoreceive an Bria Tyler Art 91 

volunteering inorder toachievethisgoal. plan totakeartclassesalongwithChildhoodDevelopmentcoursesand I wanttobethere tohelpthemthrough theobstacle.Whileinschool,I for artatayoungage,justlikeIdid. And iftheycomeacross afailure, instantly realized Iwanted tobeanartteacher. Iwantkidstofindalove Sitting there onedayIsawthecare takingthekidsoutforrecess. I To savemoney, Ienrolled inclassesatTidewater CommunityCollege. and personIamtoday. Lawrence, FridaKahlo,andmanymore havecraftedmeintotheartist New York. Ilearnedtolovemanyotherartists’work.Picasso,Jacob National Galleryof Art inD.CandtheStudioMuseumHarlem, art museums,suchastheChryslerMuseumof Art inNorfolk,the required research. To buildoffotherartists,Istartedtravelingto his handsandmoseyedbacktomychairinsorrow. hardest challengesformostartists.Ipolitelygrabbedthepicture outof glare andexplainedthatchangingthecolorofskinwasone I instantlytoldhimhowunpleasedwas.Hestared atitwithablank I wasslowlywalkingonaneverendingaisle.Whenapproached him, heart becameabowlingballinmychest.Thejourneytohisdeskfeltlike After graduating,Iwasn’tsure whatIwantedtodowithmylife. This failure showedmeIwasn’t perfect.Iknewimproving myself My teacherhadcalledmynametoshowhimprogress andmy

accept myhairinthefirstplace. Itwasbecausenottoomanypeople time, buteventually, Istartedtoreflect onwhyIwasevenhesitant to seen accessoryofmybody. Itwastoomuchofashocktohandle atthe on myhead.Ididn’tknowhow tointroduce myselftothisneverbefore eventually getoveroneday?Istared atthiskinky, cottonycloudlying Should Iacceptit?lookatthisasjustapoordecision thatI’ll strands, where Itookineverysingleaspectofthisdramaticchange. gone. Itwasasinglemomentrightafterforcibly sheddingthesedead the back.Gone. After Iremoved thefront, there wasnogoingback. All snip, Istartedwiththesidesofdead,stringymess.Gone. Nextwas scissors Icouldfind.lostmyselfintheactionsthatfollowed. Snipafter understand, accept,andthenacton.Ipickeduptheclosest pairof diet, permanently. Thiswascrucial informationthatIneededtofirst my hairwouldonlygrow ifIremoved theseharshchemicalsfrom its prosper bestwhennature hasapartinit.With thisinmind,Ifigured was stillgoingtotakesometimeacceptthisself-knowledge. bright lightthatmademewanttoacceptmyhair, althoughmymind of medictatehowIviewedmyself. Acknowledging thisreality wasthe beauty. Becomingaprisonertothissocietal rejection, Iletsociety’sview sure waytoencounteralifefilledwithsociety’s rejection ofmynatural like myself.Beingbornablackfemalewithdarkerbrown skinwasa unworthy, andundesirableinitsnaturalstate,Iyearnedtolooknothing natural beauty. After yearsofbeingtaughtthatmyhairwasugly, nappy, my chemicallyprocessed andstraightenedhairbefore Iembracedmy acceptance, andself-love. simple actionledmedownapathofdiscoveringself-knowledge,self- others andthevaluetheywouldseeinmyappearance.Oneseemingly it couldbereached through minorthings,suchastheacceptanceof each andeverypersonwillgotoreach it.Personally, Ialwaysthought Nature itselfshowsthathumanlifeoranyproduct ofhumanlifewill Broken. Dead.Unhealthy. All ofthesewords represented thestateof There issomethingpowerfulabouthappinessandtheextentthat Something Worthy Iandra Postell

93  acquiring self-knowledge,self-acceptance,andself-love. over theirlivesforthehopeofpeer-acceptance, theylimitthemselvesto fully understandthatwhenpeoplegivethepowerofmaterialthings my mind:nothing,absolutelynothing.Mostimportantly, Iwasableto soul. Ibegantorealize thepowermaterialthingsshouldholdover and liveonassuch. up toothers’standards, Ineededtocompare myselfONLY tomyself important self-possessingqualitiesofall:self-love.Ididn’tneedtolive as much.Thiswholereality mademefeelworthyofonethemost thoughts ofme,whetherpositiveornegative,didn’tseemtoaffectme part ofmyselfthatIwassoreluctant todobefore? Eventually, others’ find beautifulinthematteroftime. Was I really startingtotapintothis I found“aestheticallypleasing”inthemoment,butratherwhatwould view, andIknewI’dgrow toloveitoneday. Itwasn’tamatterofwhat “aesthetically pleasing.”Ilookedtothisdiscomfortwithapositive these kinkycoils,knowingdeepdownIstilldidn’ttruly find ittoo respected thisdecisionsomuch that Irefused totellmyselfIhated right aboutthisdecision,evenwhileIwasstillinmyuncertainty. I mound oftinycurls.ThistimeIknewthere wassomethingcompletely Nothing wasleftbutaseverely life-changingperspectiveandashort from thenon. realizing thatasimplechangeofmindcouldaffecthowIperceived life I decidedtotakeonthisnextchallengesubconsciouslywithouteven even sawmyhairasbeautiful.Butwhycan’tI?Ican.should.will. Throughout thisexperience,Iwasabletoopenmymindup After choppingoffagreat portionofmyhair, Iputdownthescissors. 94

