5 Letter from the Editors

BURNmagazine

Issue 5 Letter from the Editors

What is Burn?

As new editors resurrecting Burn Magazine from its last publication in 2010, we look to embody our preceding editors’ hopes for Burn, despite moving into the future; that is, compiling a literary magazine that allows its readers to momentarily escape their busy collegiate lives in Boston and immerse themselves in the words, thoughts, and images of their undergraduate colleagues. We chose the following pieces based on both on their unique concepts and varying styles, though we decided against a specific theme for this issue to bind the contributions together aside from the fact that they all were written by undergraduates. Our hope is that because of the wide range of pieces we chose, Burn will appeal to all types of people at Boston University as a way to experience the creativity of those who may be outside of their discipline’s realm—we want this magazine and its contributors’ voices to reach people outside of just family and friends (though we do appreciate these you). We hope you enjoy the pieces we selected from our submissions this semester, and we look forward to the future of Burn Magazine.

Best, Jenna Bessemer and Tori Sommerman, Co-Editors Zachary Bos, Advising Editor

Founded in 2006 by Catherine Craft, Mary Sullivan, and Chase Quinn. Boston University undergraduates may send submissions to [email protected]. Manuscripts are considered year-round. Burn Magazine is published according to an irregular schedule by the Boston University Literary Society; printed by the Pen & Anvil Press. Front cover photograph by Tori Sommerman, COM 2013. The editors thank Emma Alden for posing.

3 Letter from the Editors

What is Burn?

Best, Jenna Bessemer and Tori Sommerman, Co-Editors Zachary Bos, Advising Editor

3 exercise6 in minimalism on32 the road to harry meltzer boston harry meltzer birthday8 jackson tobin here 34it comes jennie davis an introduction10 to the concepts of sleeping the40 crumble and waking ann powers harry meltzer santa14 barbra equating beauty41 with sydney fogel cancerous follicles chelsea quezergue

indian 15delights mythical42 montage: ann powers “enter, hades.” sara forster perry16 jennie davis secret44 eater carolyn mainardi the leo18 in my dreams 48 writer’s block sydney fogel kelly greacen the20 thief jackson tobin overcominghyperreality 50 then he27 taketh in “Fight Club ” away ross ballantyne anteo fabris table of contents

4 5 exercise6 in minimalism on32 the road to harry meltzer boston harry meltzer birthday8 jackson tobin here 34it comes jennie davis an introduction10 to the concepts of sleeping the40 crumble and waking ann powers harry meltzer santa14 barbra equating beauty41 with sydney fogel cancerous follicles chelsea quezergue

4 5 by kara korab by harry meltzer The river and trees; highway, brittle red, golden brown, an Afghan carpet.

Maine; Water’s chant against the rocks, sand, pink noses, rosy knees tossed towards the sky.

The couch; Wound together, warm weather withers. Strange neighbors like TV drone.

Cramped and tired, my marks make little sense;

paper has no deep reds, pen no sunlight, and pencil no human touch. excersise in minimalism

6 7 by kara korab by harry meltzer The river and trees; highway, brittle red, golden brown, an Afghan carpet.

Maine; Water’s chant against the rocks, sand, pink noses, rosy knees tossed towards the sky.

The couch; Wound together, warm weather withers. Strange neighbors like TV drone.

Cramped and tired, my marks make little sense;

paper has no deep reds, pen no sunlight, and pencil no human touch. excersise in minimalism

6 7 Outside the train station, Andrew cut and pulled him in for a hasty embrace. He looked out to the road, a thin, pockmarked Charlie turned and jumped up and down, waving the engine. The Chevy died mid-groan Charlie’s wet hair stank of cigarettes and stretch of pavement framed on all sides by tower- his arms. “Hey!” he shouted over the wind, but the and he sat, listening as the wind lashed floral shampoo. ing pines. The trail of orange streetlights in the car flew by, two glowing red streaks disappearing heavy sheets of rain against the car. He Andrew cleared his throat and turned parking lot extended only fifty yards or so into into the woods. checked his watch—6:48—and wished the key. The engine whined, sputtered, the street. Beyond their pale circles, the green “There’s that New England neighborly behav- he had left a few minutes later. There and died. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly. black darkness seemed to go on forever. ior,” Charlie grumbled as they walked on. was nothing to do now but wait and wor- “She’s just been a little stubborn recent- Charlie climbed out of the car and moved to Andrew laughed. “You sound like your mother.“ ry about what to say. ly.” He cranked it again, harder. Same Andrew’s side. “Speaking of which,” Charlie said. “She says He turned the key a notch and clicked result. For Christ’s sake. “There’s a phone up on the platform,” Charlie you’ve been calling again. Hanging up. She says the radio into life, boosting the volume Charlie rubbed his hand on the knee said. she’s seen your car on the street outside the bak- to drown out the storm. Swelling strings of his jeans. “Should I go ask somebody Andrew said nothing, staring off into the road. ery.” from the classical channel filled the air for a jump?” he said, nodding ahead to The rain persisted. Charlie waited for his father to reply, but he as he brushed invisible crumbs from the small caravan filtering out of the “Why don’t you go call Eddie, Dad?” didn’t. the passenger seat. Brahms, he thought, parking lot. No more than a dozen cars “Eddie’s gone.” “Why don’t you get out of town, Dad? It’d be

by jackson tobin tiptoeing on the edge of a memory. A had been waiting at the tiny commuter “What do you mean?” good for you.” holiday party, maybe, somewhere back outpost; they were nearly all gone now. “He moved. St. Paul, last spring.” “I can’t afford a vacation.” in Chicago all that time ago, and just for “No,” Andrew said sharply. He soft- Charlie sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Well, what “I don’t mean a vacation.” His voice was firm. a moment he felt a flash of clarity—his ened his tone: “No need. We’ll just give about your friend from the paper? Clark?” “I can’t just leave,” Andrew said angrily. “I’m a wife’s hand, thin and graceful in his it a minute. So. How’s the new job?” “Retired,” Andrew said, with a short, barking staple in this town. There’d be revolution. It may own; the warm, easy weight of a drink in “So far so good. I like the work, I like laugh. “And I never knew his phone number, in not mean much to you now, but history means the belly. the company.” He itched his neck, fin- any case.” He couldn’t remember ever feeling so something here. I’ve written every word on the

birthday Andrew changed the station. A news- gernails scratching stubble. “The pay’s embarrassed. After a moment, he closed the hood Greenville Colts for 15 years.” caster’s voice, tinny in a sea of static, an- not stellar, but not bad for a junior edi- and turned to his son, who was looking out at the “There’s a high school football team in every nounced that President Kennedy would tor. Good enough.” dark road. town in this country.” be speaking in a few moments. He was “Good enough is never good enough,” “Well,” Charlie said. “We might as well get start- Andrew’s face burned. “Did I ask you for career expected to defend his blockade strategy, Andrew said before he could help it. ed, Dad.” advice, Charles?” the newscaster explained, despite vehe- He was sure that Charlie rolled his Andrew guessed it was about seven miles or so “Dad, I just feel like living in the same town as ment opposition from Congressional eyes. “The main thing was to be near into town. It was difficult to gauge their pace: the Mom—“ leaders. For the first time in the history enough to Abby’s parents. She’s very two men were weighed down by their sopping “Enough!” Andrew snapped. “Enough.” of the country, the Armed Forces were close with them.” clothes, and in the darkness they could only see a Again, silence fell. The rain had finally let up, on DEFCON 2. Andrew wasn’t sure what Andrew bristled: what is that supposed few feet before them. For a while they walked on and the gravel scattered by their boots could be that meant. He turned off the radio be- to mean? He turned the key again, but in silence, listening to the steady roar of the rain. heard rattling across the pavement during breaks fore the newscaster could explain. the old car still wouldn’t wake. “And There were a few stars visible overhead, their fail- in the wind. It occurred to Andrew now that this At length Andrew felt the slow, heavy things are good with her?” ing light blurry and smeared. Andrew was wor- night, this moment, was the truest vision of their tremble of the train approaching. He “Great.” ried about what Charlie was thinking, but he was relationship. Miles and miles of dumbstruck si- looked up to the elevated platform, “I’d like to meet her.” also heartened by a new sensation, intense and lence, broken by a burst of flame springing from nestled in the heart of the woods of “You will. We’re just both so busy. You unknown, welling up inside like a deep breath. the dark—only to disappear again, scorching the northern Maine like a treehouse. He know how it is.” “Do you think they’ll push the button?” he ground and illuminating nothing. swept the seat again as he watched his “Sure,” Andrew said. He looked out asked suddenly, swept up in this unfamiliar wave. Off in the distance, the pinprick lights of a son carefully descend the steep cement through the windshield more in hope In the darkness he saw his son turn to him. “I small town blinked gently back at them. Andrew stairs; twenty-four, he was tall and wiry, than expectation: they were alone in the don’t know,” Charlie said. “I’m surprised you’d and his son walked on, waiting for a flash of all limbs. The wind whipped his wavy parking lot now. want to talk about this.” something. blond hair in furious shapes. “That jump’s looking pretty good now, “The radio said DEFCON 2.” Should I get out? I should get out, huh?” Charlie said. “Jesus,” Charlie said in a low hiss, his words Andrew thought, but Charlie’s stride was Andrew stepped out of the car, taking dissolving in the driving rain. quick and he was already prying open care not to slam the door behind him. “What does that mean, Charlie?” the passenger door. He propped the hood, obscuring Charlie Charlie waited a few paces. “It means that “Hi, Dad,” he said, slouching into the from view. It didn’t matter—they both they’re preparing for war. For nuclear war.” worn leather seat. “Happy birthday.” He knew Andrew’s mechanical knowledge Suddenly, headlights appeared on the road draped an arm around his father’s neck went no further than changing a tire. beneath them, and a car whizzed up behind them.

8 9 Outside the train station, Andrew cut and pulled him in for a hasty embrace. He looked out to the road, a thin, pockmarked Charlie turned and jumped up and down, waving the engine. The Chevy died mid-groan Charlie’s wet hair stank of cigarettes and stretch of pavement framed on all sides by tower- his arms. “Hey!” he shouted over the wind, but the and he sat, listening as the wind lashed floral shampoo. ing pines. The trail of orange streetlights in the car flew by, two glowing red streaks disappearing heavy sheets of rain against the car. He Andrew cleared his throat and turned parking lot extended only fifty yards or so into into the woods. checked his watch—6:48—and wished the key. The engine whined, sputtered, the street. Beyond their pale circles, the green “There’s that New England neighborly behav- he had left a few minutes later. There and died. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly. black darkness seemed to go on forever. ior,” Charlie grumbled as they walked on. was nothing to do now but wait and wor- “She’s just been a little stubborn recent- Charlie climbed out of the car and moved to Andrew laughed. “You sound like your mother.“ ry about what to say. ly.” He cranked it again, harder. Same Andrew’s side. “Speaking of which,” Charlie said. “She says He turned the key a notch and clicked result. For Christ’s sake. “There’s a phone up on the platform,” Charlie you’ve been calling again. Hanging up. She says the radio into life, boosting the volume Charlie rubbed his hand on the knee said. she’s seen your car on the street outside the bak- to drown out the storm. Swelling strings of his jeans. “Should I go ask somebody Andrew said nothing, staring off into the road. ery.” from the classical channel filled the air for a jump?” he said, nodding ahead to The rain persisted. Charlie waited for his father to reply, but he as he brushed invisible crumbs from the small caravan filtering out of the “Why don’t you go call Eddie, Dad?” didn’t. the passenger seat. Brahms, he thought, parking lot. No more than a dozen cars “Eddie’s gone.” “Why don’t you get out of town, Dad? It’d be

8 9

Watching somebody sleep is an out of Her hair was red. Not real red, but fallen asleep underneath him, and he wanted to forever and Paul would come back from outside body experience. Your consciousness that soft, muddy shade of red that looks move it. Again, the sheets shifted, but this time to once again inhabit his awkward, lean shell. leaves your limited perception brown in most light. He had thought it sounded like breaking waves and he paused in But he wasn’t unhappy, even though he couldn’t and simply floats. Your breath is was darker, last night, but he liked this fear of awakening the sleeping girl next to him. land a girl for more than a few days. It always suspended—breathe too deeply, and shade better. He knew what would happen when she awoke. could be worse. And even though he missed hav- they’ll wake from the dream and you’ll It was early. Paul always awoke early The dream would be broken. He would have to ing a girlfriend, he never felt too strongly about it. wake too. But for that moment, you’re on mornings like this. He was never come down from the ceiling and back into his No use worrying about the long-term, he always just above the playing field, watching sure why. This morning was different body like before. thought, because it was so far away. He kept his yourself watching. The way your chest though. He was up even earlier—the He much preferred it from the outside. Things thoughts with him, watching from a distance, rises and falls slowly. Your muscles sun was just permeating the curtains, were less personal. Things happened to Paul, not and let Paul do all the talking and the fucking. It are taut but your eyelids droop ever making a film over his vision as it does him. And then when he was Paul again, he could worked better that way anyway. He kept himself so slightly—it is still early—and the that early—and he didn’t want to fall just imagine how it felt to be outside, and things happy most of the time. light is a dim wash through the pale back to sleep. Even still, Paul’s eyes were better. He didn’t have chicken legs. His nose By this time, the light came in at an angle to curtains that makes the urge to drift fluttered as he fought the urge to drift didn’t have that bump that always showed up in the curtains and left a streak on the bed. It passed

by harry meltzer overwhelming. Sleep reminds you it away again. Her chest rose and fell and pictures. That was some other guy, not him. Kate over her bare neck and wrapped itself around her has unfinished business but your mind he was mesmerized. He matched his used to say he was detached, he was absent, he fingers, which rested by her face. Paul could see resists. In a dream, you lie down, quietly, breathing with hers, letting the air seep didn’t care, and it was probably the truth. the curve of her breast where the sheets framed and continue to watch. The shifting into his lungs, and exhaling sweetly They broke up over that. He watched that from her body. He stared too long, not from something sheets sound like a thunderstorm. The and quietly like she did. He wanted to the outside too. perverse but rather a fascination he hadn’t noticed sleeper’s eyelids flutter and your motion touch her. To brush the smooth skin on The room was stuffy. It was warm, and humid, before. He was jealous of her beauty. How in her is arrested in anticipation—and then her arm and the short, light hairs that and comfortable, and smelled like her: fresh and sleep even, she was more exceedingly beautiful you sink down, trying to slow the groans he hadn’t noticed the night before. He new. Paul became conscious of his breath. He than he would ever be. He watched her breathe of the mattress beneath you. Arms tight, could see her ear. It was small and thin knew it must be terrible, and he was ashamed. again—the rise and fall of her chest—as his per- you continue to float, as to not wake and delicate and he wanted to feel it on And the acne scars on his shoulders. Her shoul- spective shifted and he could her face as she slept. them, and breathe into yourself, slowly his cheek, to rest his head on her neck. ders were smooth—they were barely visible under There was a strength in it. A strength and a relaxing every muscle until you sink Paul let his mind go, and he drifted the white sheet, and he followed their contours beauty Paul would never achieve. and sleep. again. From above now, he watched his with his gaze. She was skinny and her waist Paul sensed that she knew where she was. And Paul sat like this a long time, one foot frame through the sheets and it disap- curved at the frequency of his arms and he longed she knew what she was doing, and until now, Paul off of the bed and the other underneath pointed him—especially as he lay next more than anything to hold it and draw her close had thought he knew too. He wondered how he

sleeping and waking him. The sheets warmed his pasty thighs to all that beauty—that his legs retained to him. Paul wanted this, of course. From the out- looked when he slept, and had she been watching and left his naked torso chilled. He no shape and his hip-bones made an inside he knew better. him? Did he have the same strength, or did he dared not move and wake her. The floor dent in the thin fabric. He could see her He’d had mornings like this before, when he just disappear? creaked quietly under him as he adjust- face now. The way her eyebrows curved forgot for a moment his pounding headache, He watched the clock switch from 7:59 to 8:00 ed his weight and he froze. He didn’t gently, and the remnants of teenaged and often forgot the night before. There’d been and wondered why he always woke so early on move and he didn’t breathe. For a min- blemishes left slight marks on her fore- a few girls like this too. He had charm, he knew, days like this. ute he sat in stone silence, mouth open head. Wisps of hair curled gently around but not the kind that would last. They’d talk for Maybe he was afraid of how he looked when he and forehead wrinkled in concentration. her ears. Her lips were slightly parted. a while and she would always have a sparkle in slept, and what she would think of him if she saw Finally, he let out a breath and inhaled They were pale and thin and dry. her eye although they were never as drunk as he him there—his ghostly white shoulders and thin quietly. The room was dark with bits of fil- was. But he always pretended not to be. In Paul’s legs, dwarfed by his oversized boxer shorts. He The springs of the mattress sighed at tered light illuminating the corners. It mind, they were the only sensible two at the party. tried not to fall asleep when people were around. his weight as he lowered himself to- was clean, or clean as it could be, and Always the girls awoke late, and always they were Paul was awake now. She still slept, her shoul- wards the pillow. He was careful not to only Paul’s shoes and in the corner and beautiful, but they never stayed. ders and breast retaining their hold over his move the sheets. She slept too peaceful- their clothing strewn on the carpet Paul knew why, of course. It wasn’t a mystery concentration. He once again longed to draw her ly to be woken, her face away from his. indicated its inhabitant. It was warm. In to him that if you squinted, he was attractive. It close and feel her warm skin against his body, but Paul shifted his head slowly towards the the dry air, Paul awoke again. He had was the same at parties, then. When he was drunk, he knew better and slid out of bed noiselessly. One other side of the pillow, facing her. Her slipped into a doze minutes before, but he was okay. Everyone was nicer and the girls foot rolled to the floor, then the other, creaking shoulder twitched slightly. Paul froze he was unaware of this, and waking up paid more attention, but only until the morning slightly under his weight. She stirred under the an introduction to the concepts of again, and then allowed his muscles to did not startle him as it had the first when they’d realize they had the wrong guy. Then sheets, wrapping herself tightly. It reminded Paul thaw loosely and rested his head next to time. It was gentle, like the curves of the they’d be nice, and notice him for a little while of a painting, the way the sheets framed her body hers. fabric around her hips. His hand had longer when he saw them before they disappeared like an artist placed them there to render his fan-

10 11

10 11 tasies on cream-colored canvas. efforts he could see her but not himself. His eyes He stepped lightly over their clothing on the remained fixed and so did his consciousness. If he floor. Her shoes were flat, not heels, and she had had drifted away, he would have noticed that his been wearing jeans at the party. That’s why he hair was a brown mess and he had acne starting noticed her, he remembered, because she wasn’t on his shoulder and forehead, and that the pants dressed like the other girls. refused to fit him in the charming way his shirt She noticed him for the way his shirt refused to had done so the night before, and that his spine fit. could be seen as ridges in his skin on his back. He Paul went into the bathroom and brushed his also would have noticed that his breath quickened teeth. The white porcelain sink was too bright, and then became shallow again, as if he were and he had to look away. He pulled on flannel treading softly again to not wake the girl from pants to hide his ill-fitting underwear and sat in a her sleep. Fortunately, Paul noticed none of these chair in the kitchen. The wooden slats were cool things. on his back. By now sun streamed through the “I—I don’t think I caught your name last night.” window and illuminated the grain in the lami- It wasn’t embarrassment or shame in her voice, nated oak table. Everything in the apartment was or maybe it was. Paul only heard the sweet round- cheap, but Paul liked it. ed tones from her lips and the words she was say- He breathed deeply for the first time since waking and noticed her look at her feet. She shifted. ing. It was refreshing, knowing he was far enough Paul didn’t know it, but she watched him from the away that he couldn’t wake her. He was comfort- inside for the first time. ed that she was still there in the warm streaks of “Paul” light, her breast barely covered by the blanket as His voice was raspy from the alcohol. He she slept. cleared his throat and it disturbed the calm This time he’d forgotten some of the night be- sunlight from the window. Paul suddenly became fore, like he usually did. He remembered watch- conscious again, although this time, his soul ing himself, from the outside, leaving the party refused to leave him behind in favor of the by the front door. He tripped on the steps and she outside. He saw these things from the inside out. laughed. “Evelyn” He arched his neck over the back of the chair It was the name she hated most—the label to and closed his eyes. The sun made spots on his the body she rarely inhabited. It was easier to eyelids and he watched them dance for a while. watch Evelyn from a distance. But this time, it felt “Hey” familiar on her tongue. The voice was quick and light and sweet. Its Paul smiled. He had a gap between his front simplicity was beautiful and it barely broke the teeth, but he forgot it. morning. Evelyn looked down again, a cautious smile Paul was startled. He opened his eyes and the breaking her lips as she exhaled. A strand of hair spots stopped dancing. fell from behind her ear and floated across her She was standing in the doorway wrapped in cheek. Her eyes turned down and Paul was fixed Paul’s shirt from the night before. There were on the corners of her mouth. They wrinkled and stains on the front, too light for anyone to notice, bent upwards and Paul couldn’t help it so his did but Paul did, and he was embarassed. too. The mist over his eyes started to clear. He felt Barefoot, her toes pressed lightly on the cool awake. linoleum. She was shorter than Paul remembered, and her not-quite-brown hair brushed her shoulders and chest. Her legs were thin and smooth. Even under the ill-fitting shirt Paul could make out the shape of her that he had admired while she slept. The spell would be broken now and Paul would watch this part from the outside. Except this time he didn’t. Despite his best “mannequins” by bill hinsee bill by “mannequins”

12 13 tasies on cream-colored canvas. efforts he could see her but not himself. His eyes He stepped lightly over their clothing on the remained fixed and so did his consciousness. If he floor. Her shoes were flat, not heels, and she had had drifted away, he would have noticed that his been wearing jeans at the party. That’s why he hair was a brown mess and he had acne starting noticed her, he remembered, because she wasn’t on his shoulder and forehead, and that the pants dressed like the other girls. refused to fit him in the charming way his shirt She noticed him for the way his shirt refused to had done so the night before, and that his spine fit. could be seen as ridges in his skin on his back. He Paul went into the bathroom and brushed his also would have noticed that his breath quickened teeth. The white porcelain sink was too bright, and then became shallow again, as if he were and he had to look away. He pulled on flannel treading softly again to not wake the girl from pants to hide his ill-fitting underwear and sat in a her sleep. Fortunately, Paul noticed none of these chair in the kitchen. The wooden slats were cool things. on his back. By now sun streamed through the “I—I don’t think I caught your name last night.” window and illuminated the grain in the lami- It wasn’t embarrassment or shame in her voice, nated oak table. Everything in the apartment was or maybe it was. Paul only heard the sweet round- cheap, but Paul liked it. ed tones from her lips and the words she was say- He breathed deeply for the first time since waking and noticed her look at her feet. She shifted. ing. It was refreshing, knowing he was far enough Paul didn’t know it, but she watched him from the away that he couldn’t wake her. He was comfort- inside for the first time. ed that she was still there in the warm streaks of “Paul” light, her breast barely covered by the blanket as His voice was raspy from the alcohol. He she slept. cleared his throat and it disturbed the calm This time he’d forgotten some of the night be- sunlight from the window. Paul suddenly became fore, like he usually did. He remembered watch- conscious again, although this time, his soul ing himself, from the outside, leaving the party refused to leave him behind in favor of the by the front door. He tripped on the steps and she outside. He saw these things from the inside out. laughed. “Evelyn” He arched his neck over the back of the chair It was the name she hated most—the label to and closed his eyes. The sun made spots on his the body she rarely inhabited. It was easier to eyelids and he watched them dance for a while. watch Evelyn from a distance. But this time, it felt “Hey” familiar on her tongue. The voice was quick and light and sweet. Its Paul smiled. He had a gap between his front simplicity was beautiful and it barely broke the teeth, but he forgot it. morning. Evelyn looked down again, a cautious smile Paul was startled. He opened his eyes and the breaking her lips as she exhaled. A strand of hair spots stopped dancing. fell from behind her ear and floated across her She was standing in the doorway wrapped in cheek. Her eyes turned down and Paul was fixed Paul’s shirt from the night before. There were on the corners of her mouth. They wrinkled and stains on the front, too light for anyone to notice, bent upwards and Paul couldn’t help it so his did but Paul did, and he was embarassed. too. The mist over his eyes started to clear. He felt Barefoot, her toes pressed lightly on the cool awake. linoleum. She was shorter than Paul remembered, and her not-quite-brown hair brushed her shoulders and chest. Her legs were thin and smooth. Even under the ill-fitting shirt Paul could make out the shape of her that he had admired while she slept. The spell would be broken now and Paul would watch this part from the outside. Except this time he didn’t. Despite his best “mannequins” by bill hinsee bill by “mannequins”

12 13 indian delights by ann powers by sydney fogel

Rapt parties burst Sand invades the plastic pail, Through the doors Exfoliating the scored sides Of a grease eatery: And crowding every curved edge. It’s feeding time so We scrape the surface clean, neat, The drooling begins My palm pressing against the damp mass And the hungry order with rabid focus, So condensed, it barely leaves a mark: Intent on guzzling their carnal fantasies The millions constitute one. Of devouring Samosas and syrupy Gulab Jamun. The order commences and thick-worded women This stretch of land is my endless stage. Yell at customers to pick up the grub! I dance, twisting my body Coagulating on squeaky styrofoam To fit the angles I believe construct the perfect pose. Waiting for the deep-fried massacre The spotlight never moves from above: That will surely spew debris on Polka dots on my bathing suit The linoleum and laps of all. Reflecting the light like numerous suns. Quivering fat presses into the counter edge As they grab sticky trays and shove santa barbra We build a palace A path back to table legs jammed with newspaper, Following my father’s recipe Braced for the feast that quakes the entire canteen Like I followed the erratic placement And sends chairs scampering from their spots. Of his feet across the sand. The gorge ensues and oil dribble coats the His hands, like tools, Surface of every article in sight while the eating Carve the moat that I run to fill, Bulge with relish until all the gristle bits and And with every second, the sand Masala Dosa disappear and fleeting ecstasy Sucks more water deep into its gut. Is replaced by the lull of sedation. All at once they rise from the wreckage and Labor out the same doors without a thought Of gathering the mess—those who work gawk at The flurry in front of them and sink in relief As the last gob & belly leaves and the dive stills Until the next unsightly feed rages the place again.

