THE
SIREN UNCENSORED. PHOTOGRAPHY. POETRY. SHORT STORIES. ART.
FALL 2014015 SPRING 2
elcome to this edi tion of The Siren. The efforts of the contributors are greatly appreciated as there would be no magazine in the absence of their efforts. As a student publication, the magazine encourages future contributors to use this outlet for sharing insightful analysis, reflective poetry, inspiring artwork, photography and/or a fictitious narrative. This is an uncensored publication. All work is expressed just as the artist intended without any interference. This literary issue in particular was made possible with the help of journalism professor Robert Muilenburg, journalism lab adviser Scott Beckett, the Foghorn staff, Del Mar College creative writing classes, and aspiring photographers. The folks at the publication department hope that as a reader, you appreciate the blood, sweat and tears that went into making the Fall 2014/Spring 2015 issue of The Siren possible. This is for you Del Mar College.
Amber Quaid Page Designer and Editor-in-Chief
T H A N K S
Writers &
Photographers
Tera Elwell Kaliegh Benck Vivien Sanchez Kira Hays Sarah Fecht Joshua Johnson-White Maria Garza Cayce Berryman Emily Jasso Elijah Banaag Aaron Combs Mary Jane Tejeda Cozette Sevier Miranda Amey Kai Hernandez Victoria Trevino Melissa Cook Carlos E. Gonzalez
Cover art by Kaliegh Benck
14
26
34 43
INDEX
20
08 12 16 32 40
PHOTO ESSAY: Helping a Community One Match at a Time
ESSAY: Smiling Through Misfortune
PHOTO ESSAY: The Art of Stained Glass Making
ESSAY: When Life Gives You a Pepsi
POETRY
Capturing Moments
one click at a time...
oday, digital cameras are a luxury, but not a necessity. If you have a smartphone in your pocket, you are an instant photographer. With the growth of electronics advancing every day, it’s no surprise we can capture amazing photos with something as simple as our cellphones. You can be a basic photographer or a professional with the right tools. Tools such as apps can help you use your camera to the full extent allowing for manipulation of the focus, appeture and fstops. Convenience comes with a price though: cellphones have small lenses with small sensors, they don’t zoom and auto focus is easily fooled. Though these setbacks can hinder the user from taking the picture they want, one could still get an amazing photo (as seen on these pages). Learn how to use a cellphone to its full extent, get close to the action, and know your light source and how it can work for you; these factors help make great pictures. Capture great moments one at a time with a cellphone, the camera on the go.
Photo by Sarah Fecht
Photo left by Joshua Johnson-White/PhotoS middle and right by Maria Garza
Photo by Cayce Berryman
Photos by Kira Hays
Photo by Amber Quaid
5
CELLPHONES: Limit the effect BY Cayce Berryman
S
ome of you may remember dial-up and the wonderful tone that accompanied it. You remember the ability to cook dinner, put your kids to bed and return before you were able to access the Internet. Others remember yelling across the house for their siblings to hang up the phone, only to sit in front of the computer, patiently, so you could use dial-up and enjoy the spoils of the Internet. Receiving an email was a big event, though handwritten mail was still a necessity. Tests were still taken on notebook paper and notes were passed in class on small pieces of torn tissue and returned exams. Nostalgia just hit and, now, most of you wish to go back in time so you can enjoy the feeling one last time, right? If you agreed, you are lying to yourself. Computers are quite significant in society today. They save test information, scores, credit hours and emails, allow you on Facebook and do just about anything we deem necessary in our lives. Their significance grew drastically in a short amount of time. In 1955, only 250 personal computers were in use throughout the world, according to historylearningsite.co.uk. There are more computers on the Del Mar College campus on an average weekday than there were globally in 1955. In 1980, a million personal computers were sold and by the mid-1980s, the number increased to 30 million, according to
historylearningsite.co.uk. As time passed, computer technology became more advanced, compact, versatile and personal. The numbers of computers sold increased drastically and, this year, over 225 million computers have been sold, according to worldometers.info. Computers are a part of our daily lives — our cellphones being one of them. They are very compact and can do almost everything a normal computer can. We use them for almost everything: contacting family/ friends, knowing our schedule, finding somewhere to eat… Computers exist as a necessity now, one that we will never be able to eradicate from our lives. This society will not be able to pick up a pen and paper for more than a handwritten exam or note, at some point. All of what existed in the past, at the time, was a treasure. Now, if your phone takes more than five seconds to turn on, you want to throw it against the wall and light it on fire. The fact that computers are so important now is overwhelming. These lifeless, complex pieces of technology, plastic and metal keep our minds at ease and our lives together. As unfortunate as it is, we still have the ability to limit a computer’s power over our lives. They may not ever go away, but their usage can be monitored and controlled — used for what’s necessary as opposed to what’s desired. Other than the occasional short answer on a test or speed-note in a spiral, handwriting is