much asaformeraddictcould musterandmovedinwithourlittle from scratchandtookusonfishingtrips. him. Herepaid us inkindashetaughtustobakepeanutbuttercookies throughout theday, aidesincaringfor becomingourgrandmother’s slow dancedinthedialysisroom tomakeGrandadlaughandsmile seemingly arduous changes, ourchildhoodresumed. BrandieandI hugs withGrandadweusuallythrew into withsuchenthusiasm.With Grandma cautionedusaboutthebandagesandtubesprohibiting the ceremony tocombatthedamageofuntreated diabetestohiskidneys. set uparoom devoted totheritual.Everyfourhourscommenced where myshrieking finallyceased. bedframe withamirrored headboard creating acalmplaceintheirroom for distractionandtheirspeace,ourgrandfatherpurchased anew of myendlesscryingoverterriblediaperrash. Accommodating myneed small voice,tooyoungtobesounwavering,informedourgrandparents soothed theconstantwailingIputonfordaysafterourrescue. Brandie’s and cousinsalljokedaswegrew olderaboutthemirror whichfinally car whenourmotherpleadedwiththemnottotakeus. Aunts, uncles, violently withourfather. Ourgrandparents bundledussilentlyintothe tossed me,ascreaming four-month-old, intohertinyarmstoargue home. Mysister, Brandie,recalled beingtwoyearsoldwhenourmother Arkansas, forourrescue from adrug-addled domesticnightmare ofa after episode. response. Silencesettledbetween usasthenightdraggedon,episode of oblivioushappinessplayedoutinsequencewhenIreceived no I thoughtaloud,“Grandadwon’tmakeitthrough thenight.”Memories toward thetelevisionusedforbackground noise.With aresigned voice neighbors’ house,myoldersistersatstoicallynexttomefeigningfocus By thetimeIwaseight,our mother hadgottenherselftogetheras When Grandadstarteddialysis,sixyearslater, ourgrandmother Our grandparents drove from Chesterfield, Virginia, toLittleRock, At nineyearsold,wehadnotyetconceptualizedloss. At our Jeniffer Cobb Silence 95  family. That same year, our grandparents were informed the kidney Bitterly, we observed condolences offered in countless repetition. transplant wait-list was substantially large, but a transplant was Words were not needed to confirm the changes yet to come. Our necessary to sustain his life, thus began the race against time before grandmother was not blood related and shouldered our mother’s inevitable kidney failure. As a means to keep him closer to his family blame for Grandad’s death. During the years most children spend before his death, our grandparents chose to move back into the city he playing and exploring, my sister and I assumed the role of caretaker for grew up in, trading the only home I had ever known with a new model. Granddad and ourselves—an important lesson in life taught to us by Intermingled with the bustle of the move, our mother felt the need to our grandmother. Absence gave our mother a false sense of knowledge send Brandie and I to stay with our father for the summer, attempting to and entitlement over who we had become and how we had formed shield us from the hardship of death. We’d matured enough at this point relationships with her parents in ways she was never able. Her lack to detect the swelling severity, but not enough to cope with the anger of comprehension in the years before our grandfather’s death, in my we felt in being sent away from our true family at the behest of our mother’s eyes, meant no one must have looked after her father or the estranged mother. children she abandoned. Her denial cemented the decision to keep us far Boarding the Greyhound bus, our mother grouped us sentimentally away from her step-mother for nearly eight years. into an unwanted embrace, stating her plan to be tested for kidney Silence consumed us as our mother sobbed for her loss. Silence was donation soon after Brandie and I were due to arrive in Arkansas. the anger that shattered our sense of childhood. I spent my adolescent My sister and I shared a look; two seconds of silence ratified an years in a home run by absentee parents, leaving me to my own devices. understanding that we cared only about Grandad getting better while No one woke me up for school or made sure I did my homework. My our mother blathered on, oblivious to our apathy, about her ribs being dropping out could have been predicted by anyone with life experience. cracked open in surgery which would require elongated recovery. The The drugs, drinking, and partying at a young age only served as a lesson release was immediate as we rode away from our mother’s narcissism, in wasting time. I became grateful for these experiences after realizing our feelings for her never matching those we had for our grandparents. no one even noticed if I was home within designated curfew hours. I In our father’s care, we stuck to the outdoors to avoid the blatant moved two hours away when I turned eighteen, burning bridges and drug use by the surrounding adults. When sober, our father found it walking away without looking back for my mother. necessary to teach me to ride a bike. I argued to deaf ears that Grandad I swallowed anger, abandonment, truth, bitter resentment, and should have been the one and let my tears fall unabashedly. I was apologies, along with my pride, on a lengthy road trip to see my pushed down a long dirt road, defeated, until the bike underneath me grandmother when I was 24 years old. The words, “I missed you” struck was let go. The choice between self-preservation and over the sentiment me, along with a suffocating embrace. I ran to my grandmother as if I longed for was forced on by the hands of my father. Brandie waited I were once again seven years old. “I love you” trickled over the scar silently as I took the dirt road back, shoved the bike to the ground, and tissue of wounds I thought once healed. “I’m proud of you” erased the hugged her tight. We both just wanted to be home. arrogance of thinking I knew what being an adult meant. “You’re an Upon returning at the end of summer, our grandparents had long amazing mother” brought me to my knees when I took my son to meet been settled into their new home. Our mother waited with a prepared my grandmother and sister for the first time. Finally, I felt comfortable apartment for just the three of us. When our grandfather fell back on staying the night in my grandmother’s home after a year of frequent that bed with the mirrored headboard that once brought peace, our visits; I found the guest room decorated in photos of my grandfather grandmother made the call that landed us at the neighbors’ home. Our and me. Carefully placed ornaments, made by my sister and me with grandmother broke the news to us first, shattering what little hope we our grandparents, sat atop the dresser that matched the bed with the held. Grandad suffered a heart attack; they had done everything they mirrored headboard. Silent tears fell as I came to understand that the could, unable to bring back the man who had defined our sense of love, given selflessly to children dealt a bad hand, had never wavered. family. My sister fell silent and I wailed the way I had on that first ride to Virginia. When the sobbing stopped, the funeral came. Local fire crews joined in bandstand to bid farewell to their once beloved Battalion Chief.