14 15 indian delights by ann powers by sydney fogel

14 15 She was a completely serious person. Even but still that had been the name that had trying to push the $10 animal on her; it wasn’t like it tolled, but this time the parrot said nothing, as its beak her neighbors would attest to that. come to mind when she had first seen the would help them meet their bottom line anyway and was full with food. The little girl down the hall remembered lonely blue eye blink back at her. she had too much of a reputation of taking herself Saturday came and went. The young children had when she was hollered at for jumping rope There had been a time, years ago now, too seriously. They just let her come in and spend her played in the park and the teenagers who had just incorrectly and that the odd woman in 4B when Perry had just arrived in the shop twenty minutes each afternoon looking at the un- begun dating went to the local movie theater for the wouldn’t leave her alone until she herself was and had been put on display in the window claimed gerbil, they grew to expect her at her usual 7 PM show. Sunday came as well, passing more slowly, out of breath from demonstrating. Her next- with the others in his litter. She had been time and she became the store joke amongst the em- but passing nonetheless. The parents had bribed their door neighbors could remember her face, walking by with the same grocery order she ployees and the regulars buying dog food. children with candy to be quiet in the pews, as the steamy and red, at midnight when they’d had gotten every week since 1982, when And this was all fine and dandy and working out students who had procrastinated all weekend finished been having a party and had violated the five boisterous teenage boys came toward for the serious woman who didn’t want to forge over their math homework. noise contract she had made them sign. The her. She had yelped out of fright—after the $10 to buy the damn gerbil she had literally stared It was Monday. The children boarded the bus to boy who stocked shelves at the market down distributing five dirty, albeit serious, looks— at for hours, expect for the fact that yesterday was a school in the morning and nibbled on their peanut the road remembered the way she stood in when they had bumped into her by accident Thursday and Perry had died. She would later picture butter sandwiches at the lunch bell. And then, after aisle 3 last Tuesday for an hour comparing (their account, not hers) and sent her into the herself on her plastic covered couch, watching her the homework had been assigned and they had been

by jennie davis the nutrition facts for two juices; he had pet store window. As she dusted herself off serious show, while the blue eye gerbil clawed at the dropped back home after school, it was 3:15. perry imagined her debating the pros and cons in and grew relieved that she remained in one cage, longing for her, and then turning over and dying But there was no serious woman to be found. She her head because only very serious people piece after this trauma, she had found herself when 3:15 came and went and the bell didn’t chime was not on the sidewalk, or in the pet store, or even at did that. staring at the tiny gerbil staring back at her. nor did the parrot squeak. the market contemplating juice. And that may have And yet, in all the ways that she was se- So it had become a tradition, one she fol- And so today the employees were crowded at the been one thing, but after Tuesday and Wednesday rious, it made her a laughable character in lowed to the letter since that’s what serious cash register, waiting for the serious woman to arrive had passed, the gum-chewing girl grew anxious, even the neighborhood. No one took the serious people did. She would stand by his cage and so they could tell her the news and watch her reaction. though it was Thursday and she knew not to expect woman seriously. She was a bother and a tap the glass, sometimes swirl her finger in Some had bet that she’d have a tantrum in the mid- her anyway. But she worried, against her own wishes, snoot, and the local teenagers were convinced a circle for him to chase, and watch the little dle of the store and kill that stupid old parrot in the and couldn’t sleep that night. After being reamed by she had a few loose screws, because the only creature stare back longingly, hoping that process. Some bet that she’d start to cry. Some bet that her crazy English teacher for falling asleep in class, person who took her seriously was Perry. this time he would get to go home with her. it wouldn’t matter and she just stare at another gerbil. she decided to call the police anyway and report the That in itself was debatable, since Perry The first time she had entered the store, And some bet that she wouldn’t do anything in public serious woman missing. was not technically as much of a person as he rubbing the arm that had bumped the glass, because she was, after all, a serious woman. The police had called her back that night hes- was a gerbil at the local pet store. At quarter and looked down at him in his cage, a store They counted down to 3:15 wildly, and the itantly and asked if she would come down to the past three every day, save for Thursdays when employee had come over to her to begin a gum-chewing girl threw her hands above her head station to identify the body the next day. They told her program was on television, she would conversation about the gerbil. when she spotted the serious woman walking down the gum-chewing girl that the serious woman had walk into the pet store, setting off the bell “Please,” the serious woman had begun. the street. She walked in the door, crossing the thresh- drowned in the community pool at night, but that they atop the door and the old parrot who would “I’m not going to buy it so I don’t want to old as the bell dinged and the bird squawked. She didn’t suspect any foul play in the matter, admitting whine at the new customers. She would pre- hear your speech.” counted the thirteen steps across the tile floor to the their insecurity about how she had managed to get tend to be interested in the pink dog collar, “Whatever,” the girl had said, blowing a pink dog collar, which she picked up, examined, then unto the pool grounds that were closed during this though she owned no dog, and sometimes bubble with her pink gum. “It’s just a freak- set back in its place. She took the next ten steps to time of year. There’d been something about a letter would even pick it up and look at the price ing animal.” Perry’s cage, only to discover it had been emptied and and an uncle, but the girl refused to absorb the infor- tag. But no matter what she did after she There had been a pause in conversation as cleaned spotlessly. She frowned at this, and turned mation. She had waited for the man to finish, then said walked in the door, she would be standing the woman squinted at the creature, trying to around to face the sudden battery of store help. goodnight, hung up the phone, and went to bed. at Perry’s cage within five minutes. First, she narrow down the species from the encyclope- “Where is he?” She asked. “Where did you move Sometimes the little girl down the hall remembered would tap the glass, and obligatorily the ger- dias that she’d read as a child. “Is it a gerbil?” him?” the woman when she saw her jump rope in her closet. bil would scurry over to the serious woman She’d asked. “Who?” The gum-chewing girl said slowly and deli- Sometimes her next-door neighbors would remember and sit down. She may even crack a smile if it The girl, who had likely professed to be ciously. the woman when they turned up the volume on their was an especially according-to-plan day, but an animal lover to get the job but clearly The serious woman cleared her throat. “The gerbil. television set. And sometimes the boy who stocked otherwise she would just stare at the black knew no more about animals than pumpkins, The gerbil with the one blue eye.” shelves at the market down the road would remember little creature, with his one blue eye and one had shrugged and snapped the gum in her “Oh, him?” The girl asked and waited for the wom- the woman as he fixed the juice display. But mostly black eye so that all you saw when he scur- mouth. She’d moved to the cage, picked it an to nod, and then said, “He died yesterday.” people in the neighborhood remembered the serious ried by was the beady blue eye. She had given up to check the tag on the bottom, and said, The serious woman did not say anything. She did woman in the dead of summer, when they would trek him the name Perry after her favorite uncle “Gerbils. $10.” not cry, or stare at another gerbil, or throw a fit and down to the community pool with their water noodles who had committed suicide in his pool when “Gerbils,” the woman had repeated, kill the old parrot. She just stood there, and the em- and packed lunches, trying to watch their children she was five. She didn’t really remember straightening her spine. ployees that had bet on this reaction elbowed one play in the pool, but instead imagining her floating in him, other than that he always smelled of “Well,” the girl had said sullenly. “This has another in bemusement. the pool, her hair trailing her body, seriously dead. cigarettes and had caramel candies in a glass been fun.” And she had turned and walked “Very well then,” the serious woman said, as an un- bowl on his dining room table. The gerbil, as away. expected sense of despair leaked from her. She walked far as she knew, was nothing like her uncle, They didn’t bother her anymore with to the door, opened it, and slipped out as the bell

16 17 She was a completely serious person. Even but still that had been the name that had trying to push the $10 animal on her; it wasn’t like it tolled, but this time the parrot said nothing, as its beak her neighbors would attest to that. come to mind when she had first seen the would help them meet their bottom line anyway and was full with food. The little girl down the hall remembered lonely blue eye blink back at her. she had too much of a reputation of taking herself Saturday came and went. The young children had when she was hollered at for jumping rope There had been a time, years ago now, too seriously. They just let her come in and spend her played in the park and the teenagers who had just incorrectly and that the odd woman in 4B when Perry had just arrived in the shop twenty minutes each afternoon looking at the un- begun dating went to the local movie theater for the wouldn’t leave her alone until she herself was and had been put on display in the window claimed gerbil, they grew to expect her at her usual 7 PM show. Sunday came as well, passing more slowly, out of breath from demonstrating. Her next- with the others in his litter. She had been time and she became the store joke amongst the em- but passing nonetheless. The parents had bribed their door neighbors could remember her face, walking by with the same grocery order she ployees and the regulars buying dog food. children with candy to be quiet in the pews, as the steamy and red, at midnight when they’d had gotten every week since 1982, when And this was all fine and dandy and working out students who had procrastinated all weekend finished been having a party and had violated the five boisterous teenage boys came toward for the serious woman who didn’t want to forge over their math homework. noise contract she had made them sign. The her. She had yelped out of fright—after the $10 to buy the damn gerbil she had literally stared It was Monday. The children boarded the bus to boy who stocked shelves at the market down distributing five dirty, albeit serious, looks— at for hours, expect for the fact that yesterday was a school in the morning and nibbled on their peanut the road remembered the way she stood in when they had bumped into her by accident Thursday and Perry had died. She would later picture butter sandwiches at the lunch bell. And then, after aisle 3 last Tuesday for an hour comparing (their account, not hers) and sent her into the herself on her plastic covered couch, watching her the homework had been assigned and they had been

16 17 At first it was like he was not there. His presence was known but did not cause a wake much beyond a ripple:

They stood on the side of the city street, next to the meter that begged for change. The pavement looked wet, yet the by sydney fogel sky burned orange. She could see his body start to grow thin, his skin turning to crystallized dust, the sun slowly drawing him back up. At the bottom of the hill the water quietly watched, knowing better than to act too soon. She searched her mind for any final words that would cause the particles of his body to grow heavy and fall back down to her feet in a splash. She knew that he knew her and had just simply forgotten, that the sun had entered his pores and dried the little pool of liquid that cased his heart and kept it soft and mutable. She thought of what she could say, what she could communicate that would spark a similar emotion within him, causing her aura to radiate once again. Beauty, a thing she felt and appreciated from the depth of her being; beauty, he would understand.

The surface of the water danced with glitter, like stars pinpricked in the night sky. The cosmos had come to play. The heat of his tongue forced open his mouth and he said, “My favorite thing was the sun.” At first she did not know if she had heard correctly, as his words came too quick and sharp. She asked, “what?” wanting to hear him repeat the words of his essence. And yet again he plainly said, “The sun. My favorite thing was the sun.” The sun-coated Golden Gate Bridge spanned the horizon of her mind, and the water beneath felt no need to compete. For water is the only thing strong enough to extinguish fire’s presumably everlasting flames. In the middle of the bridge, where the cables descend to meet, was a setting sun forcefully emitting its rich smoldering color, striving to project it’s burning warmth before sinking into the ocean. the leo in my dreams by kara korab

18 19 At first it was like he was not there. His presence was known but did not cause a wake much beyond a ripple:

18 19 I only a boat of this size could support the never came in at all. As far as James could tell, his stuttering sprinkle of snow had given way to a weight of the bridge while also generating attendance seemed to be interpreted as effort— near-blizzard, and the commute home was slow. James had a nosebleed. They often hap- enough force to tear it from its roots. maybe he had lost most of his clients, but he was James navigated the roads at an excruciating crawl, pened in the dry New England winter. But “Some have suggested that it may have trying. the radio turned loud to drown the crunch of snow the timing was a problem. He was left with been an accident, but the specifics of the Of course, he wasn’t trying. He came in because beneath the tires. As he’d hoped, NPR was cover- no option but to shuffle through the office crash suggest otherwise—a boat would he needed something to get him out of bed in the ing the story. with a spattered tissue pinched hard on his have to have slam into the bridge at top morning—somewhere to go where other people “The concern that some Romans have,” one pun- nose. He stood at the mailroom window speed to dislodge it. chatted about nothing, about the upkeep of their dit said, his voice deep and slow, “is that this type and watched Gabrielle walk to the subway. “In this story many questions have yet lawns; where he, should he feel up to it, could en- of gross vandalism could precipitate similar events The breath from his mouth made tufts of to be answered. But perhaps the most ter the kitchen and smile at them, seeing the rud- around the city. ‘Excitable youth’ was the exact fog on the glass. baffling of all: why, in a city so renowned diness of their cheeks and feeling a part of it all, a term the police chief used. Once she had disappeared, he turned for romance, would this icon of love be competent, equal, indistinct grain in the dune. “The latest breaks suggest something different his full attention to the nosebleed. He had targeted?” From his cubicle he could see the elevator bank, altogether—that Paolo Di Natale was acting out of been swift with the tissue and firm with The facecloth stained a spot on the table and when Gabrielle appeared he sprang to his feet. bitterness.”

by jackson tobin his grip; not a drop had spilled on his shirt. and his shepherd’s pie burned in the oven He strode over as the glossy metal doors opened They broke away for station identification and But now the blood dripped backwards, as James combed the Internet for more and slipped in, and then they were alone together. that was the last they spoke of it. When he finally leaving his throat raw and his stomach information. He looked at her in the reflection of the closed arrived home, he turned on his computer. churning. The New York Times: floods in East doors. She looked down. She kept distance between As it turned out, Paolo Di Natale lived about five It was in this state that he returned Asia, suicide bomber kills eight, then: them in the small space. She pushed the button for hundred yards from Ponte Milivio. He crossed the home, tracking in dirty snow from the the ground floor even though it was already lit. bridge twice every day, on his way to and from the sidewalks with his boots. The salt and “SYMBOL OF ROME’S ETERNAL LOVE GOES “I can’t stop thinking about you,” James said. docks where he had piloted his fishing boat for the the thief grit would linger for weeks, scratching MISSING” ROME—Early this morning, Roman residents She reached out and pushed the button again, past half century. the wood floor and clinging to his socks, near the Ponte Milivio, one of the oldest bridges in hard. She acted as though he had said nothing. Her His motive seemed clear. Three years before finally settling in the sheets at the end of the city, woke to a terrible sound, like metal and long black hair fell in soft curls on the shoulder of the incident, to the day, Di Natale’s wife died of an his bed. concrete colliding. her tan parka. He thought of the freckles on her aneurysm. They had been together since they were He turned on the television in the living Upon investigation, they discovered the back. seventeen. The media drew the conclusion: in a fit room and eased into his after-work rou- unthinkable—the bridge had disappeared, ap- “Gabrielle,” he said. “I miss you.” of loneliness, Paolo Di Natale had decided that if tine. He placed a Stouffer’s shepherd’s pie parently ripped right from the concrete roads it connected. “Goddamnit, James,” she said in a low hiss. his love disappeared, the city’s should too. in the oven. He pulled a glass from the The Ponte Milivio, known worldwide as a site “Leave me alone. Please.” The Romans were relentless. The Love Thief, dishwasher and filled it with red wine and of romantic pilgrimages, was host to thousands The elevator made a sharp ping and the doors as the media branded him, was vilified. His tiny three ice cubes. of padlocks. As the tradition went, couples would slid apart. She was out and down the hall before he house was covered in spray paint. Di Natale’s clos- In the living room, James draped a come to the bridge and lock their love to the fence could respond. He pressed the button to go back to est friends, who swore to his kindness, were hound- on it. Afterward, they would toss the key into the damp facecloth over his forehead. He took seventeen. Her words hung heavy in the air. ed by news cameras. Faceless Romans came in the a long drink, submerging himself in the Tiber, and their love would remain, forever bound to the bridge. Until now. Back at his desk, he pulled a thermos of white night and threw hearts of sheep and goats through white noise of the news. A reporter with Police believe that the perpetrator of this wine—he preferred red, but he couldn’t risk stain- his friends’ windows in protest of the crime. The a bump like a knuckle in his nose was on strange crime navigated a massive garbage barge ing his mouth—from his briefcase and turned to next morning, they installed bars on their windows the screen. The backdrop to the shot could down the narrow stretch of river, crashing right the news wires. The bridge story still had its hooks for safety. By midnight those bars were invisible, have been a painting—soft, late afternoon into the bridge and tearing it from its spot. Then in him. every inch covered with lovers’ padlocks. James the barge—and the bridge—sailed away into the sunlight bouncing off the surface of a nar- There were new developments. According to felt the weight of the story in the darkness of his night. As of this evening, neither has been found.” row river carving through an ancient city. an Italian newspaper called Il Parola, the police silent apartment. His vision of the lonely old man “The police have yet to name any sus- had identified a suspect. Paolo Di Natale, a 74-year filled him with emotion, but he wasn’t sure which, A faint odor of smoke drifted in from pects,” the reporter said. The shot changed. old retired fisherman had been missing since the exactly. the kitchen. Cursing, James closed his lap- The screen cut to a group of people lining night of the incident. When the police examined He put on his parka, boots and hat, and wan- top and retrieved his blackened dinner. the cement riverbank. On each side of the his home, they found a scrap of paper on his kitch- dered out into the snowy city. His street was a main

river was a crater, where exposed pipes and en table with three words scrawled: faccio perché boulevard, congested at all hours, but it was desert- II wires hung limp over the water’s edge. devo. ed in the blizzard. He walked in the middle of the “The authorities have determined the Faccio perché devo. I do so because I must. road, grateful for the sting of the winter wind on His regular presence at the office was getaway vehicle, though,” he said. “A his face. He walked until his feet were numb, and probably what kept James on the payroll. trash barge disappeared from the city’s III then he turned around and went home. municipal harbor about an hour before Some of the most successful salesmen at the company worked from home and the incident, and officials maintain that That afternoon the weather deteriorated. The IV

20 21 I only a boat of this size could support the never came in at all. As far as James could tell, his stuttering sprinkle of snow had given way to a weight of the bridge while also generating attendance seemed to be interpreted as effort— near-blizzard, and the commute home was slow. James had a nosebleed. They often hap- enough force to tear it from its roots. maybe he had lost most of his clients, but he was James navigated the roads at an excruciating crawl, pened in the dry New England winter. But “Some have suggested that it may have trying. the radio turned loud to drown the crunch of snow the timing was a problem. He was left with been an accident, but the specifics of the Of course, he wasn’t trying. He came in because beneath the tires. As he’d hoped, NPR was cover- no option but to shuffle through the office crash suggest otherwise—a boat would he needed something to get him out of bed in the ing the story. with a spattered tissue pinched hard on his have to have slam into the bridge at top morning—somewhere to go where other people “The concern that some Romans have,” one pun- nose. He stood at the mailroom window speed to dislodge it. chatted about nothing, about the upkeep of their dit said, his voice deep and slow, “is that this type and watched Gabrielle walk to the subway. “In this story many questions have yet lawns; where he, should he feel up to it, could en- of gross vandalism could precipitate similar events The breath from his mouth made tufts of to be answered. But perhaps the most ter the kitchen and smile at them, seeing the rud- around the city. ‘Excitable youth’ was the exact fog on the glass. baffling of all: why, in a city so renowned diness of their cheeks and feeling a part of it all, a term the police chief used. Once she had disappeared, he turned for romance, would this icon of love be competent, equal, indistinct grain in the dune. “The latest breaks suggest something different his full attention to the nosebleed. He had targeted?” From his cubicle he could see the elevator bank, altogether—that Paolo Di Natale was acting out of been swift with the tissue and firm with The facecloth stained a spot on the table and when Gabrielle appeared he sprang to his feet. bitterness.”

20 21 know how you feel. I want you to take your god- Pazzini begged for forgiveness. He explained he raised the lens again, he saw that the folder James arrived at work the next day with every damn present and get away from me. The only that he never imagined what the man would do. was open on the counter. clipping of the story he could find, assembled reason I haven’t reported you to Steve is because I He had a lock of his own on the bridge, after all. The shutter of the camera clicked quietly as carefully in a neat manila folder. On the outside would lose my job, too.” “I am a lowly night guard,” he said. “That kind of Gabrielle flipped through the articles, chewing he wrote Gabrielle’s name, and with it under his “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just think that if money is more than I can imagine. More than I on the corner of her thumbnail. He was seeing arm, he marched over to her office. you read this—” have ever seen. You must understand,” he plead- her from the side, and her expression was hard She wasn’t there. Her computer was on but “I don’t know what happened that night. I don’t ed. The police whisked him away into protective to read. In a baggy blue t-shirt and sweatpants, asleep. He knew he should leave, but he didn’t. remember and I don’t want to know. I won’t let custody. James had never seen anything so lovely. He put the folder down and sat in her chair. The you fuck up my marriage and my family— do you She was turning the pages over too quickly, faint aroma of her perfume greeted him, and he understand me?” VI though; he wondered if she was reading them closed his eyes, straining to remember the feeling “Gabrielle, I don’t want—“ in their entirety. He had chosen their order with of her skin. On the walls of her small office were “If you don’t leave me alone, I will tell Steve Gabrielle didn’t come in the next morning. By painstaking care; her frivolity stirred anger in pictures of her family, and he examined their and everyone else that you raped me.” lunchtime, James had made three trips past her him. As he watched, she snapped the folder shut faces. Her children— two boys and a girl—smiled She opened the door and stormed down the office, but it remained deserted. The folder was and laid her face in her hands. back at him. He imagined meeting them. hall, leaving him alone in her office once more. gone. Before he realized what he was doing, James Her computer was password-protected. He rum- After a moment, he placed the folder on her key- The realization slowly came to him—she was was out of the car. He waded through the white maged through her drawers. There wasn’t much; board and left. at home, overcome by the power of the story. Just dunes into her backyard, snow piling into his loaf- graphs, expense reports, a box of granola bars, as it had done to him, Di Natale’s story consumed ers. He needed to comfort her. He was passing the tidy rows of pens and Post-Its. He found a plastic V her; it kept her from thinking about anything swings when a car pulled into her driveway. He hair clip and put it in his pocket, then closed the else. Anything else but us, he reasoned. Our own froze in his tracks, crouching low in the snow. drawers. He heard her footsteps and he rose from At home that evening, he was angry and con- love story. Gabrielle’s husband got out of his car and her seat. fused—but his resolve held firm. He knew that all James was confident, but he wanted to be sure, moved toward the doorway. A shiver ran over Her dark eyes met his for a moment before he needed was for her to read the articles. He had so he took the afternoon off. His elation was total, James’ skin. He had never met the man, but he flickering around her office. She stopped on the seen that side of her during their night together. and he carved his way out into the snowy sub- felt a dizzying, physical disgust at the sight of threshold. He was sure the story would enchant her like it urbs in peaceful expectation. He turned down the him. “What are you doing?” had enchanted him. street behind hers, guiding his Volvo to its usual James watched as Gabrielle heard the sound of He extended the folder toward her, a smile curl- He drew the curtains and drank. The wine spot in the cul-de-sac. her husband’s car door. She snatched the folder ing on his lips. made him warm and brave, and he practiced his The drifts of snow were high, but not high up, and with a glance to the front door, thrust it “I brought this for you,” he said. responses in the mirror. enough to block the view through her backyard. inside a kitchen cabinet. Her husband entered a She looked at the folder but made no motion to “It’s okay,” he said softly to his reflection. “I Instead, the snow merely obscured most of his car second later, and he spoke to her, moved towards take it. know you were confused. I was confused, too. from the view of her back windows. James smiled her, kissed her. They embraced with their eyes “What is it?” That’s all over now.” as he retrieved his camera from the glove com- closed, alone in the house. James knelt in the “It’s a story. A beautiful story. It reminds me of When he felt better, he turned back to the news. partment. He adjusted the zoom and waited. snow in their backyard, hidden behind their swing you.” A security guard at the harbor had come for- He had come to love everything about her set, soaking his khakis. She looked over her shoulder at the quiet office ward. His name was Giuseppe Pazzini. He’d been house. It was the first clear day in weeks, and the He knew he had to leave. He couldn’t risk being and stepped in, shutting the door behind her. working the night of the incident. cozy brown cottage was idyllic as it nestled in the spotted. The snow stinging his exposed ankles felt James felt his heart leap, throwing itself against Pazzini explained: a few hours into his over- snowy hills. It gave him a new appreciation for important—he was out there in the cold for her. his ribs. night shift, a frail old man approached his securi- what he saw, sights that had become so familiar; Still, after a few minutes more, he crept back to- “Look,” she said. “What happened between us— ty kiosk. “The man looked quite sad,” Pazzini said. the simple, rustic decoration of the rooms; the wards his car, drenched to the skin and shivering whatever it was—it was a mistake. A stupid, drunk The man took a small brown package from his colorful swingset half buried in the snow; her old, the whole way home. mistake. Do you get that? Can you grasp that?” coat and placed it on Pazzini’s desk. sleepy beagle sprawled out before the fireplace. He was sure that he had witnessed a turning “Gabrielle—“ “Here is five thousand euro,” the man said. ‘It is He felt the house pulling at his core. It took all point. Her decision to hide the folder from her “No,” she said. “Shut up. I’m tired of you watch- half of all the money I have. I need the keys to the his strength to stay away. husband—to hide James from her husband—must ing me. I’m tired of you following me into the biggest barge. You cannot ask me why. I want you After some time, Gabrielle appeared in the have meant what he had hoped. He had reached elevator. The copy room. I don’t want to be with to walk down the road to this address,” he said, kitchen. James watched as though it were a her. you. I don’t like you. You scare me. You fucking handing Pazzini a piece of paper. “In the mailbox, dream: under her arm, she carried the manila The thought of seeing her the next morning terrify me.” you will find another five thousand euro—the rest folder. was exhilarating, and after some wine, he couldn’t “I’m sorry,” James said softly. “I just want you to of my money. When you return, I will be gone. It She placed the folder on the kitchen island, but resist. He dialed her house. After two rings, her know how I feel.” will be best for you to forget I ever came. I regret when she leaned forward she was just out of view. husband answered. “Well, I don’t,” she snapped. “I don’t want to that you had to be involved.” He threw the car in reverse and backed up. When “Hello?” His voice was high and grating. James