96 97 Rebecca Myers,SuperWalt , Oiloncanvas,2016.

98  of bypassingthestairsthatled thewaytomybedroom, heascended.It his grease-staineda shower. overalls,andtaking day. Notonthat Instead usual afternoonroutine involvedhimheadingtohisroom, stripping off taught mealessonasmystep-dadgothomeearly. Daniel left,leavingthecigarettes behind.Fiveminuteslater, Karma later, weexhaledourlastnicotinefueledbreath ofairthatday, and the smokeoutofmysecondstorybedroom window. Twenty minutes from hismom.Believing thattheheatandsmokewouldrise,wepuffed classmates brought overa packofMarlboros thathehadconfiscated ever endured wasthedaymystep-dadcaught mesmoking. corporal punishmentwascarriedoutduringmyyouth. TheworstoneI were alittlemore severe. Thegaragewas thelocationwhere mostofthe restrictions followedbylaborious chores around thehouse.Others caught, andthengetpunished.Somewere justsimpleweeklong the spanking. explanation. Ibelievemyrear endstoppedgrowing thatday, thanksto school andmarched directly totheviceprincipal’soffice,demandingan principal hadkeptmefor“noreason.” Bigmistake.Mydadcametothe and pickmeup.HeaskedwhyIlied,tellinghimthatthevice missed theafterschoolbusandhadtocallmystep-fathercome problem wasthatInevertoldmyparents. After detention,Isomehow had gottendetentionforcausingacommotionintheclassroom. The years. And there were severalmistakes. my mistakes and accomplishments that defined me during my formative leading exampleformytwosisters.Theywouldhavetolearnfrom both child madeitharder. HavingtwoyoungersiblingsmeantthatIwas the On anormalafternoon,Iwouldn’t worryabouthimbeinghome.The Three weeksintobeingahighschoolfreshman, oneofmynew This wasmylifeasachild.I’ddosomethinginsanelystupid,get The firsttimeI remember beingpunishedwasthethird grade;I Growing upastheoldestwashard enough.Beingtheonlymale “You’re grounded! Getoutofmyfaceandgotoyourroom!” Grounding intheGarage John Wilkinson

99  was the sound of his work boots stepping on that third stair riser that talked about my mother, their divorce, and how my sisters were doing sparked the reality of what was happening, and I frantically began my during the whole transition. attempt to dispose of the evidence of my first ever tobacco indulgence. Then we went to the garage. The garage where my backside suffered Before I could make it to the trash can, my door swung open, and I saw him at his worst. reminding me that I forgot to lock my bedroom door. I saw an article once that said that it’s not until an individual reaches “Stop right there and get your ass over here right now boy!” their early to mid-twenties, that he starts to have a good relationship Dejected and deflated, I walked over and knew that trouble was coming. with his parents. Mine started that day. Gone were the feelings that my “Open your mouth.” step-dad was the worst person in the world. No longer did I feel like I I complied. hated him. Instead of remembering the twenty or thirty times I had been “Let me smell your hands.” grounded as I grew up, things had changed. I looked at him as someone I lifted each hand as he put his nose close, and inhaled before he who cared enough to teach me discipline. spoke again. I apologized several times for leaving so abruptly and for not “I want you in the garage in five minutes, and you better bring keeping in touch. When we cracked open an ice-cold beer in the garage whatever cigarettes you have with you!” I once wanted to burn down to the ground, he said the most important That day, he met me in the garage, still dressed in his overalls, with a thing he ever said to me. lighter in his right hand and a belt in his dominant left. Before wrapping He began by telling me that he always knew that I would be able to the inch-and-a-half leather strap around my behind, I was forced to survive on my own and that when I left, he felt empty and ashamed. He smoke the remaining six cigarettes left in the slightly crumbled red and understood he had been hard on me and that the discipline my sisters white pack, in front of him. It was then that I decided that I was going received was not as severe when they got in trouble. He rarely laid a to leave home as quickly as I could when I was older. I hated being his hand on them, only spanking them once or twice. He finished by saying whipping boy. I hated him. the phrase that made me love him even more that day. Three years after the cigarette whipping, I got the chance to move “You’ve done better than I could have ever imagined. Despite my out on my own. I had gotten a job out of high school, and saved failings as your step-father, I’m proud of you, son.” enough money to get my own place. I left like a thief in the night, never saying goodbye, leaving only the curtains and the dresser my step-dad inherited from his father. It took another five years before I returned. I had bounced around from place to place during that time but always remained within ten miles of the family home. I received several promotions in those years and I had just finished making payments on my first car when I decided it was time to go home. I did not anticipate the welcome I received that Saturday afternoon. When I knocked on the front door, I expected to have a simple conversation at the front door with him glaring at me. Instead, my step- dad let me in and gave me the biggest embrace he had ever given me in my twenty-three years of life. The tears that were streaming down his face dampened the right shoulder of the cotton T-shirt I was wearing. That afternoon and night, we talked about anything we could come up with to talk about. We discussed my job and the promotions. He showed me his latest project car (a 1996 Ford Mustang Shelby), and we

100 101 ie” Ithought.Onemorning, Iaskedmymom“whenwillbosom mine?” girlfriends startedtogrow boobs.“This isn’tfair, where theHellare heads. Loserstoeveryoneelse. Butsomethingstartedtochange.My a group ofmisfitslikemyself. We were atightgroup. Coolinourown were officiallybanned! that dayforward Irefused toletmymotherputpigtails inmyhair. They him upgoodenoughthatheneverlookedinmydirection again.From but beatthatlittleboyup. And beathimupIdid.Oratleastsmacked and sungthesongfrom thatmovie.There wasnothingleftformetodo name calling,alltherest followsuit.Iwantedtocryastheyalllaughed like PippiLongstocking.”Nowweallknowonceonekid startsthe was goingtoaskplay. Nope!Hepointedatmeand said “youlook during thefirstweekofschoolalittleboyranuptome. Ithoughthe hand, outofstyleclothing,myappearancesaidloserallover. Oneday the verydefinitionofanerd. From mybrightcolored hairtomysecond I stillfeltawkward. Don’tgetmewrong itwasn’tjustmylooks.Iwas can’t Ilooklikemymom?”wouldsaytomyself. mom wasshapedlikeTheCommodores’ song. A brickhouse.“Why perfect skin,alovelychocolatecomplexionandradiantblackhair. My like anyoneinthefamily. Ithoughtmymother wasgorgeous. Shehas looked nothinglikemymother. Untilmybrother wasborn, Ididn’tlook sense ofwhatabeautifulwomaniswouldbehermother. ExceptI I was.Butneverfeltthatway. You mustunderstand,mostgirlsfirst freckled faceblackgirl.Sure, asalittlegirl adultswouldsayhowcute been ontheinside. show “TheWire.” However, forme,mymostchallengingstruggle has housewasacommonfilminglocationonthetelevision grandmother’s The gangs,crime,crackheads.Forexample,theexteriorofmy When Igottomiddleschool,hadpretty muchassembledtogether Once Istartedschoolwasexposedtomore diverselookingkids. Yet I usedtohatethewaylooked.Whoeverheard ofared head, Growing upininnercityBaltimore, Maryland,wasdifficult. The LittleRedHairGirl Necole Beach

102  freckled face,red haired girlfrom thehallway? response was,ofcourseIdo.Howcouldeverforget thebeautifullittle I askedmyhusbandifheremembered thedaywefirstsaweither. His eyes. Ibegantobelievethat was beautiful.Worthy ofbeingadmired. classroom. All Iknowisthatwas thedaythatIsawmyselfthrough fresh wonderful boys.Inolongerremember whathappenedonceIwentintothat hot. Ihavetomakehimmine,”proclaimed. friend hadbeentellingmetostopsqueezingherarm.“Sorry, butheisso classroom. ItfeltlikeIhadn’ttakenabreath forminutes.Meanwhilemy saw meforme.Notthenerd Ithoughtwas.Hesmiledandwentintothe was staringintomysoul.Ifeltnakedandvulnerable,yet somehowlikehe Timberlands andbaggy jeans,myfavorite.Oureyesmet.Itfeltlikehe I said.Hewasgorgeous. Sixfoottwowithblueeyes.Hewaswearing “That’sthe boyItoldyouabout,” class. Igrabbedherarmandsqueezed. hallway, Ispottedhim.Hewasstandinginthedoorofmygeometry she walkedwithme. As wewalkeddownwhatseemedtobeamassive best friendfrom middleschool.Our classeswere nexttoeachother, so boys, thefirstperiodbellstartedtoring.LaterthatdayImetupwithmy But before Ihadtimetoawkwardly stare athimlikeItypicallydidto something caughtmyeye.More like someone. A boy. God,hewascute. It wasbuilttolooklikeacastle. As Ientered theintimidatingstructure outfit withmybrand-newReeboksandoffIwent.Myschoolwashuge. the stopsdespitenotbeingabletocolormyhair. Iputonmybest5-7-9 despised myhair. Iwasfuming.Mymotherruining my life! only fourteen.“Notfair”Ithought.Surely bynowsheknewhowmuchI not?” Iasked.Becauseitwillmakeyourhairfallout,besidesyouare school starts,”Idemanded.“Absolutelynot,”shesaidsternly. “Why bedroom oneevening.“Mom,Ineedtodyemyhairbefore mother’s I wantedtobewithanewgroup ofkids.Iremember stormingintomy And Ihadbeenaccepted.“Perfect”thought.Nowcanbecomewho given theopportunitytoapplyacollegepreparatory highschool. to reinvent myself.Before transitioningfrom middle school,wewere can’t beit.Itruly hatedmylife! began togrow alittlesomethinginthechestarea. Very little.Surely this my chestforanynewdevelopments.Nevertheless,onedayInoticed your bodygrows” shesaid.SooffIstompedtomy room to re-inspect have already startedgettingthem,”Ireplied. “You can’tcontrol when grow?” “Whatare youtalkingaboutchild?“sheasked.“Myfriends So whatifIwasdifferent. Different isunique,notugly. Sometime ago Eighteen yearshavepassedandweare nowmarriedwithtwo The firstdayofschoolsoonarrivedandIwasgoingtopulloutall Sometime laterIfoundmyselfinhighschool.Finally, I wasready 103