22 23 know how you feel. I want you to take your god- Pazzini begged for forgiveness. He explained he raised the lens again, he saw that the folder James arrived at work the next day with every damn present and get away from me. The only that he never imagined what the man would do. was open on the counter. clipping of the story he could find, assembled reason I haven’t reported you to Steve is because I He had a lock of his own on the bridge, after all. The shutter of the camera clicked quietly as carefully in a neat manila folder. On the outside would lose my job, too.” “I am a lowly night guard,” he said. “That kind of Gabrielle flipped through the articles, chewing he wrote Gabrielle’s name, and with it under his “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just think that if money is more than I can imagine. More than I on the corner of her thumbnail. He was seeing arm, he marched over to her office. you read this—” have ever seen. You must understand,” he plead- her from the side, and her expression was hard She wasn’t there. Her computer was on but “I don’t know what happened that night. I don’t ed. The police whisked him away into protective to read. In a baggy blue t-shirt and sweatpants, asleep. He knew he should leave, but he didn’t. remember and I don’t want to know. I won’t let custody. James had never seen anything so lovely. He put the folder down and sat in her chair. The you fuck up my marriage and my family— do you She was turning the pages over too quickly, faint aroma of her perfume greeted him, and he understand me?” VI though; he wondered if she was reading them closed his eyes, straining to remember the feeling “Gabrielle, I don’t want—“ in their entirety. He had chosen their order with of her skin. On the walls of her small office were “If you don’t leave me alone, I will tell Steve Gabrielle didn’t come in the next morning. By painstaking care; her frivolity stirred anger in pictures of her family, and he examined their and everyone else that you raped me.” lunchtime, James had made three trips past her him. As he watched, she snapped the folder shut faces. Her children— two boys and a girl—smiled She opened the door and stormed down the office, but it remained deserted. The folder was and laid her face in her hands. back at him. He imagined meeting them. hall, leaving him alone in her office once more. gone. Before he realized what he was doing, James Her computer was password-protected. He rum- After a moment, he placed the folder on her key- The realization slowly came to him—she was was out of the car. He waded through the white maged through her drawers. There wasn’t much; board and left. at home, overcome by the power of the story. Just dunes into her backyard, snow piling into his loaf- graphs, expense reports, a box of granola bars, as it had done to him, Di Natale’s story consumed ers. He needed to comfort her. He was passing the tidy rows of pens and Post-Its. He found a plastic V her; it kept her from thinking about anything swings when a car pulled into her driveway. He hair clip and put it in his pocket, then closed the else. Anything else but us, he reasoned. Our own froze in his tracks, crouching low in the snow. drawers. He heard her footsteps and he rose from At home that evening, he was angry and con- love story. Gabrielle’s husband got out of his car and her seat. fused—but his resolve held firm. He knew that all James was confident, but he wanted to be sure, moved toward the doorway. A shiver ran over Her dark eyes met his for a moment before he needed was for her to read the articles. He had so he took the afternoon off. His elation was total, James’ skin. He had never met the man, but he flickering around her office. She stopped on the seen that side of her during their night together. and he carved his way out into the snowy sub- felt a dizzying, physical disgust at the sight of threshold. He was sure the story would enchant her like it urbs in peaceful expectation. He turned down the him. “What are you doing?” had enchanted him. street behind hers, guiding his Volvo to its usual James watched as Gabrielle heard the sound of He extended the folder toward her, a smile curl- He drew the curtains and drank. The wine spot in the cul-de-sac. her husband’s car door. She snatched the folder ing on his lips. made him warm and brave, and he practiced his The drifts of snow were high, but not high up, and with a glance to the front door, thrust it “I brought this for you,” he said. responses in the mirror. enough to block the view through her backyard. inside a kitchen cabinet. Her husband entered a She looked at the folder but made no motion to “It’s okay,” he said softly to his reflection. “I Instead, the snow merely obscured most of his car second later, and he spoke to her, moved towards take it. know you were confused. I was confused, too. from the view of her back windows. James smiled her, kissed her. They embraced with their eyes “What is it?” That’s all over now.” as he retrieved his camera from the glove com- closed, alone in the house. James knelt in the “It’s a story. A beautiful story. It reminds me of When he felt better, he turned back to the news. partment. He adjusted the zoom and waited. snow in their backyard, hidden behind their swing you.” A security guard at the harbor had come for- He had come to love everything about her set, soaking his khakis. She looked over her shoulder at the quiet office ward. His name was Giuseppe Pazzini. He’d been house. It was the first clear day in weeks, and the He knew he had to leave. He couldn’t risk being and stepped in, shutting the door behind her. working the night of the incident. cozy brown cottage was idyllic as it nestled in the spotted. The snow stinging his exposed ankles felt James felt his heart leap, throwing itself against Pazzini explained: a few hours into his over- snowy hills. It gave him a new appreciation for important—he was out there in the cold for her. his ribs. night shift, a frail old man approached his securi- what he saw, sights that had become so familiar; Still, after a few minutes more, he crept back to- “Look,” she said. “What happened between us— ty kiosk. “The man looked quite sad,” Pazzini said. the simple, rustic decoration of the rooms; the wards his car, drenched to the skin and shivering whatever it was—it was a mistake. A stupid, drunk The man took a small brown package from his colorful swingset half buried in the snow; her old, the whole way home. mistake. Do you get that? Can you grasp that?” coat and placed it on Pazzini’s desk. sleepy beagle sprawled out before the fireplace. He was sure that he had witnessed a turning “Gabrielle—“ “Here is five thousand euro,” the man said. ‘It is He felt the house pulling at his core. It took all point. Her decision to hide the folder from her “No,” she said. “Shut up. I’m tired of you watch- half of all the money I have. I need the keys to the his strength to stay away. husband—to hide James from her husband—must ing me. I’m tired of you following me into the biggest barge. You cannot ask me why. I want you After some time, Gabrielle appeared in the have meant what he had hoped. He had reached elevator. The copy room. I don’t want to be with to walk down the road to this address,” he said, kitchen. James watched as though it were a her. you. I don’t like you. You scare me. You fucking handing Pazzini a piece of paper. “In the mailbox, dream: under her arm, she carried the manila The thought of seeing her the next morning terrify me.” you will find another five thousand euro—the rest folder. was exhilarating, and after some wine, he couldn’t “I’m sorry,” James said softly. “I just want you to of my money. When you return, I will be gone. It She placed the folder on the kitchen island, but resist. He dialed her house. After two rings, her know how I feel.” will be best for you to forget I ever came. I regret when she leaned forward she was just out of view. husband answered. “Well, I don’t,” she snapped. “I don’t want to that you had to be involved.” He threw the car in reverse and backed up. When “Hello?” His voice was high and grating. James

22 23 wondered how she could stomach such a mouse James waved down the bartender again. friends. Someday I would join her, I knew. James explained that he forgave her. He knew of a man. “Hello?” he said again. James wanted to “I know this is a strange request, but if they “But one thing haunted me: Ponte Milivio. You that she was confused and didn’t want to hurt her humiliate him, to tell him about the night with start talking about a guy and a bridge in Rome, see, my wife and I put a lock on that bridge years husband—he understood that those other things Gabrielle, but he held back. He hung up and went could you yell to me? I’ll be right over there.” ago, before many of you were born. I loved that had clouded her judgment and distorted the way to bed. “Sure thing.” bridge and I loved walking past our lock. she saw him. He told her that he would wait for James walked over to the airport window, a wall “Until one day a few months ago, when I was her and that he would always love her. He en- VII of thick glass. He watched the men below, flecks traveling home and noticed something. The lock closed a poem he had written about the night they of orange hustling around the runway in the ash was rusting. The wind and rain were taking their spent together, and then he sealed the envelope. At his desk the next morning, James drank greed- grey air. toll. I looked at all the locks. All of them, slowly, When the flight landed in Rome late that night, ily from his thermos. He answered emails with “Hey, bridge guy!” the bartender called. were rusting. he spoke to the Tourist Information desk and haste, made a few cold calls, and watched a spider James rushed over and took a stool. “I am no fool. I know that the lock must have found a bed and breakfast not far from Ponte knit a web in the corner of his cubicle. He heard a “It’s been a tantalizing story, sparking debate been rusting for years and years before her death, Milivio. After a peaceful night’s sleep, he set out sound behind him. across the world,” a woman reported, standing in I just never noticed before. But that didn’t mat- on his pilgrimage. He made his way down the It was Harold. Harold was the closest thing that the spot where he had first heard the news. “And ter. With her gone, the lock was all that tied me cobblestone roads, smiling as he picked his route James had to a friend in the office. He was fat and we have it here—a CNN exclusive—the last chap- to her, and someday soon it would fall. Someday on the map. He rounded a corner, and with Gabri- slovenly; they were united in their alienation. ter of the tale of the Love Thief.” soon I would walk past and it would be gone. elle’s hair clip clenched safely in his hand, he saw “Hey, James,” Harold said. “Steve wants to see The screen cut to a picture of a small old man “I have learned to live with heartbreak. It is the gleam of the morning sun off the Tiber for you in his office.” with stark white hair, escorted by police through something we all must do. I could have watched the first time. “He does?” James said nervously. “Do you know a thick crowd of people, flashbulbs blazing in his the lock disappear and I would have been okay. why?” face. What I could not bear was the thought of others IX “No,” Harold said. “Gabrielle’s in there with “Paolo Di Natale, the man who allegedly stole learning what I had learned about the bridge: that him. And Cody from HR.” a Roman bridge, came forward early this morn- there was no magic at all. Nature was not a ro- Di Natale was sentenced to ten years in a local “Thanks, Harold,” James said. Turning back to ing.” mantic. jail, but after a few months of his sentence, he his computer, he felt dizzy and weak. He couldn’t Di Natale stood at a simple wooden podium, “So I took the money I had saved throughout died. A brief story in the Times reported that his believe it. But he knew what he needed to do. Italian and Roman flags draped on the wall be- my life and I went to the harbor. I cannot express death was a natural one. He was buried alongside He gathered his things quickly, shoving papers hind him. He looked exhausted, and dirt smeared enough my sympathy towards Signore Pazzini. He his wife. into his tattered briefcase. He crouched as he the front of his simple white shirt. He spoke in did what any man in tough times would do. Neither Ponte Milivio nor the barge were ever stood, careful to keep his head below the short soft, steady Italian, and after a moment, an inter- “Then I sailed to the bridge. Just like I dreamt, found. Their whereabouts died with Paolo. walls of his cubicle. With his coat and hat on, with preter’s voice translated: it came loose like a tooth, and with it, I fled. Many At the spot where the bridge once stood, the his briefcase in hand, he fled; out through the “My name is Paolo. I know that in the past four will curse what I have done. I don’t blame them. holes on both sides of the river remained. In a back of the office, down the seventeen flights of days I have caused many of you pain. For that, Hopefully, some may understand. city council vote, four fifths of the representatives stairs and out into the frozen city. I am sorry. I am an old man with a loud heart. “The bridge with your locks on it is forever moved to not repair the damage or rebuild the Sometimes I must listen to it. I only ask that you gone. They will decay and fall off, like leaves in bridge. VII listen to me. the autumn. But the memory of the moment With no bridge in place, residents found new “When I was young, I met a woman. She was when you closed the neck of your lock around routes across the river. In the summer, what was He sat at the terminal bar, nursing a cocktail, try- the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and we fell that fence will remain strong. Untouched by wind once a major trade waterway became a clean ing to get the bartender’s attention. in love. We married and began our new life. For and water. Perfect for as long as you live. stretch of water. Children swam and played while “What can I get for you, sir?” fifty years, we experienced everything together. “That is my gift to you.” parents chattered happily, feet dangling from the “Another of these, please. And, if it’s possible, We shared the simplicity of sunrises. We shared And then Paolo Di Natale walked off screen. sides of the road. When the sun shined, you could could we get the news on one of these TVs?” the magic of a good meal with friends. We shared just see the shimmering of thousands of tiny keys “Of course.” the curse of being unable to bear a child. VIII below. CNN came on, and James watched scenes of a “We did not have much money, but we were protest in Syria. Women with children stood cry- happy. Every morning I kissed her goodbye and During the flight, he reviewed his clippings, taking in the streets. Ragtag groups of men chanted, crossed Ponte Milivio to work. Every night I ing care to highlight aspects of the story in dif- thrusting their weapons into the rusty sky. crossed back and came home to her. ferent colors based on their category—Di Natale, He thought about Pazzini, alone in some hold- “One night, I returned home and she was on Pazzini, the citizens. ing cell, hidden from the wrath of the city. He the floor in the kitchen. I do not ask for sympathy. He wrote two letters. The first was to Steve, wondered where Di Natale was, if he knew what She lived long, and she lived beautifully. In time, explaining his innocence and resigning from his had happened, if somewhere he was watching the I learned to live alone, to live as half a man. I still position. He was cordial and brief, thanking Steve story unfold just like James. had things that I loved: my boat, the water, my for the opportunity. The second was to Gabrielle.

24 25 wondered how she could stomach such a mouse James waved down the bartender again. friends. Someday I would join her, I knew. James explained that he forgave her. He knew of a man. “Hello?” he said again. James wanted to “I know this is a strange request, but if they “But one thing haunted me: Ponte Milivio. You that she was confused and didn’t want to hurt her humiliate him, to tell him about the night with start talking about a guy and a bridge in Rome, see, my wife and I put a lock on that bridge years husband—he understood that those other things Gabrielle, but he held back. He hung up and went could you yell to me? I’ll be right over there.” ago, before many of you were born. I loved that had clouded her judgment and distorted the way to bed. “Sure thing.” bridge and I loved walking past our lock. she saw him. He told her that he would wait for James walked over to the airport window, a wall “Until one day a few months ago, when I was her and that he would always love her. He en- VII of thick glass. He watched the men below, flecks traveling home and noticed something. The lock closed a poem he had written about the night they of orange hustling around the runway in the ash was rusting. The wind and rain were taking their spent together, and then he sealed the envelope. At his desk the next morning, James drank greed- grey air. toll. I looked at all the locks. All of them, slowly, When the flight landed in Rome late that night, ily from his thermos. He answered emails with “Hey, bridge guy!” the bartender called. were rusting. he spoke to the Tourist Information desk and haste, made a few cold calls, and watched a spider James rushed over and took a stool. “I am no fool. I know that the lock must have found a bed and breakfast not far from Ponte knit a web in the corner of his cubicle. He heard a “It’s been a tantalizing story, sparking debate been rusting for years and years before her death, Milivio. After a peaceful night’s sleep, he set out sound behind him. across the world,” a woman reported, standing in I just never noticed before. But that didn’t mat- on his pilgrimage. He made his way down the It was Harold. Harold was the closest thing that the spot where he had first heard the news. “And ter. With her gone, the lock was all that tied me cobblestone roads, smiling as he picked his route James had to a friend in the office. He was fat and we have it here—a CNN exclusive—the last chap- to her, and someday soon it would fall. Someday on the map. He rounded a corner, and with Gabri- slovenly; they were united in their alienation. ter of the tale of the Love Thief.” soon I would walk past and it would be gone. elle’s hair clip clenched safely in his hand, he saw “Hey, James,” Harold said. “Steve wants to see The screen cut to a picture of a small old man “I have learned to live with heartbreak. It is the gleam of the morning sun off the Tiber for you in his office.” with stark white hair, escorted by police through something we all must do. I could have watched the first time. “He does?” James said nervously. “Do you know a thick crowd of people, flashbulbs blazing in his the lock disappear and I would have been okay. why?” face. What I could not bear was the thought of others IX “No,” Harold said. “Gabrielle’s in there with “Paolo Di Natale, the man who allegedly stole learning what I had learned about the bridge: that him. And Cody from HR.” a Roman bridge, came forward early this morn- there was no magic at all. Nature was not a ro- Di Natale was sentenced to ten years in a local “Thanks, Harold,” James said. Turning back to ing.” mantic. jail, but after a few months of his sentence, he his computer, he felt dizzy and weak. He couldn’t Di Natale stood at a simple wooden podium, “So I took the money I had saved throughout died. A brief story in the Times reported that his believe it. But he knew what he needed to do. Italian and Roman flags draped on the wall be- my life and I went to the harbor. I cannot express death was a natural one. He was buried alongside He gathered his things quickly, shoving papers hind him. He looked exhausted, and dirt smeared enough my sympathy towards Signore Pazzini. He his wife. into his tattered briefcase. He crouched as he the front of his simple white shirt. He spoke in did what any man in tough times would do. Neither Ponte Milivio nor the barge were ever stood, careful to keep his head below the short soft, steady Italian, and after a moment, an inter- “Then I sailed to the bridge. Just like I dreamt, found. Their whereabouts died with Paolo. walls of his cubicle. With his coat and hat on, with preter’s voice translated: it came loose like a tooth, and with it, I fled. Many At the spot where the bridge once stood, the his briefcase in hand, he fled; out through the “My name is Paolo. I know that in the past four will curse what I have done. I don’t blame them. holes on both sides of the river remained. In a back of the office, down the seventeen flights of days I have caused many of you pain. For that, Hopefully, some may understand. city council vote, four fifths of the representatives stairs and out into the frozen city. I am sorry. I am an old man with a loud heart. “The bridge with your locks on it is forever moved to not repair the damage or rebuild the Sometimes I must listen to it. I only ask that you gone. They will decay and fall off, like leaves in bridge. VII listen to me. the autumn. But the memory of the moment With no bridge in place, residents found new “When I was young, I met a woman. She was when you closed the neck of your lock around routes across the river. In the summer, what was He sat at the terminal bar, nursing a cocktail, try- the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and we fell that fence will remain strong. Untouched by wind once a major trade waterway became a clean ing to get the bartender’s attention. in love. We married and began our new life. For and water. Perfect for as long as you live. stretch of water. Children swam and played while “What can I get for you, sir?” fifty years, we experienced everything together. “That is my gift to you.” parents chattered happily, feet dangling from the “Another of these, please. And, if it’s possible, We shared the simplicity of sunrises. We shared And then Paolo Di Natale walked off screen. sides of the road. When the sun shined, you could could we get the news on one of these TVs?” the magic of a good meal with friends. We shared just see the shimmering of thousands of tiny keys “Of course.” the curse of being unable to bear a child. VIII below. CNN came on, and James watched scenes of a “We did not have much money, but we were protest in Syria. Women with children stood cry- happy. Every morning I kissed her goodbye and During the flight, he reviewed his clippings, taking in the streets. Ragtag groups of men chanted, crossed Ponte Milivio to work. Every night I ing care to highlight aspects of the story in dif- thrusting their weapons into the rusty sky. crossed back and came home to her. ferent colors based on their category—Di Natale, He thought about Pazzini, alone in some hold- “One night, I returned home and she was on Pazzini, the citizens. ing cell, hidden from the wrath of the city. He the floor in the kitchen. I do not ask for sympathy. He wrote two letters. The first was to Steve, wondered where Di Natale was, if he knew what She lived long, and she lived beautifully. In time, explaining his innocence and resigning from his had happened, if somewhere he was watching the I learned to live alone, to live as half a man. I still position. He was cordial and brief, thanking Steve story unfold just like James. had things that I loved: my boat, the water, my for the opportunity. The second was to Gabrielle.

24 25 then he taketh away I’m not sure why I used to hate pets; it was not a she. The last thing I would by anteo fabris then again, it might have come from my ever associate this curly, moldy mass with first experience with them. When I was was a female. And yet every time I men- nine years old, I visited my cousins in tioned the ugly creature, which was only Washington D.C. They owned two dogs, the few times she puked and the time I Lucky and Belle. “Lucky has a very in- found her dead under my dresser, I would teresting story,” my aunt would always immediately be corrected. “It’s a she!” The say. “Our friends found her hiding in the whole family chorused while running into bushes during a thunderstorm so they the guest room to see their furry family decided to take her in. She’s terrified of member on her back, her dirty mouth thunderstorms now.” Lucky spent one shut, with froth dripping from the sides, night in the basement with me during a her stiff legs in the air. I’m sorry, it’s a she. storm, huddled at the foot of my bed so Forgive me for not being able to tell that that I was unable to stretch my legs. She this filthy, scrawny wretch is a female and would also yap incessantly at visitors. “The not a male; how rude of me to not seek Watchdog,” they called her endearingly. out her genitals and determine the correct Belle didn’t have an interesting story; gender of your dog before mentioning she didn’t really have a story at all. This her. dog was too old to have a story. My aunt’s A few years later they visited my grand- husband might have owned her before mother and me in the city. While I was they met. Or they might have bought her setting the table for dinner they brought before they decided upon whether or not up Lucky. “Lucky died,” the boys said. “She to have kids, as a sort of test-run. Either barked herself to death.” way, Belle had become a beast. She crept “That’s right,” my aunt laughed. “She around the house, wheezing and drool- was barking and barking at the construc- ing; I never saw her walk, yet she slowly tion workers who were redoing our kitch- managed to travel from one corner of en, and all of a sudden she fell over and the room to another. Her fur seemed to that was it.” absorb the dirt on the floor, although at “Poor Watchdog,” my uncle finished. times I had the feeling that it was the “She spent her whole time with us think- other way around and couldn’t help imag- ing we were in constant danger.” They ining her leaving behind a trail of mucus, chuckled. brown and moist like the stringy hairs “How cute,” I said. I was surprised at dangling from her mouth. Every evening how comical they found Lucky’s death; my aunt would lather a pill in peanut but- I remember how dramatically they ter and put it in Belle’s dog bowl. While had reacted to when they found Belle. Belle ate the peanut butter my aunt would Personally, I thought she looked quite kneel down and rub the old dog’s anus funny as she lay staring up at the dusty, with a cream. “She has a benign tumor wooden board under my dresser. She had on her butt,” my aunt told me. “She’s been rigor mortis, and we had to tilt the dresser getting them for years. They won’t harm to the side while my uncle fished out her “eiffel tower” by jenna kluger her, but they will make her uncomfort- hard body with a rake because we couldn’t able.” So I guess that was Belle’s story; she get her out otherwise. When she emerged had a history of rear-end tumors. under the rake’s metal comb my aunt said One time I found Belle puking on the “Oh, Christ!” and the boys began to cry. wooden living room floor. When I saw my My uncle ran out of the room, leaving us aunt I said, “Your dog—he puked on the with Belle, and hurried back carrying a floor.” pillowcase, into which he tried stuffing “It’s a she,” my aunt said. “It happens her. After he spent about thirty seconds sometimes. She can’t always stomach her trying to fit the dog into the pillowcase, food. I guess she’s getting older.” To me during which we watched him, my cousins

26 27 then he taketh away I’m not sure why I used to hate pets; it was not a she. The last thing I would by anteo fabris then again, it might have come from my ever associate this curly, moldy mass with first experience with them. When I was was a female. And yet every time I men- nine years old, I visited my cousins in tioned the ugly creature, which was only Washington D.C. They owned two dogs, the few times she puked and the time I Lucky and Belle. “Lucky has a very in- found her dead under my dresser, I would teresting story,” my aunt would always immediately be corrected. “It’s a she!” The say. “Our friends found her hiding in the whole family chorused while running into bushes during a thunderstorm so they the guest room to see their furry family decided to take her in. She’s terrified of member on her back, her dirty mouth thunderstorms now.” Lucky spent one shut, with froth dripping from the sides, night in the basement with me during a her stiff legs in the air. I’m sorry, it’s a she. storm, huddled at the foot of my bed so Forgive me for not being able to tell that that I was unable to stretch my legs. She this filthy, scrawny wretch is a female and would also yap incessantly at visitors. “The not a male; how rude of me to not seek Watchdog,” they called her endearingly. out her genitals and determine the correct Belle didn’t have an interesting story; gender of your dog before mentioning she didn’t really have a story at all. This her. dog was too old to have a story. My aunt’s A few years later they visited my grand- husband might have owned her before mother and me in the city. While I was they met. Or they might have bought her setting the table for dinner they brought before they decided upon whether or not up Lucky. “Lucky died,” the boys said. “She to have kids, as a sort of test-run. Either barked herself to death.” way, Belle had become a beast. She crept “That’s right,” my aunt laughed. “She around the house, wheezing and drool- was barking and barking at the construc- ing; I never saw her walk, yet she slowly tion workers who were redoing our kitch- managed to travel from one corner of en, and all of a sudden she fell over and the room to another. Her fur seemed to that was it.” absorb the dirt on the floor, although at “Poor Watchdog,” my uncle finished. times I had the feeling that it was the “She spent her whole time with us think- other way around and couldn’t help imag- ing we were in constant danger.” They ining her leaving behind a trail of mucus, chuckled. brown and moist like the stringy hairs “How cute,” I said. I was surprised at dangling from her mouth. Every evening how comical they found Lucky’s death; my aunt would lather a pill in peanut but- I remember how dramatically they ter and put it in Belle’s dog bowl. While had reacted to when they found Belle. Belle ate the peanut butter my aunt would Personally, I thought she looked quite kneel down and rub the old dog’s anus funny as she lay staring up at the dusty, with a cream. “She has a benign tumor wooden board under my dresser. She had on her butt,” my aunt told me. “She’s been rigor mortis, and we had to tilt the dresser getting them for years. They won’t harm to the side while my uncle fished out her “eiffel tower” by jenna kluger her, but they will make her uncomfort- hard body with a rake because we couldn’t able.” So I guess that was Belle’s story; she get her out otherwise. When she emerged had a history of rear-end tumors. under the rake’s metal comb my aunt said One time I found Belle puking on the “Oh, Christ!” and the boys began to cry. wooden living room floor. When I saw my My uncle ran out of the room, leaving us aunt I said, “Your dog—he puked on the with Belle, and hurried back carrying a floor.” pillowcase, into which he tried stuffing “It’s a she,” my aunt said. “It happens her. After he spent about thirty seconds sometimes. She can’t always stomach her trying to fit the dog into the pillowcase, food. I guess she’s getting older.” To me during which we watched him, my cousins

26 27 crying softly, he was still unable to keep her hind twelve. I had a panic attack because I felt like I was Finally, Peter opened his mouth and breathed in. little older. Have you ever pissed blood?” He looked legs and her rosy, fleshy anus from sticking out, aging too fast. Apparently I told my sister at one “It’s just, I’ve—,” he began. “I’m too old now to fuck at me again. Sometimes his head reminded me of a so he finally took her out of the pillowcase by the point that I was ‘wasting my time on this earth.’” I things up.” I stared at him. He was breathing heav- baby’s bottom. I have no recollection of ever seeing tail and threw her onto the guest bed. Her hind laughed. ily. a baby’s bottom, but there was something about Pe- paw grazed his arm and he let out a small, nervous “I think that’s a pretty legitimate fear for a “I just want people to listen to me. I have so ter’s plump, hairless cheeks that made me envision squeal of disgust and quickly drew back his arm. twelve-year-old,” he said. “I had irrational fears all much to say. But nobody wants to hear it. I just a pair of soft little buttocks. We stayed in the room This made the boys cry even harder. He undid the time at that age.” I laughed again. “You must want to tell people about what I know. I want for another hour because I began to explain my sit- the sheet on the bed and wrapped it around Belle. have been an emotional little Peter.” I continued to friends that I can teach. But nobody wants to be my uation. I told him about the first time it happened, “We’ll get you a new sheet,” he said to me as he read. We were silent. friend.” His voice turned into a loud whisper. “And the first time I visited the doctor, the false diagno- picked up the solid mass in the white bed sheet. It “They relocated my recital,” he said after a while. I’m too old now. I’m too old for this.” sis, and how I’d be seeing a urologist tomorrow and was raining outside and my uncle didn’t want to “Apparently tomorrow is Alumni Day and they’re “Peter, I can’t help you.” would have to miss his recital. dig a grave immediately, so they put Belle’s carcass using the concert hall. Why is this school so disor- I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. His cry- That night I made a large dinner and invited my outside of the back door under a small awning. My ganized?” ing had always made me think of some kind friends. As I was boiling water, Michelle arrived, cousins and I watched the dead, loosely wrapped “What time is it again?” of steam-powered machine. He hiccupped and and as the rice was cooking, we went into my bed- body from the living room until the sun went “Two thirty.” coughed on his own saliva. I still felt at that mo- room. down, its makeshift shroud fluttering in the wind. “Damn, I won’t be able to make it. Sorry.” I didn’t ment as if I would burst out laughing at any sec- “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” But nobody found Belle’s death funny the way I look up. ond. I decided to talk in order to distract myself. I asked her afterwards. did; in fact, my uncle scolded me when I laughed “Why not?” “Emile—,” I paused. “When Emile became en- “Yeah, I’m sorry. I should clean my apartment; after my youngest cousin asked, “Why is she look- “I have an appointment.” gaged to Sophie, Rousseau took him on a trip Andrew’s coming tomorrow.” ing at me like that?” Perhaps by the time Lucky I put my book down and went to the bathroom. around the world.” I thought about what I was “I thought he wouldn’t be here until August.” died they had gotten a little more used to the idea When I came back, Peter was still sitting there. I sat going to say. “I know. We decided that it would be better if he of death; or maybe they were simply unable to down and opened to where I had stopped reading. “He wanted Emile to learn to enjoy life as an came as soon as possible.” deny the humorousness of the situation, so they Peter was silent for a long time. I looked up after independent individual. He didn’t want him to “Ah ok.” decided to appreciate it for what it was worth. Or a while and saw that he was looking at the empty become so attached to Sophie that he would end up Michelle left and I tended to the rice; the water maybe they saw my reaction to Belle’s death and seat across from him. I sensed his mood getting living just for her.” had evaporated and some of the rice had burned were inspired by how unaffected I was, and wanted progressively worse. His head was nodding back Peter was looking me in the eyes. He was still and was sticking to the bottom of the pot. Peter to emulate that in order to keep from mourning. and forth, and through his glasses it seemed as if breathing heavily, but he had stopped crying. arrived, and then Sarah came with her friends and This happened to me often; I am unsure why, he was staring blankly ahead. He was chewing on “Emile became furious with his father and he we had dinner. I could feel Sarah looking at me, but but for some reason I was incapable of feeling any his lower lip. I knew he wanted to say something. I couldn’t enjoy the trip because he constantly I didn’t look back. Once we had finished eating, my deep emotions. Even during the last time I visited could feel people looking at us in the common area longed for Sophie. It must have hurt Rousseau friends left the table and moved around my apart- the health clinic, I didn’t feel any different than any of the music school. quite a bit to see his son so angry with him. He was ment. I cleared the plates and went to open a bottle other day of the year. Even when I told the doctor “Let’s talk somewhere else,” I said finally. just trying to help.” of wine. about the antibiotics, and how they didn’t seem to We went into a room with a piano. Peter walked Something happened a few moments after I “Look how much you spilled!” Sarah said, grab- have helped, even when I sensed him becoming up to it and turned to face me. He touched the finished speaking. I can’t explain it, but something bing a sponge and kneeling under the table. “Will more nervous. lid of the piano with one hand and began sliding inside of Peter seemed to click into place. Thinking you ever be able to just talk without moving so “In that case,” he said, his eyes fixed on his com- his forefinger to and fro on the lacquer. His other back on it now, I feel like I can hear it. He was star- much?” puter screen, “I don’t think it would be unwise to hand he kept in his pocket. He stood with his right ing at me and something clicked inside of him. “Maybe, if the topic isn’t interesting. You really see a urologist.” He was trying to remain calm. “I foot protruding slightly in front of him. He wasn’t “Peter, Rousseau had five children with his maid don’t have to clean that up, I can do it.” I leaned think he’ll have a better say in this matter than me.” looking directly at me; his gaze fell slightly to and gave them all up for adoption. He never raised against the sink and watched her clean my spill on He gave me the number to Dr. Oates’ office as I my left. We stood in silence for a while. His upper a son, so why did he write a work documenting her hands and knees. She wanted me to look at her was leaving. “I think you should contact him today body was still rocking back and forth. Tears began the ideal upbringing of one? What could Rousseau with her rear end sticking out, so I did. if possible, he might be able to take you tomorrow welling up in his eyes. Something about the way possibly know about raising a kid? I’m your friend, “That must be what you said to the girl who tried already.” he was standing gave me the feeling for a moment Peter. You shouldn’t be afraid of fucking things up to clean up your coffee spill. And your beer stain. “Nothing seems to phase you,” Peter said to me as if I would laugh. I thought about all the times with me. I was kidding about the emotional little Anteo, your floor is disgusting.” that afternoon. We were sitting in the common Peter was in tears. The first few times I asked him Peter thing. You know I’m just joking.” “Well I figured you’d come by eventually and area in our music school. I was reading a book. “Ha- what was wrong, but he never told me. Sometimes, Peter sat down on the piano bench. He took off tidy up.” Sarah crawled out from under the table ven’t you ever been upset?” after several minutes of not speaking, he would say his glasses and began cleaning them with the bot- and walked towards me. She dropped the sponge in I shrugged. “Occasionally.” something terse and a bit confusing. One time he tom of his shirt. the sink and reached for a cup on the shelf above “When was the last time you were really upset?” said “I don’t want to sound stupid in front of you.” “How old was Emile when he married Sophie?” my head. She found one and brought it down, then He asked me after a while. Another time he said, “I don’t think I’ll ever not be He asked. paused. “Upset like you? Must have been when I was sad.” After a while I gave up trying to console him. “He must have been our age. Maybe he was a “What’s that on your neck?” She asked. I thought

28 29 crying softly, he was still unable to keep her hind twelve. I had a panic attack because I felt like I was Finally, Peter opened his mouth and breathed in. little older. Have you ever pissed blood?” He looked legs and her rosy, fleshy anus from sticking out, aging too fast. Apparently I told my sister at one “It’s just, I’ve—,” he began. “I’m too old now to fuck at me again. Sometimes his head reminded me of a so he finally took her out of the pillowcase by the point that I was ‘wasting my time on this earth.’” I things up.” I stared at him. He was breathing heav- baby’s bottom. I have no recollection of ever seeing tail and threw her onto the guest bed. Her hind laughed. ily. a baby’s bottom, but there was something about Pe- paw grazed his arm and he let out a small, nervous “I think that’s a pretty legitimate fear for a “I just want people to listen to me. I have so ter’s plump, hairless cheeks that made me envision squeal of disgust and quickly drew back his arm. twelve-year-old,” he said. “I had irrational fears all much to say. But nobody wants to hear it. I just a pair of soft little buttocks. We stayed in the room This made the boys cry even harder. He undid the time at that age.” I laughed again. “You must want to tell people about what I know. I want for another hour because I began to explain my sit- the sheet on the bed and wrapped it around Belle. have been an emotional little Peter.” I continued to friends that I can teach. But nobody wants to be my uation. I told him about the first time it happened, “We’ll get you a new sheet,” he said to me as he read. We were silent. friend.” His voice turned into a loud whisper. “And the first time I visited the doctor, the false diagno- picked up the solid mass in the white bed sheet. It “They relocated my recital,” he said after a while. I’m too old now. I’m too old for this.” sis, and how I’d be seeing a urologist tomorrow and was raining outside and my uncle didn’t want to “Apparently tomorrow is Alumni Day and they’re “Peter, I can’t help you.” would have to miss his recital. dig a grave immediately, so they put Belle’s carcass using the concert hall. Why is this school so disor- I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. His cry- That night I made a large dinner and invited my outside of the back door under a small awning. My ganized?” ing had always made me think of some kind friends. As I was boiling water, Michelle arrived, cousins and I watched the dead, loosely wrapped “What time is it again?” of steam-powered machine. He hiccupped and and as the rice was cooking, we went into my bed- body from the living room until the sun went “Two thirty.” coughed on his own saliva. I still felt at that mo- room. down, its makeshift shroud fluttering in the wind. “Damn, I won’t be able to make it. Sorry.” I didn’t ment as if I would burst out laughing at any sec- “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” But nobody found Belle’s death funny the way I look up. ond. I decided to talk in order to distract myself. I asked her afterwards. did; in fact, my uncle scolded me when I laughed “Why not?” “Emile—,” I paused. “When Emile became en- “Yeah, I’m sorry. I should clean my apartment; after my youngest cousin asked, “Why is she look- “I have an appointment.” gaged to Sophie, Rousseau took him on a trip Andrew’s coming tomorrow.” ing at me like that?” Perhaps by the time Lucky I put my book down and went to the bathroom. around the world.” I thought about what I was “I thought he wouldn’t be here until August.” died they had gotten a little more used to the idea When I came back, Peter was still sitting there. I sat going to say. “I know. We decided that it would be better if he of death; or maybe they were simply unable to down and opened to where I had stopped reading. “He wanted Emile to learn to enjoy life as an came as soon as possible.” deny the humorousness of the situation, so they Peter was silent for a long time. I looked up after independent individual. He didn’t want him to “Ah ok.” decided to appreciate it for what it was worth. Or a while and saw that he was looking at the empty become so attached to Sophie that he would end up Michelle left and I tended to the rice; the water maybe they saw my reaction to Belle’s death and seat across from him. I sensed his mood getting living just for her.” had evaporated and some of the rice had burned were inspired by how unaffected I was, and wanted progressively worse. His head was nodding back Peter was looking me in the eyes. He was still and was sticking to the bottom of the pot. Peter to emulate that in order to keep from mourning. and forth, and through his glasses it seemed as if breathing heavily, but he had stopped crying. arrived, and then Sarah came with her friends and This happened to me often; I am unsure why, he was staring blankly ahead. He was chewing on “Emile became furious with his father and he we had dinner. I could feel Sarah looking at me, but but for some reason I was incapable of feeling any his lower lip. I knew he wanted to say something. I couldn’t enjoy the trip because he constantly I didn’t look back. Once we had finished eating, my deep emotions. Even during the last time I visited could feel people looking at us in the common area longed for Sophie. It must have hurt Rousseau friends left the table and moved around my apart- the health clinic, I didn’t feel any different than any of the music school. quite a bit to see his son so angry with him. He was ment. I cleared the plates and went to open a bottle other day of the year. Even when I told the doctor “Let’s talk somewhere else,” I said finally. just trying to help.” of wine. about the antibiotics, and how they didn’t seem to We went into a room with a piano. Peter walked Something happened a few moments after I “Look how much you spilled!” Sarah said, grab- have helped, even when I sensed him becoming up to it and turned to face me. He touched the finished speaking. I can’t explain it, but something bing a sponge and kneeling under the table. “Will more nervous. lid of the piano with one hand and began sliding inside of Peter seemed to click into place. Thinking you ever be able to just talk without moving so “In that case,” he said, his eyes fixed on his com- his forefinger to and fro on the lacquer. His other back on it now, I feel like I can hear it. He was star- much?” puter screen, “I don’t think it would be unwise to hand he kept in his pocket. He stood with his right ing at me and something clicked inside of him. “Maybe, if the topic isn’t interesting. You really see a urologist.” He was trying to remain calm. “I foot protruding slightly in front of him. He wasn’t “Peter, Rousseau had five children with his maid don’t have to clean that up, I can do it.” I leaned think he’ll have a better say in this matter than me.” looking directly at me; his gaze fell slightly to and gave them all up for adoption. He never raised against the sink and watched her clean my spill on He gave me the number to Dr. Oates’ office as I my left. We stood in silence for a while. His upper a son, so why did he write a work documenting her hands and knees. She wanted me to look at her was leaving. “I think you should contact him today body was still rocking back and forth. Tears began the ideal upbringing of one? What could Rousseau with her rear end sticking out, so I did. if possible, he might be able to take you tomorrow welling up in his eyes. Something about the way possibly know about raising a kid? I’m your friend, “That must be what you said to the girl who tried already.” he was standing gave me the feeling for a moment Peter. You shouldn’t be afraid of fucking things up to clean up your coffee spill. And your beer stain. “Nothing seems to phase you,” Peter said to me as if I would laugh. I thought about all the times with me. I was kidding about the emotional little Anteo, your floor is disgusting.” that afternoon. We were sitting in the common Peter was in tears. The first few times I asked him Peter thing. You know I’m just joking.” “Well I figured you’d come by eventually and area in our music school. I was reading a book. “Ha- what was wrong, but he never told me. Sometimes, Peter sat down on the piano bench. He took off tidy up.” Sarah crawled out from under the table ven’t you ever been upset?” after several minutes of not speaking, he would say his glasses and began cleaning them with the bot- and walked towards me. She dropped the sponge in I shrugged. “Occasionally.” something terse and a bit confusing. One time he tom of his shirt. the sink and reached for a cup on the shelf above “When was the last time you were really upset?” said “I don’t want to sound stupid in front of you.” “How old was Emile when he married Sophie?” my head. She found one and brought it down, then He asked me after a while. Another time he said, “I don’t think I’ll ever not be He asked. paused. “Upset like you? Must have been when I was sad.” After a while I gave up trying to console him. “He must have been our age. Maybe he was a “What’s that on your neck?” She asked. I thought

28 29 I saw her smiling. “Very well then, Anteo.” Dr. Oates smiled to him- ing him about my theory of how the African musi- ing the scene into my mind at that moment in the “I don’t know, perhaps it’s a wine stain.” I realized self as he began leafing through the sheets of paper cal aesthetic not only still exists in popular music, deli with Peter and his parents, for some reason that she wasn’t fully smiling. It seemed as if her on his clipboard. He was moving quickly, but he but has also remained completely in tact over the I couldn’t help but see the faces of girls I’ve slept eyes were smiling and her mouth was frowning. seemed calm. “You can begin taking your trousers course of hundreds of years. He interrupted me with. “Did you clean the sheets?” off. So what are you studying at BU?” when we arrived at the doors to the waiting room. Recently, I found out Peter was visiting the city. I “Sarah, come on.” She paused again. Then she “ Composition and Theory; I write music.” “So alright, Anteo, thanks for stopping by, when I called him to ask if it was true. pressed her empty cup against my chest. “Oh, interesting. I’ve always loved music, I’ve see you in five years at the Grammys you’ll have “Yeah it is, but I’m leaving today. I’m heading to “Gimme.” Her eyes were fixed on mine. just never been good at it. So I received your infor- forgotten all about this episode.” the airport soon.” “First, he giveth.” I said. I smiled and poured the mation from Dr. Macdonald.” He stopped flipping I left through the Medical Center’s large revolv- “Do you have time for a coffee? Where are you?” wine into her cup. through the pages on his clipboard and looked up ing door and headed towards the bus that was rest- “I’m downtown. My ride is coming in a few min I went to the urologist’s office the next day. As at the wall in front of him and then at me. “You ing on the corner of the street. As I walked along utes.” I was waiting for my name to be called, I began to know, there’s really no—I mean, how old are you? the facade of the enormous building, I passed a “How long were you here for?” feel uncomfortable. I couldn’t figure out why, until Twenty? Yeah, I mean, you’re forever young.” He line of about ten men and women in wheelchairs, “About two weeks. I was visiting my uncle, he’s I imagined a nurse opening the doors in front of shook his head vigorously, “You have had no pre- sitting quietly, each one looking at the back of the sick.” me and calling out my name; I didn’t want to meet vious incidents like this, you’re not a sixty-year-old next one’s head, the first one in line waiting for an “Why didn’t you call me?” There was a pause. Dr. Oates. I didn’t want him to assess my situation. man with prostate cancer, there’s really nothing to employee to open the handicapped entrance door. “What?” I started feeling dizzy. I focused on an empty chair worry about here.” He put his clipboard down on When I got back, I met Peter at the deli across “I said why didn’t you call me?” I was beginning in front of me. Slowly, the legs began to bend. I the countertop next to the sink. from our school. He was in his tuxedo shirt, which to raise my voice; I looked around. blinked and they were straight; but then they began I was standing in my briefs looking at him and he had unbuttoned halfway down. He was sitting at “I forgot, I’m sorry. I’ll let you know next time I to bend again. I saw a water cooler a few seats away nodding my head. a table with his parents. I went over and introduced come.” from me. I wanted to get up and fetch a glass of “This kind of thing can happen, it goes away myself and apologized again for not being able to “Ok yeah, that sounds good. Please don’t forget.” water but I was afraid to get up; I would be moving after a few months, it’s a self-limited symptom. But make it to his recital. “I won’t. My car service is here. I’ll call you next closer to the doors. A black woman in a blue hos- since you’re here, I mean why don’t we just triple “It’s fine. Did they fix it?” time I come.” pital suit came out and called my name. I got up check.” “Fix what?” His mother asked. He hung up. I was on West 86th Street, facing a slowly. She smiled at me; I must have looked fright- The entire check must have lasted less than “Nothing really, I had a slight problem.” shop window in which I could see my reflection. ened. She led me to a room and said, “Dr. Oates will twenty seconds. “Oh, with what?” I stood on the sidewalk and looked into my be right with you.” “Yeah, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, you “It was a problem in my pants. I’m pretty sure it’s reflection until I noticed the shop clerk looking I took off my jacket and my sunglasses fell can put your trousers back on.” He moved back to fixed, though.” Peter’s mother blushed. “I’m sorry, I back at me from inside. I turned and walked out. I picked them up and put them back into my the countertop by the sink where he had put his thought it was a plumbing problem or something towards 85th Street. I felt uncomfortable not seeing jacket pocket. The plastic tiles on the floor seemed clipboard. “You know, I’ve always loved music, I’ve like that, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know it was a Peter although he was so close by. I began having to be rotating around me. I went over to the nar- just never been good at it.” joke.” Her and her husband exchanged glances. a hard time swallowing. Then slowly my vision row bed with the paper sheet over it. I sat down on “Well, I wanted to be a doctor once, but I never Peter and I began to laugh. He was chewing on changed; the lights on the movie theatre in front of the paper sheet and waited for Dr. Oates. I thought had any patients.” his food and put his sandwich down to hold his me began to smear. I could feel people looking at about the book in my jacket pocket. I wasn’t in the Dr. Oates didn’t laugh. “What I’ve always liked napkin in front of his mouth. We kept looking at me; I passed a young boy in a red shirt. His mother mood to read anything. I thought about Emile and to see was someone playing an instrument like the each other and making each other laugh harder, lightly pulled at his hand and he drifted out of my how he missed Sophie. The room I was in reminded drums and to see how they were putting all their and with each breath it became more difficult to sight. Everything in front of me was coated with a me of my kitchen at home; there was a chair next energy into it. It’s a visual thing for me as well as stop. When we finally calmed down, I watched the wet luster. to the sink where my grandmother would sit while an auditory one. You know, I really think seeing family finish their food. I asked Peter’s father what my mother cleaned the dishes. They would talk someone play with passion is inspiring.” their plans were while they were visiting. He told loudly over the running water. I could see them in “You should look into African music then,” I said. me he had gotten in touch with someone who had the room with me. I even felt for a moment as if I Dr. Oates looked at me. “There’s so much simul- a broken Victrola from 1927 that he was going to could hear their voices. Then I noticed how silent taneous drumming and dancing and singing; the purchase. “I’ll fix it when I get home,” he said. “I the room was. Finally, Dr. Oates came in carrying a players move in a way that compliments what they have a large collection of old phonographs and clipboard. are playing. Most of the traditional music there is radios.” “So, hi, I’m Dr. Oates,” he said reaching out his based on moving and expending energy, in sort of I thought back to the scene of the people in the hand. an effort to reach a moment of catharsis. It’s meant wheelchairs from before. Looking back on it now, “Nice to meet you, Dr. Oates.” to inspire the audience to want to move, you know, I can only make out a few details about the indi- “How do you pronounce your name? Is it to dance.” My arms were moving with my words; I viduals; there might have been an old woman with Antyoh?” felt like I was lifting myself off of the ground. spots on her face, wheezing and drooling like my “Well, my mother calls me Anteo; so that’s prob- I followed him out of the room and talked about aunt’s dog Belle; I think I saw a young Caucasian ably how it should be pronounced.” a few more aspects of African music. I began tell- man with Down syndrome. But when I tried bring-