surprise thatmyfatherand our relationship wastense. Yet, through the traditional valueswagedwar withaMillennial’sthought,itwasno frequent clashofdifferingidealswagewarover acupofcoffee.When InMuslim-Americanhouseholds, itisnotuncommontoseethe close. Itisatitlemeaningfather. man. “Sir”; thisprefix isthe ultimatetitlebestowedonanyMuslimor Arab Theprefix isnotassimpletheEnglish the worlduponitsshoulders. yet itisamainstayphraseinany Arab homethatcarriestheweight of with hisabilitytocreate abeautifulandlovingfamily. failed inbecomingafamousmanthroughout theworld,hewascontent by bothhisaccomplishmentsandfailures. Foralthoughmyfatherhad enabled himtonowlayhisheadrest everynightandfeelsatisfied my fatherhadendured inhissixty-three yearsinthislifetimethat my fatheratsupper. Iwasabletoseetheyearsofturmoilandanguish Even thoughthatsmileneverwavered, Icouldseethrough thevisageof the traditionalvaluesheldbyallMuslimsuponmeatayoungage. Needlesstosay, theheadof Ajaj householdimpressed contentment. faceforthefirsttime,withutter as ababygazinguponitsmother’s Growing upinRamallah,Palestine,myfatherIbrahim Ajaj viewslife resembles thedust-sweptcityof Babylonfrom hisdescriptions. shrouded myentire existence. shadow the GrimReaperloomingoveraterminalpatient,myfather’s my doubts,Iindeedknow, itwasneveraboutbeinggoodenough.Like towards beingtheperfectson,Iwasnevergoodenough.Despiteallof Regardless ofthedevotiontowards mymorals andethicstostrive constant paymentofbackbreaking bills,Iwasnevergoodenough. relentless workethicdeveloped through theneedtocontribute Regardless ofthe in theoblivionofpages,Iwasnevergoodenough. Unfortunately, Iwouldneverbesoboldastolabelmyfatherandme The prefix “Abu”inthe ArabiclanguagehasnoEnglish equivalent, My fatheroriginatesfrom anancientrelic ofatownthatwededuce Regardless ofthecountlesspencilslost I wasnevergoodenough. Through MyFather’s Teachings Rachad Ajaj

104  past; muchofitisstillshrouded insecret from hischildren. Ultimately, Myfather neverrelished inspeaking abouthis begun tounderstand. conversation, themore Ifoundit.Itwasthenwhen hadconclusively members calledmyfather. Themore Isoughtafterthatphrasein to aquestionthathasbeeneludingusforsolong. than me. name wasbeingusedtospeakaboutmyfatherasanindividual rather been ifsomeonewere callingforme.ItratherseemedlikemyMoroccan was notsolelymynameinisolationtheconversation asitwouldhave Yet, it caught mynameamongsttheclutterofclassicallanguage. through theyearsasguidance.Midwaythrough theconversation,Ihad keep upwiththeconversation,pullingoneveryounceof Arabic learned in rushed, garbled Arabic aboutpoliticsasIdesperatelyattemptedto First,thewomenbrewed thecoffeewhilemenspoke uncle’s house. some tearsshedbyall,myimmediatefamilytookatriptoauntand me. After theusualphotoopportunitiesgraduatesundergo, alongwith rough philosophyonlifeandtreatment towards unearth myfather’s father almostchokedonhiscoffee. during theholyMuslimmonthofRamadan;atmentionthis,my whether ornotIcouldinviteafriendovertobreaking ofthefast of ourfamily’sculture. Iremember thetimeIactuallyaskedmyfather never quiteagreed withthe wholeconceptofisolatingothersoutside I,beingamodernday Arab-American borninFairfax,Virginia, us. do things,”onlyservedtowidenthegapofmisunderstandingbetween This phrase,amongstotherssuchas,“That’snotthewayourpeople tang ofclassical Arabic fusedwiththeEnglishlanguage,“only family.” no suchthingasfriends,”hewouldoftensayinavoicecoatedwiththe teachings andlifephilosophiesthatIthoughtredundant. “There are translucent glass. son thatultimatelypermeatesthrough thecracksofseemingly the constantarguments, there liesmutualrespect betweenfatherand However, regardless ofthe disagreements weshare, overshadowing morphed itintotheshattered imageofglassthatithasbecometoday. my resentment thatbledthrough thecracksofourrelationship and Inmyearlyteenage-years,Igazeduponfatherasbore comfort. cords thebest,myfatherhasalwaysstoodasasymbolof solidarityand countless arguments andmatchestoseewhocouldstraintheirvocal Abu-Rashad waswhateveryoneofmy Arab speaking family I cametothisrealization likewhenwefinallyunderstandtheanswer It wasduringmygraduationfrom highschoolwhere Istartedto harsh I onlyrecently understoodthetruth behindmyfather’s 105 great amanasmyfatheriseversopresent. Lying deepwithinthecrevices ofmycharacter, thepotentialtobeas inner circles, Iamreferred toasIbn-Ibrahim:TheLegacyofIbrahim Ajaj. known as Abu-Rashad, theFatherofRashad,andamongstmyfamily’s excellence thatisourculture, ourpeople,andfathers.Myfatheris title thatservestoinspire the maleMuslimyouthtostrivetowards the our religion began.While Abu isatitleheldwithgreat pride,Ibnisa to Abu, given tothefirstsonsoffamiliesthatoriginatedinMeccawhere have thedoubtsthatare soeasilytracedonhiswrinkledface. wants toprovide thebestforhislegacy-bearer, andensure thatInever be justadissatisfiedparent, Inowknowtobeanindividualwhoonly rough philosophiesonlifeandtowards me,butwhatIoncethoughtto what hestrivedsohard tobeinhisyouth.SoIunderstandmyfather’s father lookeduponmeasnotwhathewas,butwantedtobe, could recognize theglintofprideforhissonstainingraveneyes.My hard teachings?Everymomentmyfatheranswered to Abu-Rashad, I such, yetifthatwere thecase thenwhatwasthereason formyfather’s eldest sonisoftenhailedasaprinceamongstthefamilyandtreated as understood thenthatIwasanextensionofmyfather. I hearhistitle, Abu-Rashad, beingtossedaround theconversation,I even therelationship betweenhimandmylategrandfather, butwhen I neverwillknowwhatexactlymyfatherwentthrough inhisyouth,or In theclassical Arabic language,theprefix, “Ibn”isalsoatitlesimilar It isapopularstereotype thatinmanyMiddleEasterncountries,the