30 31 I saw her smiling. “Very well then, Anteo.” Dr. Oates smiled to him- ing him about my theory of how the African musi- ing the scene into my mind at that moment in the “I don’t know, perhaps it’s a wine stain.” I realized self as he began leafing through the sheets of paper cal aesthetic not only still exists in popular music, deli with Peter and his parents, for some reason that she wasn’t fully smiling. It seemed as if her on his clipboard. He was moving quickly, but he but has also remained completely in tact over the I couldn’t help but see the faces of girls I’ve slept eyes were smiling and her mouth was frowning. seemed calm. “You can begin taking your trousers course of hundreds of years. He interrupted me with. “Did you clean the sheets?” off. So what are you studying at BU?” when we arrived at the doors to the waiting room. Recently, I found out Peter was visiting the city. I “Sarah, come on.” She paused again. Then she “ Composition and Theory; I write music.” “So alright, Anteo, thanks for stopping by, when I called him to ask if it was true. pressed her empty cup against my chest. “Oh, interesting. I’ve always loved music, I’ve see you in five years at the Grammys you’ll have “Yeah it is, but I’m leaving today. I’m heading to “Gimme.” Her eyes were fixed on mine. just never been good at it. So I received your infor- forgotten all about this episode.” the airport soon.” “First, he giveth.” I said. I smiled and poured the mation from Dr. Macdonald.” He stopped flipping I left through the Medical Center’s large revolv- “Do you have time for a coffee? Where are you?” wine into her cup. through the pages on his clipboard and looked up ing door and headed towards the bus that was rest- “I’m downtown. My ride is coming in a few min I went to the urologist’s office the next day. As at the wall in front of him and then at me. “You ing on the corner of the street. As I walked along utes.” I was waiting for my name to be called, I began to know, there’s really no—I mean, how old are you? the facade of the enormous building, I passed a “How long were you here for?” feel uncomfortable. I couldn’t figure out why, until Twenty? Yeah, I mean, you’re forever young.” He line of about ten men and women in wheelchairs, “About two weeks. I was visiting my uncle, he’s I imagined a nurse opening the doors in front of shook his head vigorously, “You have had no pre- sitting quietly, each one looking at the back of the sick.” me and calling out my name; I didn’t want to meet vious incidents like this, you’re not a sixty-year-old next one’s head, the first one in line waiting for an “Why didn’t you call me?” There was a pause. Dr. Oates. I didn’t want him to assess my situation. man with prostate cancer, there’s really nothing to employee to open the handicapped entrance door. “What?” I started feeling dizzy. I focused on an empty chair worry about here.” He put his clipboard down on When I got back, I met Peter at the deli across “I said why didn’t you call me?” I was beginning in front of me. Slowly, the legs began to bend. I the countertop next to the sink. from our school. He was in his tuxedo shirt, which to raise my voice; I looked around. blinked and they were straight; but then they began I was standing in my briefs looking at him and he had unbuttoned halfway down. He was sitting at “I forgot, I’m sorry. I’ll let you know next time I to bend again. I saw a water cooler a few seats away nodding my head. a table with his parents. I went over and introduced come.” from me. I wanted to get up and fetch a glass of “This kind of thing can happen, it goes away myself and apologized again for not being able to “Ok yeah, that sounds good. Please don’t forget.” water but I was afraid to get up; I would be moving after a few months, it’s a self-limited symptom. But make it to his recital. “I won’t. My car service is here. I’ll call you next closer to the doors. A black woman in a blue hos- since you’re here, I mean why don’t we just triple “It’s fine. Did they fix it?” time I come.” pital suit came out and called my name. I got up check.” “Fix what?” His mother asked. He hung up. I was on West 86th Street, facing a slowly. She smiled at me; I must have looked fright- The entire check must have lasted less than “Nothing really, I had a slight problem.” shop window in which I could see my reflection. ened. She led me to a room and said, “Dr. Oates will twenty seconds. “Oh, with what?” I stood on the sidewalk and looked into my be right with you.” “Yeah, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, you “It was a problem in my pants. I’m pretty sure it’s reflection until I noticed the shop clerk looking I took off my jacket and my sunglasses fell can put your trousers back on.” He moved back to fixed, though.” Peter’s mother blushed. “I’m sorry, I back at me from inside. I turned and walked out. I picked them up and put them back into my the countertop by the sink where he had put his thought it was a plumbing problem or something towards 85th Street. I felt uncomfortable not seeing jacket pocket. The plastic tiles on the floor seemed clipboard. “You know, I’ve always loved music, I’ve like that, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know it was a Peter although he was so close by. I began having to be rotating around me. I went over to the nar- just never been good at it.” joke.” Her and her husband exchanged glances. a hard time swallowing. Then slowly my vision row bed with the paper sheet over it. I sat down on “Well, I wanted to be a doctor once, but I never Peter and I began to laugh. He was chewing on changed; the lights on the movie theatre in front of the paper sheet and waited for Dr. Oates. I thought had any patients.” his food and put his sandwich down to hold his me began to smear. I could feel people looking at about the book in my jacket pocket. I wasn’t in the Dr. Oates didn’t laugh. “What I’ve always liked napkin in front of his mouth. We kept looking at me; I passed a young boy in a red shirt. His mother mood to read anything. I thought about Emile and to see was someone playing an instrument like the each other and making each other laugh harder, lightly pulled at his hand and he drifted out of my how he missed Sophie. The room I was in reminded drums and to see how they were putting all their and with each breath it became more difficult to sight. Everything in front of me was coated with a me of my kitchen at home; there was a chair next energy into it. It’s a visual thing for me as well as stop. When we finally calmed down, I watched the wet luster. to the sink where my grandmother would sit while an auditory one. You know, I really think seeing family finish their food. I asked Peter’s father what my mother cleaned the dishes. They would talk someone play with passion is inspiring.” their plans were while they were visiting. He told loudly over the running water. I could see them in “You should look into African music then,” I said. me he had gotten in touch with someone who had the room with me. I even felt for a moment as if I Dr. Oates looked at me. “There’s so much simul- a broken Victrola from 1927 that he was going to could hear their voices. Then I noticed how silent taneous drumming and dancing and singing; the purchase. “I’ll fix it when I get home,” he said. “I the room was. Finally, Dr. Oates came in carrying a players move in a way that compliments what they have a large collection of old phonographs and clipboard. are playing. Most of the traditional music there is radios.” “So, hi, I’m Dr. Oates,” he said reaching out his based on moving and expending energy, in sort of I thought back to the scene of the people in the hand. an effort to reach a moment of catharsis. It’s meant wheelchairs from before. Looking back on it now, “Nice to meet you, Dr. Oates.” to inspire the audience to want to move, you know, I can only make out a few details about the indi- “How do you pronounce your name? Is it to dance.” My arms were moving with my words; I viduals; there might have been an old woman with Antyoh?” felt like I was lifting myself off of the ground. spots on her face, wheezing and drooling like my “Well, my mother calls me Anteo; so that’s prob- I followed him out of the room and talked about aunt’s dog Belle; I think I saw a young Caucasian ably how it should be pronounced.” a few more aspects of African music. I began tell- man with Down syndrome. But when I tried bring-

30 31

by harry meltzer

My eyes are wide; imagine my disappointment when the sun went out.

I imagined sleep, and it left metal in my mouth in absence of a kiss.

But when the road broke my eyes stung and the weight shifted

from my shoulder to my chest. Indenting my bones, it left lines in the skin of my sentiment.

One hundred miles to drive; I will be dust in the end. on the road to boston to road the on harry by meltzer bike” “cambridge

32 33

by harry meltzer

My eyes are wide; imagine my disappointment when the sun went out.

I imagined sleep, and it left metal in my mouth in absence of a kiss.

But when the road broke my eyes stung and the weight shifted

from my shoulder to my chest. Indenting my bones, it left lines in the skin of my sentiment.

One hundred miles to drive; I will be dust in the end. on the road to boston to road the on harry by meltzer bike” “cambridge

32 33 We all like to think we’d be the hero and sighed as she turned her head to face in the morning, drink my chocolate milk, and go Everyone knows that I’m signing up. I’ll be the if the sky was falling, but instead we end the clock. She turned back to me, a gri- to school. Today, I squeak as I move in the booth first kid from my class to sign up, first or last, noth- up running away. It’s as if everyone’s built mace where a smile should have been, and because I’m zipped into my blue raincoat. Mama ing in the middle. First says that I made the choice, you up in their minds so that you’re float- said, “I have to go.” says it don’t make no sense to take it off just to put last says I thought about it a lot, the middle says I’m ing on a cloud and when the sky tumbles “Wait,” I called out as I watched her col- it back on again. I like school—I think. I mean, just a stupid follower. First or last, so I chose first, down so do you. They thought I’d save lect the sheets around her tiny body and they’ve got markers that actually work and if you’re rip off the bandage. them. They thought I would get help. And slip from the bed. “I’ll make you break- really good, Ms. Johnson will give you a sticker. I wonder what it will be like to die. What I’ll be inside I wanted to save them, but instead I fast.” Mama says it ain’t nice to brag, but I have the most thinking about, if I’m thinking about anything, tried to save myself. She looked at me seriously, dropping stickers in the whole class. when it happens. You know, I think I’ll be thinking the sheets to collect her clothes on the The chocolate milk is gone, but I suck at the that I wish I had been to Dayton, Ohio. Yeah, that Irene ground. “Henry, not this morning.” straw for a moment, listening to the loud yelping will be my biggest fucking regret. “But you haven’t had breakfast here in a sound it makes and I wait for Mama to yell for me I had a headache. I kept a hand pressed week.” to stop it. But she doesn’t, no one seems to be pay- Etta to my forehead as I milled around the This caused some pause; she sat on the ing attention. I grab my pink backpack, shove the by jennie davis kitchen, waiting for the Advil to kick in. bed, her back to me, fumbling with the glass across the tabletop, and push myself from the By the time I was finished my cigarette and slid in It was only 7 AM. I had the whole rest of clasp of her bra. “Henry,” she repeated, booth. the backdoors of the diner, Harriet was gone. Shit, the damn day to get through, and already “not this morning.” Mama says to always say I love you before I say I thought to myself, mother of the year—again. I the sky was frowning with a brewing “Shel,” I tried, getting into some pajama goodbye. Mama says to always let her know where picked up the empty glass of chocolate milk, think- thunderstorm. I wasn’t in the mood to bottoms myself, “at least let me drive you.” I’m going. I march to the door like one of those lit- ing of her little hands around it, then I wiped the deal with umbrellas and soggy menus. But “It’s a block away. I’ll walk.” tle tin soldiers at Christmas time; I twist the handle counter clean with a dishrag and looked up at the then again, I wasn’t in the mood to have a “Shelby—” and push it open. I step outside and breath in the sound of the door opening. damn headache. “Henry.” She turned to look at me, wet air; I don’t listen to everything Mama says. “Hey Etta,” Shelby called out, lifting a hand in a I barely had my GED, but I tried to rea- pulling down her creased waitress hello. son what the harm was in taking another uniform, that serious look plastered all Dayton “Hey,” I said back, smiling. “How are you? How’s pill—how much could one little pill hurt? over. “I’ll walk.” She picked up her bag Henry?” This seemed to satisfy me, so I lifted my while she tried to put on her flip-flops, I’m named after a city in Ohio. So is my sister, She made a noise, almost like when you’re about hand from my head to cheat the child- which caused her to wobble a bit. She Akron, and even the dog, Wooster. I’m just going to to barf. “Don’t ask,” she said dismissively. proof container and proceeded to swallow walked to the door, held the handle firmly say, for the record, that we live in Roundup, Mon- “What is that supposed to mean?” the pill. I expected instant relief, though it in her hand, and then turned back to me. tana—not anywhere in Ohio, and no, we never lived Shelby took an apron off the hook and tied it I suppose I knew it didn’t work that way. I “Come by the diner later,” she said, “we in Ohio. I’ve never been out of fucking Roundup; around her waist. “It means I’m nineteen and the moaned, took the car keys, and walked out need to talk.” my name is a constant reminder of how much boy wants to get married and have the whole fuck- the door. my life blows. Our parents named us for the city ing golden retriever and white picket fence.” Harriet where we were conceived—too much information, “And?” I asked. Henry I know—and the dog, well, I don’t know, you’d have “And,” she put her hands on the counter, “and My pink shoes are my favorite. Mama to ask them. I’m nineteen and what if I just want to be nineteen here it comes Before I knew it, I was awake. It felt like says they aren’t as practical as sneakers, Being a teenager sucks ass. You either work at instead of a wife and mom?” I’d never slept and like I’d never woken but they sure ain’t as ugly as them either. your dad’s auto shop or join the army. No one goes “Then you don’t want to be with Henry.” up at the same time. Maybe because it was I sipped on the straw coming out of my to college, unless you’re like a genius, but I guess if She let this fill the room and I wished I hadn’t still dark in her room, or maybe because chocolate milk as I swung my legs un- you’re really a genius, you’d never have moved to said nothing, I could see her eyes prick with tears she was still lying in my arms, silently derneath the booth so that my pink shoes Roundup in the first place. I’m enlisting tomorrow, and all I could do was stand there like an idiot with inhaling and exhaling. ding on the backboard. this is why I’m telling you any of this, so that you’ll my daughter’s cup in my hand. “I just,” she brushed My lips moved toward the base of her I don’t know what time it is, no one’s understand that it’s not because I’m brave or noth- her hair from her eyes, “I work at a diner, I’m barely hairline-her hair smelled like flowers-and gotten around to teaching me how to read ing, it’s because I can’t stay here anymore. graduating high school in June. I just don’t want to kissed her softly at the top of her neck. a clock yet. Next week, Mama says, or I have a system, for when I cry, so that no one be…” Shelby rustled in my arms; she carefully sometimes when she’s tired, she says, ‘who hears me. I only do it at night first of all, I take “Me.” I said firmly, passing the cup to hold it in slid herself on her back and turned her needs to learn it?’ Mama says that Daddy the pillow and shove my face into it and that way my other hand. “You don’t want to be me. Twen- head to look at me. might teach me, but he don’t live with us no one can hear me. I know I’m going to die over ty-three, a six-year-old kid, no Daddy, a dead-end job “Hey,” I said to her, grinning. no more, and he ain’t dead either, he’s just there—wherever there is—but it’s weird, you know, at a diner in small town Montana.” Shelby stared at She squinted at me for a moment, and gone. So I don’t think he’ll be teaching me signing up to die and yet I would never kill myself. me, waiting for something more. “It ain’t so bad,” I I wondered what she was thinking—re- nothing. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s either fight- lied, “it ain’t.” gret, perhaps. “Hey,” she said slowly. She The school is only a couple of streets ing a battle or staying here that would kill me in Shelby swallowed hard. “It’s just, it’s just not what stretched beneath the sheets, then relaxed away from the diner, so I come with Mama the end. I want.”

34 35 We all like to think we’d be the hero and sighed as she turned her head to face in the morning, drink my chocolate milk, and go Everyone knows that I’m signing up. I’ll be the if the sky was falling, but instead we end the clock. She turned back to me, a gri- to school. Today, I squeak as I move in the booth first kid from my class to sign up, first or last, noth- up running away. It’s as if everyone’s built mace where a smile should have been, and because I’m zipped into my blue raincoat. Mama ing in the middle. First says that I made the choice, you up in their minds so that you’re float- said, “I have to go.” says it don’t make no sense to take it off just to put last says I thought about it a lot, the middle says I’m ing on a cloud and when the sky tumbles “Wait,” I called out as I watched her col- it back on again. I like school—I think. I mean, just a stupid follower. First or last, so I chose first, down so do you. They thought I’d save lect the sheets around her tiny body and they’ve got markers that actually work and if you’re rip off the bandage. them. They thought I would get help. And slip from the bed. “I’ll make you break- really good, Ms. Johnson will give you a sticker. I wonder what it will be like to die. What I’ll be inside I wanted to save them, but instead I fast.” Mama says it ain’t nice to brag, but I have the most thinking about, if I’m thinking about anything, tried to save myself. She looked at me seriously, dropping stickers in the whole class. when it happens. You know, I think I’ll be thinking the sheets to collect her clothes on the The chocolate milk is gone, but I suck at the that I wish I had been to Dayton, Ohio. Yeah, that Irene ground. “Henry, not this morning.” straw for a moment, listening to the loud yelping will be my biggest fucking regret. “But you haven’t had breakfast here in a sound it makes and I wait for Mama to yell for me I had a headache. I kept a hand pressed week.” to stop it. But she doesn’t, no one seems to be pay- Etta to my forehead as I milled around the This caused some pause; she sat on the ing attention. I grab my pink backpack, shove the by jennie davis kitchen, waiting for the Advil to kick in. bed, her back to me, fumbling with the glass across the tabletop, and push myself from the By the time I was finished my cigarette and slid in It was only 7 AM. I had the whole rest of clasp of her bra. “Henry,” she repeated, booth. the backdoors of the diner, Harriet was gone. Shit, the damn day to get through, and already “not this morning.” Mama says to always say I love you before I say I thought to myself, mother of the year—again. I the sky was frowning with a brewing “Shel,” I tried, getting into some pajama goodbye. Mama says to always let her know where picked up the empty glass of chocolate milk, think- thunderstorm. I wasn’t in the mood to bottoms myself, “at least let me drive you.” I’m going. I march to the door like one of those lit- ing of her little hands around it, then I wiped the deal with umbrellas and soggy menus. But “It’s a block away. I’ll walk.” tle tin soldiers at Christmas time; I twist the handle counter clean with a dishrag and looked up at the then again, I wasn’t in the mood to have a “Shelby—” and push it open. I step outside and breath in the sound of the door opening. damn headache. “Henry.” She turned to look at me, wet air; I don’t listen to everything Mama says. “Hey Etta,” Shelby called out, lifting a hand in a I barely had my GED, but I tried to rea- pulling down her creased waitress hello. son what the harm was in taking another uniform, that serious look plastered all Dayton “Hey,” I said back, smiling. “How are you? How’s pill—how much could one little pill hurt? over. “I’ll walk.” She picked up her bag Henry?” This seemed to satisfy me, so I lifted my while she tried to put on her flip-flops, I’m named after a city in Ohio. So is my sister, She made a noise, almost like when you’re about hand from my head to cheat the child- which caused her to wobble a bit. She Akron, and even the dog, Wooster. I’m just going to to barf. “Don’t ask,” she said dismissively. proof container and proceeded to swallow walked to the door, held the handle firmly say, for the record, that we live in Roundup, Mon- “What is that supposed to mean?” the pill. I expected instant relief, though it in her hand, and then turned back to me. tana—not anywhere in Ohio, and no, we never lived Shelby took an apron off the hook and tied it I suppose I knew it didn’t work that way. I “Come by the diner later,” she said, “we in Ohio. I’ve never been out of fucking Roundup; around her waist. “It means I’m nineteen and the moaned, took the car keys, and walked out need to talk.” my name is a constant reminder of how much boy wants to get married and have the whole fuck- the door. my life blows. Our parents named us for the city ing golden retriever and white picket fence.” Harriet where we were conceived—too much information, “And?” I asked. Henry I know—and the dog, well, I don’t know, you’d have “And,” she put her hands on the counter, “and My pink shoes are my favorite. Mama to ask them. I’m nineteen and what if I just want to be nineteen here it comes Before I knew it, I was awake. It felt like says they aren’t as practical as sneakers, Being a teenager sucks ass. You either work at instead of a wife and mom?” I’d never slept and like I’d never woken but they sure ain’t as ugly as them either. your dad’s auto shop or join the army. No one goes “Then you don’t want to be with Henry.” up at the same time. Maybe because it was I sipped on the straw coming out of my to college, unless you’re like a genius, but I guess if She let this fill the room and I wished I hadn’t still dark in her room, or maybe because chocolate milk as I swung my legs un- you’re really a genius, you’d never have moved to said nothing, I could see her eyes prick with tears she was still lying in my arms, silently derneath the booth so that my pink shoes Roundup in the first place. I’m enlisting tomorrow, and all I could do was stand there like an idiot with inhaling and exhaling. ding on the backboard. this is why I’m telling you any of this, so that you’ll my daughter’s cup in my hand. “I just,” she brushed My lips moved toward the base of her I don’t know what time it is, no one’s understand that it’s not because I’m brave or noth- her hair from her eyes, “I work at a diner, I’m barely hairline-her hair smelled like flowers-and gotten around to teaching me how to read ing, it’s because I can’t stay here anymore. graduating high school in June. I just don’t want to kissed her softly at the top of her neck. a clock yet. Next week, Mama says, or I have a system, for when I cry, so that no one be…” Shelby rustled in my arms; she carefully sometimes when she’s tired, she says, ‘who hears me. I only do it at night first of all, I take “Me.” I said firmly, passing the cup to hold it in slid herself on her back and turned her needs to learn it?’ Mama says that Daddy the pillow and shove my face into it and that way my other hand. “You don’t want to be me. Twen- head to look at me. might teach me, but he don’t live with us no one can hear me. I know I’m going to die over ty-three, a six-year-old kid, no Daddy, a dead-end job “Hey,” I said to her, grinning. no more, and he ain’t dead either, he’s just there—wherever there is—but it’s weird, you know, at a diner in small town Montana.” Shelby stared at She squinted at me for a moment, and gone. So I don’t think he’ll be teaching me signing up to die and yet I would never kill myself. me, waiting for something more. “It ain’t so bad,” I I wondered what she was thinking—re- nothing. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s either fight- lied, “it ain’t.” gret, perhaps. “Hey,” she said slowly. She The school is only a couple of streets ing a battle or staying here that would kill me in Shelby swallowed hard. “It’s just, it’s just not what stretched beneath the sheets, then relaxed away from the diner, so I come with Mama the end. I want.”