106

verbal patontheback,fueled hisconfidence,whileforme,myblood were allthewords Icouldfocuson.Everyword, everyhandclap, and thestoriesofactivities from theprevious night. from theplayerswho were supposedtobesupportingmewere chuckles got andthepraiseshereceived begantoraindown,andallIcouldhear joking around. With eachsuccessful pointhewon,theloudercheers cheering himon.Onmysideline,teammateswere alllaughingand at Jefformyself,butthosewhowere standingonthesideline. longer acertainty. Iwasscared, butmore importantly, Iwasangry. Not set. Ontoathird andfinalsetwewent,myvictoryinthematchwasno my composure, Jeffhadwonfivegamesina rowandtookthesecond the nextthree pointsandtookthegamefrom me.Before Icould catch until Imadeamistakeandtheballsailedwide,givinghimpoint. returned byaskillfullobtokeep thepointgoing.Onandonwewent backhand screamer downtheline. A well-placeddrop shotoverthenet, ball across thenet. A forehand return from theleftsidewasmetbya what seemedlikefiveminutesofcontinuousbackandforth,wehitthe serve withaskilledforehand andthebattleforpointbegan.For my opponentforthishighschoolsinglestennismatch,returned my stood upstraight,tosseditintheairandservedacross thecourt.Jeff, for thetaking. was twomore pointsandIwouldwinthematch.Victory wasrightthere against eachother. Now, up5gamesto2inthesecondset,allIneeded him offforgood.Foralmostanhournowwehadbeencompeting quickened pace,Ithoughtaboutmynextmoveandhowcouldfinish back atme.Whilehestoodthere, slightlyhunchedover, breathing ata “Atta boyJeff”,“Niceshot dude”, “You gotthis,take himdown” During theexchangeofstrokes, Jeff’steammateswere clappingand Then theunanticipatedhappened.Myfoefoundnewlifeandwon I tookthree more deepbreaths before Ibouncedthetennisballtwice, I hadtoremind myselftobreathe asIlooked at myopponentstaring “Inhale. Exhale.Inhale.Exhale.” The SetofAngerManagement John Wilkinson

107  how tobreathe. honest, Iamgladthere wasn’t.Otherwise,Iwouldhaveneverlearned Instagram appsformetotryandsalvageasmidgenofdignity. To be that Isawher. There were nocellphone texts,Facebookmessages,or get thechance.Whensheleftstadiumthatday was thelasttime whammy againstwhatcouldhavebeenmygreatest match. taken awayfrom me,andI learnedIhadanangerproblem. A double came closetowinningagameinthatfinalset.Myvictoryhadbeen clearly aswhenithappened.Ilostthematch4-6,7-5,and6-0never never undowhatshejustsaw. saw wasmeatmyworst,andevenifIwere towinthematch,Icould stunned lookinhereyes.Myheartdropped asIrealized thatwhatshe shame, anddisappointmenttookoverasshelookedatmewitha left meandnownewemotionswere coming overme.Embarrassment, she actuallycame.Oureyesmet,andeverythingstopped.Theragehad time, Ihadinvitedhertocomewatchmeplayandwassurprisedthat Thompson satinthetoprow. Three dayspriorwhenwemetforthefirst changed. Blondehair, blueeyes,andabsolutelystunning,Shana the actualfacesincrowd. ItwaswhenIsawherthateverything in myfury. ground andknockedovertennisballcontainerafter felt mywrath.Noonesaidaword tomeasIslammedthingsintothe Gatorade jug,myspare tennisracket,andeventhechainlinkfence recall eventsfrom memoryiftheywantmomentstoliveon. acts ofviolencethatlivedforever ontheWorld Wide Web, peoplehad to how Ifelt.Theproblem was,isthatIdidnotjustusemywords. off thecourtforinbetweensetbreak and let myteamknowexactly began toboil.With thefinalpointofsethavingbeenlost,Iwalked Shana nevergottheapologythatmyteammatesdid,nor didIever Twenty-six yearslater, Istillremember theeventsofthatdayjustas My tiradecontinuedlikethisuntilIlookedupinthestandsat I remember everyexpletiveand every kickImadethatday. The Before there were smartphones withcamerasandwebsitesshowing

108 other’s touchandmovement. other’s their eyesgentlyclosed,only listeningtothemusicandsensingeach from afarm,andgentlyplaceduponthedress. The couplebothhave marigolds. Thefruits andflowersare asiftheywere freshly harvested the earth,hasprintsofred apples,orange pumpkins,andred-yellow it istheladywhomainfocus.Herdress isgreen, representing straight back.Thoughthegentlemancommandsattention, however, wearing traditionalblacktuxedosuitwithhisdarkbrown haircombed cloth. SoIgoontocleaningthecanvas.Inpainting gentlemanis it hard tocleanthedustoutofeverynookandcrannywithonlya for anycutsorscratches,tomysurprisethere are none. cleaning supplies. As Ireach forthethin clothIexaminethekeepsake off thefloor. Icarryittothekitchentablewhere Ileftthedustragand and darkbrown squares. Icarefully pullandliftthe20x24oilpainting found mykeepsakehiddenbehindatallpaintingwithboldred circles an itemortwowithmemoriesthatwillturnintokeepsakes.Today I ButI’mluckyenoughtohavekept always accumulatesomuchstuff. how manytimeswemove,havegaragesalesorjustgiveawayitems,I boxes, puttingthemintheappropriate rooms. It’samazing,nomatter cold air. Istretch fillingmylungswiththelingering moving boxesandcrates. I walkbackproudly inthesunsetroom andcanvasstheplacefullof pair already onmyfeet,thenthrow onmyfavoritegrayNAVY sweater. through mytopdrawer, Isearch formyfuzzysockstoputoverthe tiptoed backtothebedroom fastasmyfrozen toesallowedme.Shifting sadly comfortable32degrees. To keepfrom gettingfrost bittenfeet,I and thetemperature dropped toanultimatelowof22degrees from a part ofasunset.Ismileatthesightthenshiverremembering itsnowed through mywindowsmakingtheterracottacolored wallslookthe The blackishcherrywoodframehasverydetailedcarvings, making I turnonmyradiototheMardi Gras stationandstartrearranging the The sunishighandbrightwithoutacloudinthesky. As itshines Lady andGentDancing Shemeka Daniels

109  togetherness andlovethatfillsthehome. the doortheywillfeelwarmthofnotonlysunset,but window thesunshinesthrough. Nowwhenanyonewalksthrough hang thepaintingwhere everyonecanseeandenjoy, across from the while everythingaround themturnsintoaburgundy black. background fades,justliketheoldmovies,highlightingonlycouple placed handjustenoughtimetofeelthewarmthofhersilkyskin.The and lift,withthehelpofwind,offherback.Thisgiveshispr her fingersthrough hishair. Shefeelsherownlongwavyhairswing of formyouwouldseeinawaltz. As hedipsandspinshershecombs be awaytotellthemapart.Theirdanceformisveryformal;thekind To methispaintinghasalwaysexudetogethernessandlove.SoI They are soclosetogether, ifitwasn’tforherdress there wouldn’t 110 110 operly

I amnothingmore thanaliar I amahelplessmothdrawntothefire With abroken heartbeyond repair Feelings ofguiltwilltranspire I amahelplessmothdrawntothefire The cravingsare sounfair My hungertakesmehigher I amnothingmore thanaliar Judging mewithabloodred glare A beastwithhornsinuncontrolled ire I amahelplessmothdrawntothefire In thisforbiddenloveaffair His loveisallIrequire I amnothingmore thanaliar It pierces myskininthisnightmare At nightIsleeponabedofbarbwire I amahelplessmothdrawntothefire Weakened byhisfierystare Passion forced bydesire Glenda DianeSmith Forbidden

111 

Has fadedfrom theforefront When up-keepingrelations I dreamed foryouandme We allshould’veagreed Daimion Mulligan Oppression stillpresent Where racialprofiling Color barriersbroken August 28th,in1963 August 28th,in1963 Foolishness evident Depression nomore It’s September2016 And thecivilunity No longerachore Was justadream. Our civilliberties But Iwokeup… Lived thendied Constituted me Exited thedoor As oppression I hadadream And youtoo! Barriers Destroyed Or Purple Him, her My day Yellow Brown White Black 112 112 

will neverplay who now of one the bloodyshoes There inhersidemirror laid a notionwhichhadbroken herheart Then ahowlingwindcametoimpart “I’m cold.Whydidyouhurtme?” Y ..youyou’re . hesitantly turnedasshewipedherface Her neckofrusted gearsfrom allthosetears which, thoughstoppingshort,wentmuchtoofar on thewindowofcalamitouscar as icyfingersgaveaghastlytap A chillingknellrangthrough glass I couldn’t stop. He chasedthedamndog. I couldn’t stop. What wasIsupposedtodo? She shriekedinternally, silent,dethreading hernerves Please wakeup.Please,shepleaded andtransformhertalefrom thisdreadful dirge asifalesstragicanswerwouldsuddenlyemerge What haveIdone?Shedesperatelyquestionedherself. indisbeliefatwhatshe’despied. a small,frailvoicedecried deadly sinscannotbeundone Moments pass,butnotthisone who onceletoutashockingyelp not onlyofherself,butthiswhelp In theRuefulSideview Joanne Teague