34 35 “What in life is what we want?” I asked. snapped seatbelt pulled me back to the car. I hit the one to Shelby first. She looked at it forlornly, and I and smell the puke on my shoes, my hair whipping “He loves me,” she said quietly. release button aimlessly, reached for my purse and snapped the cap off of mine with my teeth. against my face as the twister inched to me. Mama “But not enough.” sprinted as fast as my jelly-legs could carry me. Shelby removed her fingers from mine, one by would know what to do, but I didn’t know what to Shelby moved towards me, her hands hung The diner door gave way easily, like it knew one, and took the beer in her hands. She popped the do. I was shaking worse than the first day of school, loosely in front of her just like how my daughter’s something was coming. I stood in the doorframe cap off with her tiny fingers and placed it gingerly then, before I knew it, everything went dark. did. “No,” she said, “I don’t love him enough.” panting, my eyes wild and big, “Tornado,” I on the ground. I leaned my head against the wall, screamed, “here it comes.” believing that I could begin to feel the ground Dayton Sutton shake from the tornado, and nursed a long sip Henry of the beer. I looked over at Shelby, who seemed Wooster is scratching at the door, whining like he Anyone in Roundup can tell you that a thunder- small and robotic, tracing her finger along the lip does when he has to pee. I turn to look at him, my storm is anything but innocent. It’s suspect from I turned around, still sliding myself from my rain- of the bottle. Her circles were round and constant, mouth full of cereal, and throw a crumbled napkin the moment it rolls overhead; those raindrops hit- coat, as Irene burst through the front door. I had obsessive, as she sat there and followed the edge of at him. “Leave it alone, boy,” I say, and then swallow ting your head aren’t going to be harmless by the arrived a second earlier, well; truthfully, I had just the drink. the food. end of the day. Everyone knows that. followed Shelby when she left, stalking her from a “Here,” she said finally, looking down but hand- The dog momentarily halts, and waddles to There should have been panic. Should have block behind. ing me the beer, “I’m pregnant.” my feet, his arthritic hips creaking as he walks. been premonition at least. But maybe folks weren’t “Tornado,” she screamed, “here it comes.” Irene He nudges my socked feet with his snout, a slight paying attention, they sure as hell didn’t think twice turned to me, seemingly unable to inhale, and be- Harriet whine, but I kick at him to leave me alone. I shove about what might happen, everyone was so tangled gan to raise her arms and flap them at me. “Go,” she another spoonful of the cereal in my open mouth, in their own lives. fumbled with her words breathlessly, “go and hide.” Kick and chase, kick and chase. The pebble bumps chomping at it as I eye the clock: fabulous, late for Nobody was ready. Some were in mid-conversa- I turned to the rest of the diner, which consisted along the sidewalk and it reminds me of how Mama school—again. tions, others halfway done their bacon and eggs. of Shelby standing at the counter with a hand on can skip a rock on water. My pink shoes pound on I take the key from the kitchen counter as I si- Some weren’t quite finished reciting the alphabet, the pocket of her apron, mouth slightly open, and the ground, my hands clapped on the straps of my multaneously toss my bowl and spoon into the sink. others almost done filling a coffee cup. I wasn’t fast Etta, who stood panic-stricken with a cup at her backpack, the wind licks the side of my face. I pull “Bye boy,” I say, crouching down to pat Wooster on enough, I was running to her, but I didn’t get there feet, a small straw on the ground with a tiny river of my foot back, and the kick the rock two squares the head. His head tilts to me; his eyes look deep in time. chocolate milk making it’s way across the floor. ahead. and oddly sad. I blink at this and he begins to whine Nobody expected what happened next. Irene ran for Etta, murmuring prayers, took her Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. I again. “Stop it,” I say, annoyed, pulling my backpack by the hand as she shoved Shelby at me, “Storage jump back from the crack splitting the sidewalk; on my shoulder, “that’s fucking annoying.” Mom Irene room,” she instructed, “we’ll go to the cellar.” my heart feels like a racecar under my shirt. I ain’t and Dad are at work, Akron left for school an hour Shelby and I stood shoulder to shoulder like stupid, but I don’t think it people should go around ago for stupid band practice or something equally Sometimes I find it hard to get out of the car. As statues, neither here nor there, but she looped her stepping on cracks and walking under ladders and lame. I double-check that the oven is off and the if unbuckling the seatbelt would unleash the en- arm through mine and began to pull me towards stuff to see if bad stuff will happen to them. That back door is locked. Satisfied with my millisecond tire world and opening that car door would let the the back stairs. We moved like a snake—whichever don’t make no sense. house check, I open the front door—but only to see whole damn thing spill in. So I’ve been sitting here, way she tried to run I lagged behind; we were a syn- The chocolate milk sloshing in my belly makes it a barely discernable streak run the length from the watching those green digital numbers twitch as the copated harmony, not making music but obstacles. sore suddenly. I think about throwing up for a sec- ground to the sky twist its way across my vision. I minutes pass. But then again, if I hadn’t been sitting Her grip was tight enough to pull me along, but ond and then, before I know it, I’ve puked all over can feel my heart stop beating; a faint whimpering here I wouldn’t have seen it. not solid, not like how I would hold her hand, as if my pink shoes. I make a face and shake out my feet, permeates from Wooster behind me. I turn back You know those smudges you get on your glasses, letting me go would be as easy as holding on. Mama is going to be so mad when she sees this. to the door and hesitate, my hand on the knob, my or a funny shadow, or something like that and for a We barreled down the stairs, she pulled and we Once, last year, Mama took me to the fair. I was breath slow and invisible. moment your heart races because you think there’s went to the left. I saw a door with ‘storage room’ too small to go on any of the good big kid rides, but Finally, I push it closed, reaching down to scoop someone behind you, or that something’s broken, written on it. “Get in,” she said as she released the she took me on those spinning teacup things. We up the damn whining dog and letting my back- or just anything, when it feels like something’s not door from the hinges, “get in.” went around and around and around, like the whole pack shift off my shoulder. “Shh boy,” I tell him, his right? Well that’s what I thought it was at first—that I obliged, whatever she said, I did. Her arm world couldn’t stay still, my body pressed to hers as whining softens in my arms as we climb the stairs, thin mark running in a line down my windshield. slipped from my own, but I grabbed her hand at we spun. All of a sudden I felt like that, I swayed to “that’s it boy.” I carry him to my bedroom, put him It could have been a thousand things—a crack in the last second, pulling her to the ground with me. the side and fell down on my bum. I put my hand on the bed, and then close the door behind us. I the glass, a shadow of a power line, a reflection of She looked at me with confusion, and tenderness, to my head, wondering if I had the flu or some- decide in the moment that’s it’s not suicide, I’m not something on my dashboard. or rather a pity, but she did not fight my attempt thing, when I saw it, that big swirly black shadow taking my own life after all, I’m just choosing not But it wasn’t any of those things. It was the at acting like a man. Instead she wove her fingers in between me and the school. Mama called them to escape—is that the same thing? Fuck, it’s either contorted spine of a tornado, waltzing towards me, through mine. twisters, said they messed up a bunch of stuff and this or carrying a gun, or taking a gun to the head, it’s slow sway from side to side, the way its cen- I saw some boxes of beer next to me and sudden- always made me hide in the basement when they fuck, what else can I do? ter would ebb and flow from it’s body. It was all I ly felt the overwhelming need to drink it. I ripped came. I lie down on the bed, and take the whimpering could do to fumble with the door handle in hopes the box open with my free hand and rescued two My mouth opened up—but nothing came out. I dog into my arm. “Shh boy,” I say again, “shh boy, of something—escape, I suppose—but the still bottles, setting them down in front of us. I passed couldn’t move my legs, all I could do was sit there we’re going to be okay.” He lies down in my arms,

36 37 “What in life is what we want?” I asked. snapped seatbelt pulled me back to the car. I hit the one to Shelby first. She looked at it forlornly, and I and smell the puke on my shoes, my hair whipping “He loves me,” she said quietly. release button aimlessly, reached for my purse and snapped the cap off of mine with my teeth. against my face as the twister inched to me. Mama “But not enough.” sprinted as fast as my jelly-legs could carry me. Shelby removed her fingers from mine, one by would know what to do, but I didn’t know what to Shelby moved towards me, her hands hung The diner door gave way easily, like it knew one, and took the beer in her hands. She popped the do. I was shaking worse than the first day of school, loosely in front of her just like how my daughter’s something was coming. I stood in the doorframe cap off with her tiny fingers and placed it gingerly then, before I knew it, everything went dark. did. “No,” she said, “I don’t love him enough.” panting, my eyes wild and big, “Tornado,” I on the ground. I leaned my head against the wall, screamed, “here it comes.” believing that I could begin to feel the ground Dayton Sutton shake from the tornado, and nursed a long sip Henry of the beer. I looked over at Shelby, who seemed Wooster is scratching at the door, whining like he Anyone in Roundup can tell you that a thunder- small and robotic, tracing her finger along the lip does when he has to pee. I turn to look at him, my storm is anything but innocent. It’s suspect from I turned around, still sliding myself from my rain- of the bottle. Her circles were round and constant, mouth full of cereal, and throw a crumbled napkin the moment it rolls overhead; those raindrops hit- coat, as Irene burst through the front door. I had obsessive, as she sat there and followed the edge of at him. “Leave it alone, boy,” I say, and then swallow ting your head aren’t going to be harmless by the arrived a second earlier, well; truthfully, I had just the drink. the food. end of the day. Everyone knows that. followed Shelby when she left, stalking her from a “Here,” she said finally, looking down but hand- The dog momentarily halts, and waddles to There should have been panic. Should have block behind. ing me the beer, “I’m pregnant.” my feet, his arthritic hips creaking as he walks. been premonition at least. But maybe folks weren’t “Tornado,” she screamed, “here it comes.” Irene He nudges my socked feet with his snout, a slight paying attention, they sure as hell didn’t think twice turned to me, seemingly unable to inhale, and be- Harriet whine, but I kick at him to leave me alone. I shove about what might happen, everyone was so tangled gan to raise her arms and flap them at me. “Go,” she another spoonful of the cereal in my open mouth, in their own lives. fumbled with her words breathlessly, “go and hide.” Kick and chase, kick and chase. The pebble bumps chomping at it as I eye the clock: fabulous, late for Nobody was ready. Some were in mid-conversa- I turned to the rest of the diner, which consisted along the sidewalk and it reminds me of how Mama school—again. tions, others halfway done their bacon and eggs. of Shelby standing at the counter with a hand on can skip a rock on water. My pink shoes pound on I take the key from the kitchen counter as I si- Some weren’t quite finished reciting the alphabet, the pocket of her apron, mouth slightly open, and the ground, my hands clapped on the straps of my multaneously toss my bowl and spoon into the sink. others almost done filling a coffee cup. I wasn’t fast Etta, who stood panic-stricken with a cup at her backpack, the wind licks the side of my face. I pull “Bye boy,” I say, crouching down to pat Wooster on enough, I was running to her, but I didn’t get there feet, a small straw on the ground with a tiny river of my foot back, and the kick the rock two squares the head. His head tilts to me; his eyes look deep in time. chocolate milk making it’s way across the floor. ahead. and oddly sad. I blink at this and he begins to whine Nobody expected what happened next. Irene ran for Etta, murmuring prayers, took her Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. I again. “Stop it,” I say, annoyed, pulling my backpack by the hand as she shoved Shelby at me, “Storage jump back from the crack splitting the sidewalk; on my shoulder, “that’s fucking annoying.” Mom Irene room,” she instructed, “we’ll go to the cellar.” my heart feels like a racecar under my shirt. I ain’t and Dad are at work, Akron left for school an hour Shelby and I stood shoulder to shoulder like stupid, but I don’t think it people should go around ago for stupid band practice or something equally Sometimes I find it hard to get out of the car. As statues, neither here nor there, but she looped her stepping on cracks and walking under ladders and lame. I double-check that the oven is off and the if unbuckling the seatbelt would unleash the en- arm through mine and began to pull me towards stuff to see if bad stuff will happen to them. That back door is locked. Satisfied with my millisecond tire world and opening that car door would let the the back stairs. We moved like a snake—whichever don’t make no sense. house check, I open the front door—but only to see whole damn thing spill in. So I’ve been sitting here, way she tried to run I lagged behind; we were a syn- The chocolate milk sloshing in my belly makes it a barely discernable streak run the length from the watching those green digital numbers twitch as the copated harmony, not making music but obstacles. sore suddenly. I think about throwing up for a sec- ground to the sky twist its way across my vision. I minutes pass. But then again, if I hadn’t been sitting Her grip was tight enough to pull me along, but ond and then, before I know it, I’ve puked all over can feel my heart stop beating; a faint whimpering here I wouldn’t have seen it. not solid, not like how I would hold her hand, as if my pink shoes. I make a face and shake out my feet, permeates from Wooster behind me. I turn back You know those smudges you get on your glasses, letting me go would be as easy as holding on. Mama is going to be so mad when she sees this. to the door and hesitate, my hand on the knob, my or a funny shadow, or something like that and for a We barreled down the stairs, she pulled and we Once, last year, Mama took me to the fair. I was breath slow and invisible. moment your heart races because you think there’s went to the left. I saw a door with ‘storage room’ too small to go on any of the good big kid rides, but Finally, I push it closed, reaching down to scoop someone behind you, or that something’s broken, written on it. “Get in,” she said as she released the she took me on those spinning teacup things. We up the damn whining dog and letting my back- or just anything, when it feels like something’s not door from the hinges, “get in.” went around and around and around, like the whole pack shift off my shoulder. “Shh boy,” I tell him, his right? Well that’s what I thought it was at first—that I obliged, whatever she said, I did. Her arm world couldn’t stay still, my body pressed to hers as whining softens in my arms as we climb the stairs, thin mark running in a line down my windshield. slipped from my own, but I grabbed her hand at we spun. All of a sudden I felt like that, I swayed to “that’s it boy.” I carry him to my bedroom, put him It could have been a thousand things—a crack in the last second, pulling her to the ground with me. the side and fell down on my bum. I put my hand on the bed, and then close the door behind us. I the glass, a shadow of a power line, a reflection of She looked at me with confusion, and tenderness, to my head, wondering if I had the flu or some- decide in the moment that’s it’s not suicide, I’m not something on my dashboard. or rather a pity, but she did not fight my attempt thing, when I saw it, that big swirly black shadow taking my own life after all, I’m just choosing not But it wasn’t any of those things. It was the at acting like a man. Instead she wove her fingers in between me and the school. Mama called them to escape—is that the same thing? Fuck, it’s either contorted spine of a tornado, waltzing towards me, through mine. twisters, said they messed up a bunch of stuff and this or carrying a gun, or taking a gun to the head, it’s slow sway from side to side, the way its cen- I saw some boxes of beer next to me and sudden- always made me hide in the basement when they fuck, what else can I do? ter would ebb and flow from it’s body. It was all I ly felt the overwhelming need to drink it. I ripped came. I lie down on the bed, and take the whimpering could do to fumble with the door handle in hopes the box open with my free hand and rescued two My mouth opened up—but nothing came out. I dog into my arm. “Shh boy,” I say again, “shh boy, of something—escape, I suppose—but the still bottles, setting them down in front of us. I passed couldn’t move my legs, all I could do was sit there we’re going to be okay.” He lies down in my arms,

36 37 rests his long chin against my own whimpering on the floor, someone screams, is that me? I hold chest, and stops his own crying. We lay there, boy her tighter, thinking of my baby—my baby, my and dog, dead and deader; I close my eyes and wait baby, my baby. Things go dark—and then I’m gone. for things to end. Everything is gone.

Etta Sutton

“No,” I beg, feeling those stupid tears drip off my According to the urban legend, Roundup is named chin, “she’s out there, let me go.” so because it’s a natural place to round up things— Irene holds onto my arm, unable to look at me, cattle, and people. We roundup ourselves, tying pulling me toward the janitorial closet. “She’s gone,” ourselves into knots; encircled by each other and she says softly, “come on.” tornados. “No,” I plead, tears muddling my voice, “no, no, Anyone in Roundup can tell you that a tornado please, she’s my little girl.” I hit at her arm on mine, is anything but innocent. Your next door neighbor trying to rip myself from her. lost her dog to the one two years ago, your grade “She’s…” Irene stops, tossing brooms onto the school teacher had her car wrecked last year, your floor, then she turned to me. “Etta,” she grasps my grandpa’s business was trashed a couple of months shoulders tightly, “Etta, focus, we need to hide now. ago. Do you understand?” I lived here a long time ago, and moved away I nod, but I am sobbing, trying to figure a way to as soon as I could. I came back to see my parents, break free. and instead I saw the circle of life—tornado, panic, “Good,” she tells me, releasing her hands slowly, death, and moving on. “help me.” She is just a little girl. Shoes as pink as the inside Once her hands are lifted, I run away, I reach for of your cheeks, fallen on the sidewalk crying for the door, I am crying, the world is slipping away. her Mama. I don’t know her name, or exactly how Suddenly I am on the floor, my cheekbones burn- old she is, or even why she is all-alone. But I know ing, Irene rolls me over and slaps my face. one thing for sure—I am here, and I can do some- “Do you want to die?” She demands, slapping me thing. I scoop her up in my arms, and hold her head again. against my shoulder so she couldn’t see what was “My baby, my baby, my little girl,” happening around us. She is me, years and years Irene winds up to slap me again. “Stop it. Do you ago, scared and tiny, and as we run, I feel her tiny want to die too?” She pauses, our breaths panting hands tense on my back. loudly in the empty room. She leans closer to my For a moment, I think that if I look back, I will face; her wrinkles are deep and everywhere. “You turn into a pillar of salt or something equally can’t help her now.” biblical, but instead, the only words that come to This takes my breath away. My face stings and my mind are—here it comes. bones hurt against the cold, hard floor. My hands fly to my belly-why can’t this be years ago when she was with me, in me, why isn’t she with me? I want her, I want her, I want her so much, but she isn’t here. “Come on Etta,” Irene says as she pulls me to my feet, the building beginning to shiver in the wind, “come on.” We race back to the closet, hand in hand; I wish I were holding a little hand instead. We empty the closet so there’s just enough room for the two of us, small and insignificant, Irene and I embrace as we huddle close, her breath warm on my shoulder. “au petit riche” by jenna kluger I begin to cry, wanting my baby, and her hands tighten on my back. Everything begins to vibrate and shudder, plates slide off the counter and shatter

38 39 rests his long chin against my own whimpering on the floor, someone screams, is that me? I hold chest, and stops his own crying. We lay there, boy her tighter, thinking of my baby—my baby, my and dog, dead and deader; I close my eyes and wait baby, my baby. Things go dark—and then I’m gone. for things to end. Everything is gone.

Etta Sutton

38 39 follicles with cancerous equating beauty by chelsea quezergue

Those eaten teeth, Sugar-browned & bow-shaped, They join the frail hair And window-paned eyes We avoid, Beady and staring blank. by ann powers The mind goes, the hips widen You can’t be elegant. Into a pear sleeping on the couch With that lingering stench of burnt hair trailing behind At every house. you. You can’t be original Doctors declare No Chasing that anglicized definition of beauty. But beady eyes rejoice Who wrote Webster’s Dictionary? Yes! In the delicate stratification of females in Black America, Meds Meds Meds Long hair and café au lait skin give you a privilege that More Meds with that brandy. you devour. So sweet that your soul, being nowhere near as lovely as Those tales maddened with the “Wisconsin” cousins your appearance, And grandpa’s ashes festered from steely tools Grows more rotten with every chocolate girl you uncon- And six-foot parrots squawking for the little daughter; sciously scoff. Those work-softened fingers always groping pie dough, So malignant, chemo is the only option. Always fiddling knitting sticks, always fumbling over I wonder how my mother would mourn the loss of my An unlit kool the first boyfriend gifted. hair. the crumble

[Your Mental List: The cat collapsed The rabbit ran The truck trashed The rentals ruined The clothes contracted The pennies purged The house & husband halved The meds married brandy]

That cackling uncalculated laugh Southern life made a mess of, We hear it in pauses of silence Maddened with blank stares And those beady eyes Seething, teething, rejoicing Yes!

40 41 follicles with cancerous equating beauty by chelsea quezergue

[Your Mental List: The cat collapsed The rabbit ran The truck trashed The rentals ruined The clothes contracted The pennies purged The house & husband halved The meds married brandy]

That cackling uncalculated laugh Southern life made a mess of, We hear it in pauses of silence Maddened with blank stares And those beady eyes Seething, teething, rejoicing Yes!

40 41 Truly, to realize the beauty of the world, One must experience a place devoid of it.

How now Medusa, Your allure, once unSurpassed, Has vanished by decree of the grEat goddess. by sara foster She who contends had you in her crosshairs, And has [hard]-ly spareD a {soft} feature.

Yet still you, Daphne: Do you regret your flight? Surely, the pAstoral firmness with which you now burgeon, Will atone for the disclosed desire to emulate the Hunter. In a betrothal of adamance and purity, You Heedlessly became Apollo’s *crown*ing glory.

Through weaving waters, Charon, You ferry the lost, The bRo/ken, The dead souls due for Judgment.

“enter, hades.” Wait! / What kEeps the passenger, Not in hand but in mouth as paymenT for the journey? Indeed, the obolus [safely] resides here.

Enter, Hades. Bring now upon me my/your Fate/s, As I have had fortuNe enough to evade your Fury/ies in my lifetime. mythical montage: But oh! let me drink of the Lethe, Allow me to forget my past before I face this future. To Minos, do I appEal: “Send me to the Elysians…

… Free [me] at last.” by kara korab

42 43 Truly, to realize the beauty of the world, One must experience a place devoid of it.

How now Medusa, Your allure, once unSurpassed, Has vanished by decree of the grEat goddess. by sara foster She who contends had you in her crosshairs, And has [hard]-ly spareD a {soft} feature.

Through weaving waters, Charon, You ferry the lost, The bRo/ken, The dead souls due for Judgment.

“enter, hades.” Wait! / What kEeps the passenger, Not in hand but in mouth as paymenT for the journey? Indeed, the obolus [safely] resides here.

… Free [me] at last.” by kara korab

42 43 My sister was eaten by a shark. * * * as she walked, and they got stuck in her black water. I was crabbing in Duck’s Cove, about leather sandals. “You’re not eating again today?” she asked. A ten minutes from our house, when I The funeral was on a Tuesday in a small, few drips of coffee fell from the mug onto her found out. I had bought a raw chicken weathered church in downtown Tuxedo. * * * shirt. She didn’t notice and I didn’t tell her. leg from the Superette and had tied a There was a picture of Claire on the table Even though it was especially hot out I wore a string around the slippery flesh. I was by the entrance. In the picture she was We didn’t have one of those funerals with a big long-sleeve t-shirt and oversized basketball shorts. sitting on a rock, dangling it in the sitting on a rock in Duck’s Cove, her hair meal at the end, and when we were walking back This was what I always wore in the summer to shallow water just above the sand, when blowing across her rough eyes and hol- home I realized that I was starving. My parents cover up my fat, no matter how hot it got. Instead my father ran up to me. His hands were low cheekbones. went straight down to the beach, where they spent of responding to Mother’s question I tugged at my dripping with sand and blood. At the funeral my father wore a hat a lot of time these days, and I went to the refriger- long sleeves, covering my fingertips. “Louise,” he said. “It’s Claire.” and my mother spat whenever she had ator. “Why do you always wear all that clothing? I let the chicken drop into the ocean. to talk to anyone, as if she had forgot- My mother had bought raw chicken nuggets in What are you hiding?” We ran home, and jumped in the back ten how to swallow. Everyone kept put- June, and two months later they remained un- I got up from the table and was out of the of the ambulance just as it was pulling ting their hands on my shoulders and I touched, in translucent pink wrapping. I put six house before she had finished talking. I let the away from the beach. watched as John Macintosh entered the nuggets in a pan, and the pan in the oven. door slam behind me, which she hated. This was late August in Tuxedo, Maine. church and lingered at the picture of I stood in the kitchen and stared at the oven, The town had closed the beach after the shark That summer I was fourteen, and my sis- Claire. waiting for the chicken to cook. I couldn’t wait. I attack, so I had to go farther away than usual. ter Claire was sixteen. Before the day she John was my father’s friend from their took the chicken out of the oven, burning my fin- I plopped on the beach in my usual spot, about by carolyn mainardi bled out in the ambulance on the way to long-haired days at Penn, and he had gers on the metal pan. I bit into a nugget, which a ten-minute walk away from where Claire was the hospital, I had reached 160 pounds rented a house on the ocean for the week was still pink and watery. I didn’t care. I ate all six killed. There were a couple of dead crabs next to of the funeral. When we were younger, nuggets, each of them as raw as the first one. me that had washed in during the last high tide. * * * Claire had whispered stories about John About an hour later, my parents still hadn’t I arranged the crabs next to each other and drew Macintosh, during nights when the wind returned home. I stood naked in my bedroom and hearts in the sand between them to show that they We lived year-round in a low little house was blowing and our parents couldn’t stared at my body, trying to imagine where the were in love. The hearts were lopsided and ugly. on the coast of Maine, down the street hear us. She told me how she had once shark had bitten my sister. Then I looked at my “My hearts are beautiful,” I said to the crabs. I from the ocean. Our house had wooden gone to Philadelphia with our father to face and my mouth. I had a very small mouth, choked on the words at first, and then I said them walls and big glass windows that shook visit John. He made Claire dance with which I always thought I inherited from my again, louder. during storms. When there were no wind him at his country club during a party father, who had practically no lips at all. Tonight Five minutes after I had arranged the crabs and or waves, you could hear someone down for one of their friends. Claire said his I thought that maybe my mouth wasn’t so small drawn the hearts, John Macintosh walked over secret eater the road even if they were whispering. breath was hot and fiery and his hands after all—maybe my face was just too fat. and sat down next to me. That day he was wearing Usually you knew the person talking— were running all over her body while our I smiled at the mirror. I poked at my teeth with a pink shirt and fading blue shorts and his fore- even in the summer, when families from father stood outside the club and smoked my short and bloody fingernails. One of my ear- head was greased with sun block. He was a sum- Boston and Portland rented the houses in a cigar. liest memories was of the first time I ever bit my mer person, you could tell. Not like me. our neighborhood. Tuxedo was a small After the funeral, when we were walk- nails. Ten years later I still bit them. I ate flesh. He smiled and had very straight teeth, but I town. ing home, I asked my mother about the Then I vomited raw chicken onto my feet. knew from Claire’s stories that even though John Before Claire died, we shared the bed- shark. I eventually made it to the toilet, and when I Macintosh had a nice smile, he was not a nice room in the back of the house. On most “What kind was it?” The newspaper was done throwing up I sat on the bathroom floor man. nights, after Claire went to sleep, I snuck article hadn’t said. and pressed my lips together over my teeth with “Hi, Louise,” he said. out of my room and into the kitchen. “Not now, Louise,” she said. my fingers. I wouldn’t open my mouth again for a I tried to speak but I felt like I was swallowing I had learned how to eat very quietly “It had to have been a big one.” full day, not even to brush my teeth or to say hello sand. so that my parents and Claire wouldn’t Claire wouldn’t have been scared of to my parents. He leaned towards me and his leather sandals wake up and catch me. I was able to the shark, though. But I was, even as I knocked the crabs out of their positions. He held open the fridge and unwrap a stick of walked on the dusty road talking about * * * his face close to mine but he didn’t kiss me, and I butter and add some sugar and flour and it. “You used to tell us that sharks didn’t knew it was because my mouth was too small. He peanut butter and mix the whole thing eat people. So that we wouldn’t be afraid September loomed like a rogue wave. At the end put his hand on my stomach, on my first roll of up—and they would never know. And the of the water.” of August we had one of those steamy days that fat, and squeezed. next day my parents would wonder why a “I guess it was a secret eater,” my fa- didn’t happen too often in Tuxedo, and my par- “You have a beautiful body,” he said. He put his stick of butter was missing. I wouldn’t say ther said. ents had matching beads of sweat on their upper other hand on my chest but I didn’t say anything anything; I didn’t talk much, and I espe- My mother wouldn’t look at either of lips. My mother sat at the kitchen table eating because I couldn’t really feel anything. That area cially didn’t talk about food. us. She kicked at the pebbles on the road dry Raisin Bran, and I sat across from her sipping still just felt like more fat.

44 45 My sister was eaten by a shark. * * * as she walked, and they got stuck in her black water. I was crabbing in Duck’s Cove, about leather sandals. “You’re not eating again today?” she asked. A ten minutes from our house, when I The funeral was on a Tuesday in a small, few drips of coffee fell from the mug onto her found out. I had bought a raw chicken weathered church in downtown Tuxedo. * * * shirt. She didn’t notice and I didn’t tell her. leg from the Superette and had tied a There was a picture of Claire on the table Even though it was especially hot out I wore a string around the slippery flesh. I was by the entrance. In the picture she was We didn’t have one of those funerals with a big long-sleeve t-shirt and oversized basketball shorts. sitting on a rock, dangling it in the sitting on a rock in Duck’s Cove, her hair meal at the end, and when we were walking back This was what I always wore in the summer to shallow water just above the sand, when blowing across her rough eyes and hol- home I realized that I was starving. My parents cover up my fat, no matter how hot it got. Instead my father ran up to me. His hands were low cheekbones. went straight down to the beach, where they spent of responding to Mother’s question I tugged at my dripping with sand and blood. At the funeral my father wore a hat a lot of time these days, and I went to the refriger- long sleeves, covering my fingertips. “Louise,” he said. “It’s Claire.” and my mother spat whenever she had ator. “Why do you always wear all that clothing? I let the chicken drop into the ocean. to talk to anyone, as if she had forgot- My mother had bought raw chicken nuggets in What are you hiding?” We ran home, and jumped in the back ten how to swallow. Everyone kept put- June, and two months later they remained un- I got up from the table and was out of the of the ambulance just as it was pulling ting their hands on my shoulders and I touched, in translucent pink wrapping. I put six house before she had finished talking. I let the away from the beach. watched as John Macintosh entered the nuggets in a pan, and the pan in the oven. door slam behind me, which she hated. This was late August in Tuxedo, Maine. church and lingered at the picture of I stood in the kitchen and stared at the oven, The town had closed the beach after the shark That summer I was fourteen, and my sis- Claire. waiting for the chicken to cook. I couldn’t wait. I attack, so I had to go farther away than usual. ter Claire was sixteen. Before the day she John was my father’s friend from their took the chicken out of the oven, burning my fin- I plopped on the beach in my usual spot, about by carolyn mainardi bled out in the ambulance on the way to long-haired days at Penn, and he had gers on the metal pan. I bit into a nugget, which a ten-minute walk away from where Claire was the hospital, I had reached 160 pounds rented a house on the ocean for the week was still pink and watery. I didn’t care. I ate all six killed. There were a couple of dead crabs next to of the funeral. When we were younger, nuggets, each of them as raw as the first one. me that had washed in during the last high tide. * * * Claire had whispered stories about John About an hour later, my parents still hadn’t I arranged the crabs next to each other and drew Macintosh, during nights when the wind returned home. I stood naked in my bedroom and hearts in the sand between them to show that they We lived year-round in a low little house was blowing and our parents couldn’t stared at my body, trying to imagine where the were in love. The hearts were lopsided and ugly. on the coast of Maine, down the street hear us. She told me how she had once shark had bitten my sister. Then I looked at my “My hearts are beautiful,” I said to the crabs. I from the ocean. Our house had wooden gone to Philadelphia with our father to face and my mouth. I had a very small mouth, choked on the words at first, and then I said them walls and big glass windows that shook visit John. He made Claire dance with which I always thought I inherited from my again, louder. during storms. When there were no wind him at his country club during a party father, who had practically no lips at all. Tonight Five minutes after I had arranged the crabs and or waves, you could hear someone down for one of their friends. Claire said his I thought that maybe my mouth wasn’t so small drawn the hearts, John Macintosh walked over secret eater the road even if they were whispering. breath was hot and fiery and his hands after all—maybe my face was just too fat. and sat down next to me. That day he was wearing Usually you knew the person talking— were running all over her body while our I smiled at the mirror. I poked at my teeth with a pink shirt and fading blue shorts and his fore- even in the summer, when families from father stood outside the club and smoked my short and bloody fingernails. One of my ear- head was greased with sun block. He was a sum- Boston and Portland rented the houses in a cigar. liest memories was of the first time I ever bit my mer person, you could tell. Not like me. our neighborhood. Tuxedo was a small After the funeral, when we were walk- nails. Ten years later I still bit them. I ate flesh. He smiled and had very straight teeth, but I town. ing home, I asked my mother about the Then I vomited raw chicken onto my feet. knew from Claire’s stories that even though John Before Claire died, we shared the bed- shark. I eventually made it to the toilet, and when I Macintosh had a nice smile, he was not a nice room in the back of the house. On most “What kind was it?” The newspaper was done throwing up I sat on the bathroom floor man. nights, after Claire went to sleep, I snuck article hadn’t said. and pressed my lips together over my teeth with “Hi, Louise,” he said. out of my room and into the kitchen. “Not now, Louise,” she said. my fingers. I wouldn’t open my mouth again for a I tried to speak but I felt like I was swallowing I had learned how to eat very quietly “It had to have been a big one.” full day, not even to brush my teeth or to say hello sand. so that my parents and Claire wouldn’t Claire wouldn’t have been scared of to my parents. He leaned towards me and his leather sandals wake up and catch me. I was able to the shark, though. But I was, even as I knocked the crabs out of their positions. He held open the fridge and unwrap a stick of walked on the dusty road talking about * * * his face close to mine but he didn’t kiss me, and I butter and add some sugar and flour and it. “You used to tell us that sharks didn’t knew it was because my mouth was too small. He peanut butter and mix the whole thing eat people. So that we wouldn’t be afraid September loomed like a rogue wave. At the end put his hand on my stomach, on my first roll of up—and they would never know. And the of the water.” of August we had one of those steamy days that fat, and squeezed. next day my parents would wonder why a “I guess it was a secret eater,” my fa- didn’t happen too often in Tuxedo, and my par- “You have a beautiful body,” he said. He put his stick of butter was missing. I wouldn’t say ther said. ents had matching beads of sweat on their upper other hand on my chest but I didn’t say anything anything; I didn’t talk much, and I espe- My mother wouldn’t look at either of lips. My mother sat at the kitchen table eating because I couldn’t really feel anything. That area cially didn’t talk about food. us. She kicked at the pebbles on the road dry Raisin Bran, and I sat across from her sipping still just felt like more fat.

44 45 But then he moved his hand from my chest to personally prefer golf to tennis.” my face, his thumb creeping towards my lips. I imagined taking my plate and shoving it in I thought about his greasy hands, my tiny his greased face. mouth, the dead crabs, my dead sister, and I bit Instead, I bent over my food and started lap- down on his thumb. He screamed. ping up my mashed potatoes. When I was finished “What the fuck?” he said. Blood dripped from I took John Macintosh’s plate, and then my par- the middle section of his thumb. I didn’t think ents’ plates, and started shredding the rare and about his blood or skin in my mouth, I just scram- medium-rare steak with my front teeth, swallow- bled to my feet, and ran. ing the pieces of meat in large chunks. I ran down the middle of the road and wished I ate until the dishes of steak and potatoes were that a car would run me over. Maybe I would need empty, until the sounds of my parents’ protests plastic surgery because of my injuries and they and questions became as distant as the sound of would cut and sew me into a completely different the waves on a windless night. person, skinny and beautiful, who wouldn’t get molested on the beach by John Macintosh. I ran until I found myself at home again.

* * *

“What happened to you?” my mother asked. She was separating crescent rolls. I went to the sink and sloshed some water around in my mouth. I spat John Macintosh’s blood into the sink. “Nothing,” I said. “What’s wrong with your mouth?” Her fingers were stuck together with dough. “There’s Listerine in the bathroom.” “I don’t need Listerine, Mother,” I said, and I spat into the sink again even though I didn’t need to. “What are you hiding?” she asked for the second time that day. “Nothing,” I said, and I wished that my mother had been eaten by the shark so that she would leave me alone. “John Macintosh is coming for dinner tonight,” my mother said. “Change your clothes before he gets here.” “rainman” by harry meltzer John arrived at six with a bottle of wine and a sunglasses tan. We all sat down at the table and instead of eating I sucked on ice cubes. He took his steak rare and heavily salted his mashed potatoes. I watched him in anger as the ice water slid down my throat. “Louise is going to try out for the tennis team this year,” my mother said. “Pass the potatoes,” my father said. “It’ll be good for you to get a little physical activity, Louise,” John Macintosh said. “Though I

46 47 But then he moved his hand from my chest to personally prefer golf to tennis.” my face, his thumb creeping towards my lips. I imagined taking my plate and shoving it in I thought about his greasy hands, my tiny his greased face. mouth, the dead crabs, my dead sister, and I bit Instead, I bent over my food and started lap- down on his thumb. He screamed. ping up my mashed potatoes. When I was finished “What the fuck?” he said. Blood dripped from I took John Macintosh’s plate, and then my par- the middle section of his thumb. I didn’t think ents’ plates, and started shredding the rare and about his blood or skin in my mouth, I just scram- medium-rare steak with my front teeth, swallow- bled to my feet, and ran. ing the pieces of meat in large chunks. I ran down the middle of the road and wished I ate until the dishes of steak and potatoes were that a car would run me over. Maybe I would need empty, until the sounds of my parents’ protests plastic surgery because of my injuries and they and questions became as distant as the sound of would cut and sew me into a completely different the waves on a windless night. person, skinny and beautiful, who wouldn’t get molested on the beach by John Macintosh. I ran until I found myself at home again.

* * *

46 47 God, my man, I would kill for you, so- Won’t you employ your fiery entities to fester My visions like a raging infection? “on top of the world” by alexandra howton For they are, more or less, like a wound.

by kelly greacen These words are stuck in my veins Sitting idly and rocking in my blood. They graze on it, as cows do. Lazy words sucking down my filaments and my juices.

O how do they taste? Won’t these parasites bubble to the surface in gasping breaths, And emit Ringing Poetry from their pus-filled mouths? O God, it’s just a favor.

You don’t know how it stings to be brim-full with little zealots Clogging your pores, choking and dying in your arteries. There are full life cycles of gross visions in me, Just begging to break skin.

I try to let them out in sputtering phrases. Pathetic really, the slimy things that roll from tongue onto page. They ain’t scripture, and they ain’t nothing Sylvia wrote. They rape the white sheet, gunky and shining. writer’s block Homer had his naked muses splayed before him, so Why have you stuck mine inside me, lodged as caged animals? Is it out of sheer distaste? Or do you see visions as their lower selves, treasures that enslave: Blunt and not beautiful, like blood diamonds, or ore.

48 49 God, my man, I would kill for you, so- Won’t you employ your fiery entities to fester My visions like a raging infection? “on top of the world” by alexandra howton For they are, more or less, like a wound.

by kelly greacen These words are stuck in my veins Sitting idly and rocking in my blood. They graze on it, as cows do. Lazy words sucking down my filaments and my juices.

O how do they taste? Won’t these parasites bubble to the surface in gasping breaths, And emit Ringing Poetry from their pus-filled mouths? O God, it’s just a favor.

48 49

Since its release in 1999, David comes from the deplorable practice personal happiness or achieving personal goals. Simulation. Baudrillard, in this defining work,

” Fincher’s “Fight Club ”—the film of masquerading as a survivor of Yet it goes without saying that the Narrator’s asserts that a life whose importance is derived adaption of Chuck Palahniuk’s 1996 various life-threatening diseases at culture has ascribed far too much importance primarily from objects, signs, and symbols is no novel—has enjoyed a large cult support groups. Most importantly, to the material aspects of life when one may longer a life at all—rather, it is a simulation of following and is now considered though, the Narrator is a slave to be considered complete based on the contents reality, or what he calls hyperreality. The realm of to be among the finest films of the the consumerist culture that has, of his closet or the price of his stereo. He is, in existence that we now occupy is no longer what is 1990s. Yet the film’s initial critical for better or worse (worse in Tyler’s short, part of the herd mentality that Nietzsche actually real, but what is anticipated to be real: reception did not give any indication interpretation), come to define our describes and condemns in “The Gay Science”: Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a of its future commercial success. times; his apartment, for example, is “By means of morality, individuals are led to be referential being, or a substance. It is the genera- In fact, there was no shortage of not an outward representation of his functions of the herd and to attribute value to tion by models of a real without origin or reality: negative reviews for the film. Roger tastes, his personality, or anything themselves merely as functions…Being alone, a hyperreal. The territory no longer precedes the Ebert, for example, gave Fight Club of the sort—rather, it is the manifes- perceiving as a single person, neither obeying map, nor does it survive it. It is nevertheless the just two stars out of a possible four tation of corporatism at its worst, a nor ruling, constituting an individual—that was map that precedes the territory—precession of in one of the most noted negative representation of various companies no pleasure then, but a punishment5.” The idea simulacra—that engenders the territory, and if reviews of Fincher’s film. In his and the best, newest products that of standing out, differing from the norm, then, is one must return to the fable, today it is the territo- review, Ebert takes issue with ele- they have convinced the Narrator he an undesirable one; fitting in is paramount and ry whose shreds slowly rot across the extent of the by ross ballantyne ments that many other critics do as needs: is exactly what the Narrator strives to do with his map. It is the real, and not the map, whose vestig- well: the often-brutal violence and “Like so many others, I had be- material obsessions and pursuits. es persist here and there in the deserts that are no the character of Tyler Durden (Brad come a slave to the IKEA nesting Some critics have weighed in on this aspect longer those of the Empire, but ours. The desert Pitt) on the whole. Says Ebert, “Fight instinct…I’d flip through catalogues of the movie—namely its critique of an overly of the real itself.1 Club is…a celebration of violence… and wonder, ‘What kind of dining consumerist culture and its impact on the psy- The expectation of what reality is meant to be Is Tyler Durden in fact a leader of set defines me as a person?’ I had it che—and concluded that Fight Club ’s emphasis like, then, overshadows actual reality, resulting ht Club Fig ht men with a useful philosophy? …In all. Even the glass dishes with tiny on this topic is overblown. Among these crit- in a state of hyperreality. This sort of existence my opinion, he has no useful truths. bubbles and imperfections, proof ics is Lisa Schwarzbaum, who, like Ebert, gave is exactly the one that defines modern societies

“ He’s a bully…None of the Fight that they were crafted by the honest, Fincher’s breakthrough film a scathing review, in modern times due to the hugely influential, Club members grows stronger or simple, hard-working indigenous awarding it just one out of five stars: “I hadn’t omnipresent mass media: the media presents freer because of their membership3.” peoples of…wherever.” realized that overexposure to IKEA results in examples of how life should be lived and what Tyler, in Ebert’s opinion, is a malev- His apartment— his living limp penises, too, until I saw Fight Club . David things should make one happy, thus simulating olent force in Fight Club , one who space— is not what it should be— Fincher’s…movie floats the winky, idiotic premise reality and instilling in us an expectation of re- does not exert a positive influence far from a refuge or a safe haven, that a modern-day onslaught of girly pop-cul- ality before actual reality has the chance to play over those who follow him. Rather his home is actually something of tural destinations…has resulted in a generation out naturally. This is what Baudrillard refers to adamantly, though, I disagree with a prison, its malleability based on of spongy young men unable to express them- as the “precession of simulacra,” or the continu- Ebert’s critique. trend and fashion, further keeping selves8.” Schwarzbaum is off base though, for this ation of representations in the place of actuali- By examining the character of him from the rest of the world. premise is one that is at the root of the Narrator’s ties, which renders the real nearly obsolete: “All the Narrator (Edward Norton) in his These sentiments are repeated by problems pre-Tyler. (It is worth noting the irony Western faith and good faith became engaged in pre— and post-Tyler states, coupled the Narrator after his mysteriously in Schwarzbaum’s critique: she plays down the this wager on representation: that a sign could with Nietzschean philosophy and vibrating suitcase is confiscated, as notion of an overly consumerist, ‘this is how you refer to the depth of meaning, that a sign could the ideas of Jean Baudrillard to give he laments, “I had everything in that should be’ culture while writing for a magazine, be exchanged for meaning1.” Without a doubt, the credence to the film’s darker, more suitcase: my CK shirts, my DKNY Entertainment Weekly, that sells millions of life the Narrator leads qualifies for categorization violent moments, it becomes clear shoes, my AX ties.” He once again copies by focusing on the lives of celebrities and under the hyperreality heading. The stronghold and almost inarguable that Tyler displays his unreasonable concern basically saying to its readers, ‘strive for this, these that materialism has on modern society produces is, overall, a force of good in “Fight for, and attachment to, material are perfect human beings.’) his hyperreal state, in which his consciousness is Club ”, upon the Narrator, and upon possessions while in a bar with Tyler An examination of the aforementioned Jean tricked into detaching itself from any meaning- his followers. after finding his condo has been Baudrillard allows us to fully refute Schwarz- ful emotional engagements or connections and, To begin, one must first look at blown up: “I had it all—a stereo that baum’s points and, instead, show that the lifestyle instead, prefers artificial simulation and instant the life of the Narrator before the was very decent, a wardrobe that of, and culture surrounding the Narrator, is in- gratification. In hyperreality, happiness or fulfill- introduction of Tyler. In a word, it was getting very respectable. I was deed a negative one. Baudrillard, a late French ment is found through the simulation of reality is pathetic; Norton’s character hates close to being complete.” Without a philosopher, examines the relationship between rather than any prolonged interactions with actu- his job, has no discernible friends, doubt, the notion of ‘being complete’ reality, society, and culture and objects, signs, and al reality. and his only social interaction is subjective—it may be defined by possessions in his extended treatise Simulacra and As a character, Tyler is far from stupid, which overc oming hyperrealinity

50 51

Since its release in 1999, David comes from the deplorable practice personal happiness or achieving personal goals. Simulation. Baudrillard, in this defining work,

50 51 Ebert not so subtly implies—in a much simpler what you’re told you should want? Get out of your it is only courage and bravery that allow one to perfect, I say…I say let‘s evolve.” To say otherwise, mode of expressing them, he understands, apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. overcome. as Ebert does, is to devalue Tyler’s contributions. supports, and espouses Baudrillard’s ideas. It Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. The second step on this path is that of becom- Soon after the Narrator and Tyler meet, Tyler, in is clear from one of the earliest scenes when Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you’re alive. If ing, which is a byproduct of the first step. By the parking lot of a seedy bar, asks the Narrator to Tyler and the Narrator share a few beers after you don’t claim your humanity you will become a overcoming life‘s obstacles and achieving the hit him as hard as he can. The Narrator is taken the latter’s condo ‘accident,’ that the former rails statistic”. self-mastery that comes with this, one enters the aback, calling the idea crazy. Tyler, as always, has against the mass media-dominated society they Tyler’s influence begins shaping the Narrator state of becoming. It is important to note that this a retort asking, “How much can you know about find themselves in, griping: “We are byproducts rather quickly, and plants the Narrator squarely state is not called being, as that suggests a rather yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?” The Nar- of a lifestyle obsession…The things you own end on the path towards becoming the master of his negative stationary state; instead, becoming is rator comes around, realizing that this is an op- up owning you.” Tyler again shows his devotion to reality, an idea that brings us to Nietzsche, the infinite, one is constantly in this state. One in the portunity for a legitimate human connection, free these ideas when, during a Fight Club gathering, philosopher often described as the father of exis- state of becoming is thus always evolving and of simulation; he socks Tyler in the ear. The rush he speaks to the attendees: “Advertising has us tentialism. developing—never complete. Nietzsche affirms of adrenaline that comes with this and subsequent chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate Beginning in 1882 with “The Gay Science” the evolutionary undertones that permeate the parking lot fights is greatly enjoyed by the Narra- so we can buy shit we don’t need.” Right from his and following a few years later with “Thus Spoke processes he outlines as vital to self-improvement tor, who at last can participate in something real introduction, it is clear that Tyler is the master Zarathustra,” Nietzsche put forth his conception thusly: and genuine, unlike furnishing his apartment or of his own reality, while the Narrator has fully of the ideal individual. This individual is one who “All beings hitherto have created something the survivors’ groups, for in these fight scenarios, bought into the simulated reality that advertising would come to an understanding and mastery of beyond themselves: and ye wantto be the ebb of he has no predetermined or expected manner of and pop culture has him chasing. his life, as well as one who would willingly endure that great tide, and would rather go back to the behavior. For the first time in the film, the Narra- However, it is not long after the Narrator moves to overcome the obstacles that he encountered on beast than surpass man? What is the ape to man? tor, at the urging of Tyler, is pushing and testing into Tyler’s dilapidated house that the latter’s this path towards self-awakening. This individual A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just the himself—the fight can go his way or Tyler’s way, philosophies begin shaping the former’s worl- was referred to by Nietzsche as the Übermensch, same shall man be to the Superman: a laugh- but he throws himself into it with reckless aban- dviews. The unwavering importance that mass or the Overman. Nietzsche began his ruminations ing-stock, a thing of shame.6” don, without even considering the possibility of media and material possessions played in the Nar- on this concept in “The Gay Science”: “For now, When one considers Nietzsche‘s now legendary the injuries he may incur or dish out. The fights rator’s life before Tyler is being broken down as this requires many preparatory, brave human “God is dead” edict, the notion of mastering one’s are freeing, for they allow the Narrator to begin he says that “by the end of the first month I didn’t beings…human beings who have an inner reality takes on increased importance. Writing his self-awakening, as he comes to realize—per- miss TV,” and that, after viewing a Gucci under- penchant for seeking in all things what is to be further in “Zarathustra,” Nietzsche asserts that in haps much to his surprise—that he can in fact wear ad on a bus he and Tyler share, he has “start- overcome in them5.” Further developed in Thus the absence of God—or any sort of higher, omni- overcome some of life’s more violent and scary el- ed seeing things differently. I felt sorry for guys Spoke Zarathustra, the notions of overcoming and scient being—the Overman is the highest level of ements. Attesting to this is his remark soon after packed into gyms, trying to look like how Calvin becoming are key to the process of achieving the existence: “The Superman is the meaning of the the weekly Fight Club s begin: “You weren’t alive Klein or Tommy Hilfiger said they should.” The status of an Overman, which Nietzsche believed earth…Let your will say: The Superman SHALL anywhere like you were there.” notion that Tyler preaches to the Narrator, and was to eventually represent the next stage of BE the meaning of the earth!6” As the film’s title suggests, “Fight Club ” is later the members of Fight Club and Project May- human development, an evolutionary superior in Let us briefly return to Roger Eberts’ review a violent film, sometimes to extremes. Roger hem, that “You’re not your job. You’re not how a fashion. of “Fight Club ,” in which he writes of Tyler that Eberts’ review does, it must be said, benefit from a much money you have in the bank. You’re not the The first step on the path to becoming an Over- he is “like a man who tripped over the Nietzsche viewer’s instinctive reaction to scenes like that of car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wal- man is overcoming, which involves accepting and display on his way to the coffee bar in Borders3.” Angel Face (Jared Leto) being absolutely pulver- let. You’re not your fucking khakis” is instrumen- acknowledging life’s obstacles and challenges How, though, can Ebert possibly assert such ized by the Narrator; he is beaten to the verge of tal, as it demonstrates the need to distance oneself before confronting them head-on. At its core, it a thing given the above passages, ideas, and death and is left permanently disfigured—it is in from external forces and objects that, in truth, do is a process of self-assessment and self-mastery. commands regarding the Overman? Is it not no way imaginable a pleasant scene to watch, nor not define a person but only serve to distort their Namely, one simply cannot come to understand clear that nearly everything Nietzsche espouses does it make “Fight Club ” seem like anything but reality. Perhaps even more significant than this their true self if they do not expose themselves is manifested in Tyler’s words, actions, and an excuse to beat people up. Yet this is only an ac- quote in underlining Tyler‘s core beliefs is a shot to all that life has to offer, even its more painful philosophies? ceptable interpretation without Nietzsche, for the that comes before the film truly begins; after the and negative aspects. Only by overcoming these As we have already established above, Tyler sin- philosopher writes on pain in “The Gay Science,” standard anti-piracy FBI warning, a similar warn- elements is one able to take control of his reality: gle-handedly shakes the Narrator from his hyper- ultimately painting it as the best force through ing pops up, but this one is from Tyler: “it is the good war which halloweth every cause. reality and begins greatly shaping his worldview. which to free oneself: “It is only great pain that is “Is your life so empty that you honestly can’t War and courage have done more great things More importantly though, Tyler jumpstarts the the ultimate liberator of the spirit…we draw back think of a better way to spend these moments? Or than charity. ‘What is good?’ ye ask. To be brave is Narrator’s overcoming and becoming processes. from pain into that oriental nothingness…one are you so impressed with authority that you give good. Let the little girls say: ‘To be good is what Tyler is extremely in tune with Nietzsche on these emerges from such long, dangerous exercises of respect and credence to all who claim it? Do you is pretty, and at the same time touching6’.” One ideas, echoing his sentiment about the infinite- self-mastery as another person5.” read everything you’re supposed to read? Do you must, then, set aside life‘s more trivial elements ness of the becoming process in one of his earliest One of the most obviously Nietzschean mani- think everything you’re supposed to think? Buy and throw oneself toward its challenging ones, for scenes: “I say never be complete, I say stop being festations in the film comes in the form of the lye