113 113  almost ayearnow. I’msorryIdidn’tcomesooner. DoeswhatIsayeven I can’tsayit.should’vecome here sooner. You’ve beeninandoutfor regret filling mygutandalumpinthroat. SomuchI want tosay, yet rest. Ofcourseshe’sready. to myauntandspeaksloudlyclearly. Sheasksherifshe’s ready to steps outsomymothercouldhaveaturn.Shecomesin, leaningclose and Ifoughtbacktearsasourunclerecounts talesofher. Ouruncle of it.IsaysimilarlinestowhatI’veheard from everyoneelse.Mysister through meaninginhergestures, yetIknewthere wasnothingtomake her mouthsometimesmoves,butcansheevenseeus?I keeplooking but whatdoIsaytosomeonewhomightnothearme?Her eyeswander, hands madeforamiserablesight.Theytoldmetosaysomething toher, from herthroat, helpingherbreathe. A castonherleftarmandswollen she greets myaunt.Tubes andwires raneverywhere. Onetubecoming yellow robes andsmellylatexgloves.Igoinwithmysisterwatchas bedside. Slowly, wetaketurnsgoingintotheroom, puttingonrough, been waiting.Ipeerintotheroom besideus;myunclestandingbythe in achairthecornerofroom, theirheadinhands. holding thehandsofpersonlyingwithhereyesclosed. Another sits halls. Iglanceintoaroom aswe passby. Two people standbyabed, A machinecontinuouslybeeps,echoingominouslythrough thewhite while wewait.Thedoorsunlockandwalkin,footstepsoutofsync. button andspeakstosomeonebuzzusin.Iread thevisitationhours to anemptyroom. There’s anintercom onthewall.Fatherpushesa been tobefore. Silently, Ifolloweveryonethrough themazeofhallways several timesanywaysuntilthedoorsclose.ItopenstoafloorI’venever creaking doorsandaclosebuttonthatdoesn’twork.Ipushthe barely makingeyecontact.We walktoanold,wornelevatorwith words I’msure she’srepeated severaltimesthatday. Imimichersmile, Mother sayshergoodbyesas doesmysister. Iholdmyaunt’shand, We makeittotheendofhallway, greeting ourrelatives whohad The front deskreceptionist forces atired smileandgreets mewith Room ofRegretandaLostSoul Jessica Peterson

114 114  to seeyou.Resteasynow.” don’t wanttoseeyoulikethis.Mygriptightensslightly, “I’mgladIgot something now. You probably wouldn’twantmetoseeyoulikethis.I until Isawthepainofeveryoneelse. Am Iabadperson?shouldsay saw thedefeatedlooksofmyrelatives thatIfeltsomething.wasn’tsad I barely reacted. Onmywayhere, Ibarely feltanything.Itwasn’tuntilI matter anymore? A weekagoIwastoldthere wasnobrainactivity, but

115 115 Elizabeth Essmann,Untitled(3Pears),Charcoal, 2016.

116 116  That tintofpurplemadethe paintingwhatitwas Doesn’t meanthere isn’tone Just becauseyoucan’tsee the reason yet We makethemforareason Mistakes aren’t supposedtobeforgotten But that’swhatmakesitglow You canstillseeasmalltintofpurple And whenyoulookatit It turnsintoart And withafewmore mistakes So youpaintoverthepurple And you’re notabouttothrow awaya$100canvas But there willstillbethattintofpurpleyoustartedwith And scrub again You canscrub and scrub It doesn’twashoff The thingaboutpaintonacanvasis It leavesmore mistakesthanpurposes And whenmypaintbrush hitsthecanvas But I’manartist As thebestlifelived And godowninhistory It willhanginamuseum So thatmaybeoneday And theywanttomakeitasperfectpossible Of thinkingoftheirlifelikeapieceart I thinkmostpeoplemakethemistake A betteronetolead To makemylife About theadviceIwouldgivemyself And thoughtagain I’ve thoughtand Samantha Ogden Blank Canvas

117 117  Or embracethebeautifulgalleryoflessonslearned So wouldyouratherstare ataperfectpatchofnothing? mistake There isn’tasingleartistthatcanpaintwithoutmaking Then realize howboringitiswithoutpaint Stare atiteveryday Hang itonyourwall And don’tpaintonit To gobuyacanvas It wouldbe So ifIhadonepieceofadviceformyself It wouldbesomethingdifferent And withoutit 118 118 Sage McCoy, Violet Twist, Glass,2016.

119 119  Anna Sobol,Cypress Typology, Digitalphotograph,2016.

120 