52 53 Ebert not so subtly implies—in a much simpler what you’re told you should want? Get out of your it is only courage and bravery that allow one to perfect, I say…I say let‘s evolve.” To say otherwise, mode of expressing them, he understands, apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. overcome. as Ebert does, is to devalue Tyler’s contributions. supports, and espouses Baudrillard’s ideas. It Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. The second step on this path is that of becom- Soon after the Narrator and Tyler meet, Tyler, in is clear from one of the earliest scenes when Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you’re alive. If ing, which is a byproduct of the first step. By the parking lot of a seedy bar, asks the Narrator to Tyler and the Narrator share a few beers after you don’t claim your humanity you will become a overcoming life‘s obstacles and achieving the hit him as hard as he can. The Narrator is taken the latter’s condo ‘accident,’ that the former rails statistic”. self-mastery that comes with this, one enters the aback, calling the idea crazy. Tyler, as always, has against the mass media-dominated society they Tyler’s influence begins shaping the Narrator state of becoming. It is important to note that this a retort asking, “How much can you know about find themselves in, griping: “We are byproducts rather quickly, and plants the Narrator squarely state is not called being, as that suggests a rather yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?” The Nar- of a lifestyle obsession…The things you own end on the path towards becoming the master of his negative stationary state; instead, becoming is rator comes around, realizing that this is an op- up owning you.” Tyler again shows his devotion to reality, an idea that brings us to Nietzsche, the infinite, one is constantly in this state. One in the portunity for a legitimate human connection, free these ideas when, during a Fight Club gathering, philosopher often described as the father of exis- state of becoming is thus always evolving and of simulation; he socks Tyler in the ear. The rush he speaks to the attendees: “Advertising has us tentialism. developing—never complete. Nietzsche affirms of adrenaline that comes with this and subsequent chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate Beginning in 1882 with “The Gay Science” the evolutionary undertones that permeate the parking lot fights is greatly enjoyed by the Narra- so we can buy shit we don’t need.” Right from his and following a few years later with “Thus Spoke processes he outlines as vital to self-improvement tor, who at last can participate in something real introduction, it is clear that Tyler is the master Zarathustra,” Nietzsche put forth his conception thusly: and genuine, unlike furnishing his apartment or of his own reality, while the Narrator has fully of the ideal individual. This individual is one who “All beings hitherto have created something the survivors’ groups, for in these fight scenarios, bought into the simulated reality that advertising would come to an understanding and mastery of beyond themselves: and ye wantto be the ebb of he has no predetermined or expected manner of and pop culture has him chasing. his life, as well as one who would willingly endure that great tide, and would rather go back to the behavior. For the first time in the film, the Narra- However, it is not long after the Narrator moves to overcome the obstacles that he encountered on beast than surpass man? What is the ape to man? tor, at the urging of Tyler, is pushing and testing into Tyler’s dilapidated house that the latter’s this path towards self-awakening. This individual A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just the himself—the fight can go his way or Tyler’s way, philosophies begin shaping the former’s worl- was referred to by Nietzsche as the Übermensch, same shall man be to the Superman: a laugh- but he throws himself into it with reckless aban- dviews. The unwavering importance that mass or the Overman. Nietzsche began his ruminations ing-stock, a thing of shame.6” don, without even considering the possibility of media and material possessions played in the Nar- on this concept in “The Gay Science”: “For now, When one considers Nietzsche‘s now legendary the injuries he may incur or dish out. The fights rator’s life before Tyler is being broken down as this requires many preparatory, brave human “God is dead” edict, the notion of mastering one’s are freeing, for they allow the Narrator to begin he says that “by the end of the first month I didn’t beings…human beings who have an inner reality takes on increased importance. Writing his self-awakening, as he comes to realize—per- miss TV,” and that, after viewing a Gucci under- penchant for seeking in all things what is to be further in “Zarathustra,” Nietzsche asserts that in haps much to his surprise—that he can in fact wear ad on a bus he and Tyler share, he has “start- overcome in them5.” Further developed in Thus the absence of God—or any sort of higher, omni- overcome some of life’s more violent and scary el- ed seeing things differently. I felt sorry for guys Spoke Zarathustra, the notions of overcoming and scient being—the Overman is the highest level of ements. Attesting to this is his remark soon after packed into gyms, trying to look like how Calvin becoming are key to the process of achieving the existence: “The Superman is the meaning of the the weekly Fight Club s begin: “You weren’t alive Klein or Tommy Hilfiger said they should.” The status of an Overman, which Nietzsche believed earth…Let your will say: The Superman SHALL anywhere like you were there.” notion that Tyler preaches to the Narrator, and was to eventually represent the next stage of BE the meaning of the earth!6” As the film’s title suggests, “Fight Club ” is later the members of Fight Club and Project May- human development, an evolutionary superior in Let us briefly return to Roger Eberts’ review a violent film, sometimes to extremes. Roger hem, that “You’re not your job. You’re not how a fashion. of “Fight Club ,” in which he writes of Tyler that Eberts’ review does, it must be said, benefit from a much money you have in the bank. You’re not the The first step on the path to becoming an Over- he is “like a man who tripped over the Nietzsche viewer’s instinctive reaction to scenes like that of car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wal- man is overcoming, which involves accepting and display on his way to the coffee bar in Borders3.” Angel Face (Jared Leto) being absolutely pulver- let. You’re not your fucking khakis” is instrumen- acknowledging life’s obstacles and challenges How, though, can Ebert possibly assert such ized by the Narrator; he is beaten to the verge of tal, as it demonstrates the need to distance oneself before confronting them head-on. At its core, it a thing given the above passages, ideas, and death and is left permanently disfigured—it is in from external forces and objects that, in truth, do is a process of self-assessment and self-mastery. commands regarding the Overman? Is it not no way imaginable a pleasant scene to watch, nor not define a person but only serve to distort their Namely, one simply cannot come to understand clear that nearly everything Nietzsche espouses does it make “Fight Club ” seem like anything but reality. Perhaps even more significant than this their true self if they do not expose themselves is manifested in Tyler’s words, actions, and an excuse to beat people up. Yet this is only an ac- quote in underlining Tyler‘s core beliefs is a shot to all that life has to offer, even its more painful philosophies? ceptable interpretation without Nietzsche, for the that comes before the film truly begins; after the and negative aspects. Only by overcoming these As we have already established above, Tyler sin- philosopher writes on pain in “The Gay Science,” standard anti-piracy FBI warning, a similar warn- elements is one able to take control of his reality: gle-handedly shakes the Narrator from his hyper- ultimately painting it as the best force through ing pops up, but this one is from Tyler: “it is the good war which halloweth every cause. reality and begins greatly shaping his worldview. which to free oneself: “It is only great pain that is “Is your life so empty that you honestly can’t War and courage have done more great things More importantly though, Tyler jumpstarts the the ultimate liberator of the spirit…we draw back think of a better way to spend these moments? Or than charity. ‘What is good?’ ye ask. To be brave is Narrator’s overcoming and becoming processes. from pain into that oriental nothingness…one are you so impressed with authority that you give good. Let the little girls say: ‘To be good is what Tyler is extremely in tune with Nietzsche on these emerges from such long, dangerous exercises of respect and credence to all who claim it? Do you is pretty, and at the same time touching6’.” One ideas, echoing his sentiment about the infinite- self-mastery as another person5.” read everything you’re supposed to read? Do you must, then, set aside life‘s more trivial elements ness of the becoming process in one of his earliest One of the most obviously Nietzschean mani- think everything you’re supposed to think? Buy and throw oneself toward its challenging ones, for scenes: “I say never be complete, I say stop being festations in the film comes in the form of the lye

52 53 scene, in which Tyler brutally burns the Narra- er it is his IKEA-furnished apartment or his de- pressed strengths, qualities that are useful, when support groups, and even Tyler. Through various tor’s hand with lye from the soap he makes. This signer-brand clothes. Fight Club changes this; for contacted for short periods in the service of mak- things that Tyler initiates—living together, Fight scene—a testament to Norton’s acting abilities—is the first time, he, as well as the other members, is ing transformative change…Jack needs to awak- Club , Project Mayhem—the Narrator begins the ultimate representation of overcoming and fully in charge of his own emotions, feelings, and en from his consumer numbness, his deadened, his process of overcoming and, by the film’s accepting the need to become the supreme mas- sensations. They are, for the first time they can emotionless life; the old Jack needs to die, so a end, has achieved the mastery of his reality that ter of one’s life. As the Narrator writhes in pain, remember, living in the moment and subjecting new Jack can come to life7.” Nietzsche describes as one of the main elements begging Tyler to stop the torture being carried themselves to elements of life that they have not Tyler affirms this idea, telling the Narrator he of an Overman. This whole journey is started, out, Tyler barks at him: “Listen to me! You have been instructed to chase. could not have done this by himself, he needed maintained, and completed through Tyler. How, to consider the possibility that God does not like The change in the Narrator is remarkable. As Tyler’s presence and his urging: “You were look- then, is Tyler a character who prompts no growth you, never wanted you, and in all probability he his process of overcoming is in full swing, the ing for a way to change your life. You could not or strengthening in the characters with whom he hates you…We don’t need him! Fuck damnation, character we met at the film’s opening is com- do this on your own.” interacts? The Narrator’s path to self-mastery is man! Fuck redemption! We’re God’s unwanted pletely gone, replaced by one full of confidence, Thus we come to the film’s end. Standing in absolutely contingent on Tyler, who, as a result, children, so be it!” It is a powerful scene and one self-belief, and empowerment; the change is most empty office spaces in a corporate skyscraper, is a character we must approve of for the clarity that truly begins the Narrator‘s dedication to over- evident in his interactions at work, as he now Tyler and the Narrator prepare to watch buildings and awakening he produces in the Narrator by the coming. stands up to the nagging boss who was once, earli- across the city be destroyed, beckoning the tabula time Fight Club ’s credits roll. v In the essay “Enjoy Your Fight!— “Fight Club er in the film, captured in a low angle by Fincher, rasa of personhood for which Tyler clamors. ” as a Symptom of the Network Society,” Bulent casting the Narrator, then, as inferior. Whereas But, wait—the Narrator objects. This is going References Diken and Carsten Bagge Lausten analyze the previously, the Narrator was dedicated to his job, too far, he cries. Defuse the bombs, he begs. role that pain plays in the Narrator’s process he is now conscious enough to see through it, his This rebellion against Tyler—against a part of 1. Baudrillard, Jean. “Simulacra and Simulation.” Trans. of overcoming and, through their work, give boss, and the cover-ups his company engages in. himself, in a fashion—is the ultimate step of the Sheila Faria Glaser. University of Michigan Press, Ann validation to certain moments of violence and As Fight Club ‘moves out of the basement’ and Narrator’s becoming. Tyler, at this late point of Arbor. 1994. Online. 30 March 2012. brutality—like the lye scene—that, without becomes Project Mayhem, one may raise objec- the film, is no longer the funny, charming best 2. Diken, Bulent and Carsten, Bagge Lausten. “Enjoy Your Fight!—Fight Club as a Symptom of the Network Society.” context, appear to be simply for the sake of tions to the latter’s tenets and goals, and quite friend that he once was to the Narrator. No, for Lancaster University, Department of Sociology. Septem- violence and brutality. They write: “The aim is rightly, for the idea of blowing up buildings across he is now increasingly angry, calling for extreme ber 2001. Online. 31 March 2012 not to become immune towards pain but to live a city is certainly not one many ordinary citizens violence. The Narrator comes to realize that he 3. Ebert, Roger. “Fight Club Review.” Rogerebert.com. Octo- through it. Being hit and feeling pain is a way would throw their support behind—it does not is changed because he achieved what he always ber 15, 1999. Online. 26 March 2012 to reconquer life2.” Likewise, Kim Greenwood sit well with our consciences. Yet, even this ele- wanted to—he broke free of his consumer-driven 4. Greenwood, Kate. “”You Are Not a Beautiful and Unique Snowflake”” M/C Journal. Feb. 2003. Online. 28 March in “Fighting and Ideology in Fight Club ,” from ment of the film, specifically Project Mayhem’s lifestyle and now lives in reality. Tyler is no longer 2012. the Journal of Media and Culture, makes a end goals, are undeniably Nietzschean even if the needed because the Narrator is conscious and 5. Nietzsche, Friedrich. “The Gay Science.” Existentialism connection between pain and the Narrator‘s means of achieving these goals are rather dark. in control. The Narrator is already firmly in a Basic Writings. Ed. Charles Guignon and Derek Pere- development: “Fight Club suggests that there is By destroying credit card companies and various state of becoming and has only one thing left to boom. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. a connection between pain and aggression and other financial institutions, Tyler and his follow- overcome—Tyler himself. As the Narrator pleads 2001. Print. 6. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Fullbooks. ‘knowing yourself.’ Confronting and engaging ers aim to finally free people from the forces with Tyler to abort his mission, who refuses, the com. Ed. Sue Asscher. Online. 28 March 2012. with the primal feelings of pain and oblivion, it that control their lives and distort their reality in dynamic shifts: whereas previously the Narrator 7. Lee, Terry. “Virtual Violence in Fight Club : This Is What is implied, will bring Jack (The Narrator) closer the Baudrillard sense. Doing so grants people a agreed with and supported basically everything Transformation of the Masculine Ego Feels Like.” Journal to a more authentic sense of identity than he clean slate, a chance to start over and become the Tyler preached, he holds back in this scene. Tyler of American and Comparative Culture 25.3/4. Fall/Winter could ever buy for himself at IKEA4. ” Tyler masters of their reality. As Tyler says, “It’s only tries to convince him, saying, “This is what we 2002. Pgs 418-423. Online. 2 April 2012 8. Schwarzbaum, Lisa. “Fight Club (1999).” EW.com. Oct. 22, himself affirms these notions, saying, ”Without after we‘ve lost everything that we’re free to do want” before the Narrator responds with “I don’t 1999. Online. 28 March 2012. pain…we’d have nothing…What you’re feeling anything.” want this.” The gun with which Tyler has been is premature enlightenment. This is the greatest As is revealed near the film’s conclusion, Tyler threatening the Narrator suddenly changes hands moment of your life.” What else, if not expressly is not real, but rather a figment of the Narrator’s and the Narrator is in charge; he has come to Nietzschean, is willingly subjecting oneself to mind. Strangely, it is the fact that Tyler is a cre- realize that he no longer needs Tyler as he once such pain repeatedly? Doing so is exactly what ation of the Narrator that shows just how instru- did, and can live the life he wants without his aid. Nietzsche commands, for it requires bravery and mental the former is in the latter’s overcoming “My eyes are open,” says the Narrator, just before courage above anything else. and becoming processes. Terry Lee, in “Virtual he fires the gun in his mouth, eliminating Tyler The Narrator, as we meet at him at the begin- Violence in Fight Club : This Is What Transforma- completely. ning of the film, is lacking an identity; the fact tion of Masculine Ego Feels Like,” writes on this By doing so, the Narrator has retaken control of that he is nameless is no mistake. As previously well: both his reality and his identity. Both were once noted, he does not define himself, but instead al- “Tyler has just what Jack (The Narrator) dictated by and under the influence of exclusively lows objects and possessions to define him, wheth- needs…Tyler, then, embodies Jack’s own re- external forces—mass media, advertising, the

54 55 scene, in which Tyler brutally burns the Narra- er it is his IKEA-furnished apartment or his de- pressed strengths, qualities that are useful, when support groups, and even Tyler. Through various tor’s hand with lye from the soap he makes. This signer-brand clothes. Fight Club changes this; for contacted for short periods in the service of mak- things that Tyler initiates—living together, Fight scene—a testament to Norton’s acting abilities—is the first time, he, as well as the other members, is ing transformative change…Jack needs to awak- Club , Project Mayhem—the Narrator begins the ultimate representation of overcoming and fully in charge of his own emotions, feelings, and en from his consumer numbness, his deadened, his process of overcoming and, by the film’s accepting the need to become the supreme mas- sensations. They are, for the first time they can emotionless life; the old Jack needs to die, so a end, has achieved the mastery of his reality that ter of one’s life. As the Narrator writhes in pain, remember, living in the moment and subjecting new Jack can come to life7.” Nietzsche describes as one of the main elements begging Tyler to stop the torture being carried themselves to elements of life that they have not Tyler affirms this idea, telling the Narrator he of an Overman. This whole journey is started, out, Tyler barks at him: “Listen to me! You have been instructed to chase. could not have done this by himself, he needed maintained, and completed through Tyler. How, to consider the possibility that God does not like The change in the Narrator is remarkable. As Tyler’s presence and his urging: “You were look- then, is Tyler a character who prompts no growth you, never wanted you, and in all probability he his process of overcoming is in full swing, the ing for a way to change your life. You could not or strengthening in the characters with whom he hates you…We don’t need him! Fuck damnation, character we met at the film’s opening is com- do this on your own.” interacts? The Narrator’s path to self-mastery is man! Fuck redemption! We’re God’s unwanted pletely gone, replaced by one full of confidence, Thus we come to the film’s end. Standing in absolutely contingent on Tyler, who, as a result, children, so be it!” It is a powerful scene and one self-belief, and empowerment; the change is most empty office spaces in a corporate skyscraper, is a character we must approve of for the clarity that truly begins the Narrator‘s dedication to over- evident in his interactions at work, as he now Tyler and the Narrator prepare to watch buildings and awakening he produces in the Narrator by the coming. stands up to the nagging boss who was once, earli- across the city be destroyed, beckoning the tabula time Fight Club ’s credits roll. v In the essay “Enjoy Your Fight!— “Fight Club er in the film, captured in a low angle by Fincher, rasa of personhood for which Tyler clamors. ” as a Symptom of the Network Society,” Bulent casting the Narrator, then, as inferior. Whereas But, wait—the Narrator objects. This is going References Diken and Carsten Bagge Lausten analyze the previously, the Narrator was dedicated to his job, too far, he cries. Defuse the bombs, he begs. role that pain plays in the Narrator’s process he is now conscious enough to see through it, his This rebellion against Tyler—against a part of 1. Baudrillard, Jean. “Simulacra and Simulation.” Trans. of overcoming and, through their work, give boss, and the cover-ups his company engages in. himself, in a fashion—is the ultimate step of the Sheila Faria Glaser. University of Michigan Press, Ann validation to certain moments of violence and As Fight Club ‘moves out of the basement’ and Narrator’s becoming. Tyler, at this late point of Arbor. 1994. Online. 30 March 2012. brutality—like the lye scene—that, without becomes Project Mayhem, one may raise objec- the film, is no longer the funny, charming best 2. Diken, Bulent and Carsten, Bagge Lausten. “Enjoy Your Fight!—Fight Club as a Symptom of the Network Society.” context, appear to be simply for the sake of tions to the latter’s tenets and goals, and quite friend that he once was to the Narrator. No, for Lancaster University, Department of Sociology. Septem- violence and brutality. They write: “The aim is rightly, for the idea of blowing up buildings across he is now increasingly angry, calling for extreme ber 2001. Online. 31 March 2012 not to become immune towards pain but to live a city is certainly not one many ordinary citizens violence. The Narrator comes to realize that he 3. Ebert, Roger. “Fight Club Review.” Rogerebert.com. Octo- through it. Being hit and feeling pain is a way would throw their support behind—it does not is changed because he achieved what he always ber 15, 1999. Online. 26 March 2012 to reconquer life2.” Likewise, Kim Greenwood sit well with our consciences. Yet, even this ele- wanted to—he broke free of his consumer-driven 4. Greenwood, Kate. “”You Are Not a Beautiful and Unique Snowflake”” M/C Journal. Feb. 2003. Online. 28 March in “Fighting and Ideology in Fight Club ,” from ment of the film, specifically Project Mayhem’s lifestyle and now lives in reality. Tyler is no longer 2012. the Journal of Media and Culture, makes a end goals, are undeniably Nietzschean even if the needed because the Narrator is conscious and 5. Nietzsche, Friedrich. “The Gay Science.” Existentialism connection between pain and the Narrator‘s means of achieving these goals are rather dark. in control. The Narrator is already firmly in a Basic Writings. Ed. Charles Guignon and Derek Pere- development: “Fight Club suggests that there is By destroying credit card companies and various state of becoming and has only one thing left to boom. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. a connection between pain and aggression and other financial institutions, Tyler and his follow- overcome—Tyler himself. As the Narrator pleads 2001. Print. 6. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Fullbooks. ‘knowing yourself.’ Confronting and engaging ers aim to finally free people from the forces with Tyler to abort his mission, who refuses, the com. Ed. Sue Asscher. Online. 28 March 2012. with the primal feelings of pain and oblivion, it that control their lives and distort their reality in dynamic shifts: whereas previously the Narrator 7. Lee, Terry. “Virtual Violence in Fight Club : This Is What is implied, will bring Jack (The Narrator) closer the Baudrillard sense. Doing so grants people a agreed with and supported basically everything Transformation of the Masculine Ego Feels Like.” Journal to a more authentic sense of identity than he clean slate, a chance to start over and become the Tyler preached, he holds back in this scene. Tyler of American and Comparative Culture 25.3/4. Fall/Winter could ever buy for himself at IKEA4. ” Tyler masters of their reality. As Tyler says, “It’s only tries to convince him, saying, “This is what we 2002. Pgs 418-423. Online. 2 April 2012 8. Schwarzbaum, Lisa. “Fight Club (1999).” EW.com. Oct. 22, himself affirms these notions, saying, ”Without after we‘ve lost everything that we’re free to do want” before the Narrator responds with “I don’t 1999. Online. 28 March 2012. pain…we’d have nothing…What you’re feeling anything.” want this.” The gun with which Tyler has been is premature enlightenment. This is the greatest As is revealed near the film’s conclusion, Tyler threatening the Narrator suddenly changes hands moment of your life.” What else, if not expressly is not real, but rather a figment of the Narrator’s and the Narrator is in charge; he has come to Nietzschean, is willingly subjecting oneself to mind. Strangely, it is the fact that Tyler is a cre- realize that he no longer needs Tyler as he once such pain repeatedly? Doing so is exactly what ation of the Narrator that shows just how instru- did, and can live the life he wants without his aid. Nietzsche commands, for it requires bravery and mental the former is in the latter’s overcoming “My eyes are open,” says the Narrator, just before courage above anything else. and becoming processes. Terry Lee, in “Virtual he fires the gun in his mouth, eliminating Tyler The Narrator, as we meet at him at the begin- Violence in Fight Club : This Is What Transforma- completely. ning of the film, is lacking an identity; the fact tion of Masculine Ego Feels Like,” writes on this By doing so, the Narrator has retaken control of that he is nameless is no mistake. As previously well: both his reality and his identity. Both were once noted, he does not define himself, but instead al- “Tyler has just what Jack (The Narrator) dictated by and under the influence of exclusively lows objects and possessions to define him, wheth- needs…Tyler, then, embodies Jack’s own re- external forces—mass media, advertising, the

54 55 About the Editors:

Tori

Has an irrational fear of rodents, specifically those that looks like rodents of unusual size from princess bride

Jenna

Banana flavored laffy taffy is the only flavor she likes

56 About the Editors:

Tori

Has an irrational fear of rodents, specifically those that looks like rodents of unusual size from princess bride

Jenna

Banana flavored laffy taffy is the only flavor she likes