at an all-time low. Handwriting is becoming worse, as well. Cursive is limited to a signature when paying for groceries and people purchase paper for printers more often than for writing. The world today is an apocalyptic one. People are zombies, worshiping a lifeless being, running into each other without so much as an apology before slow stepping away and engulfing themselves into their 6-inch world. The trip made from one computer to the other is short and the time between is anxious. According to dailymail.co.uk, about seven hours a day is spent with technology. This is based on a 15hour day people typically spend awake. Seven hours a day, equivalent to 49 hours a week and eight full days a month, is wasted on technology; computers and cellphones as the largest consumer of the time. When you go out on a date, where does your phone go? Is it on silent or does it sit in your lap/on the table? Do you turn on the screen to check the time or to check your messages? If you did turn your phone off, one of two thoughts would cross your mind: whether you received a text or whether your date is a good
choice. When with your kids or siblings, parents or friends, do you sit on your phones and laptops or do you talk about your day? There are many things happening in the world, so the conversation available is limitless. With a wealth of information available online, the question remains — are we really using it? As limitless as the Internet is in reference to information, our minds continue seeking the pointless things or the things we, in the end, do not take to heart. Cellphones, tablets and computers have become a distraction and form of entertainment as well as a useful product. Sure, they are necessary for school, work and distant contact, but why are they necessary for everything? These advances in technology are the conversations we hold. “How was your day” is now a form of small talk. After receiving the “Good, you?” and replying, “OK,” where does conversation go? Friendships crumble because conversation is acceptable over text and occasional phone calls or Facebook messages. Two hours are spent using cell phones every day, while the amount of time spent with someone else averages at about an hour-and-a-half per day, according to dailylife.co.uk. Technology will only grow in the coming years. Phones will become more efficient and volatile and computers will allow for easier use more compact convenience. Nothing will stop this growth, but we can limit its effect on our lives. The effect of technology can be controlled if we realize what it can do and choose what it will do. Life is measured in years, months, weeks, days, hours and minutes. Every minute costs part of an hour and the chain reaction begins, breaking apart the lives around us and aging the generations after our own. Life cannot be lived behind a screen even as small as a cellphone or computer. School and work take up too much of that time and relationships with family and friends are on the line. Making the extra effort to call someone and meet them for lunch will not take up any more time than the hours you can spend making small talk over text or playing a game on your phone. Relationships can grow and form when used correctly. The ability to cement relationships around you now is more critical than ever and it cannot start with the person you glance at in your phonebook occasionally. Cellphones and computers are a large piece in lives today as students and adults, but it is up to us to take advantage of the technology at hand.
People are zombies, worshiping a lifeless being, running into each other without so much as an apology before slow stepping away and engulfing themselves into their 6-inch world.
7
Helping a Community: One Match at a Time Story and photos by Tera Elwell The sound of rain hitting the pavement outside mixed with children’s laughter as they run around the ring is the first thing I notice when I step into the Molina Neighborhood Center. I am hardly ever asked to take action shot photos and
nervousness gets the best of me. I take a sharp breath in and the smell of pickles and sweat hits my senses hard. These small details will forever be part of my memory while attending my first wrestling event. Sgt. Rico gets hit from behind during a tag team match.
TOP LEFT: Joey Dynamite reacts after being cornered and slapped in the chest. TOP RIGHT: JD Smooth is caught mid-air by Cedric Valiant and is unable to finish his move. BOTTOM: Cedric Valiant puts JD Diaz in a reverse chokehold.
Sgt. Rico
Joey Dynamite
Frank James
Pretty Boy Ru
Justin Vain
Nacho Fuego
Brooklyn Beast
9
TOP LEFT: Cedric Valiant gets hyped up with a member of the audiences before his wrestling match. TOP RIGHT: Frank James tries to rip off the head of his opponent, Nacho Fuego, during their match. BOTTOM: The wrestlers taking a break during intermission, showing their real side to the audience.
“Friday nights, my grandpa and I would stay up late watching wrestling on a television with the old VHF and UHF knobs and foil on the rabbit ears. That’s how we got wrestling.”
Rolando Villarreal Jr. (pictured above) is in charge of Victory Pro Wrestling, an organization he says he started because he wanted families to come closer together. “Growing up, it was the one thing we did together as a family,” Villarreal said. “Friday nights, my grandpa and I would stay up late watching wrestling on a television with the old VHF and UHF knobs and foil on the rabbit ears. That’s how we got wrestling.” I was much more confident when I was asked to cover the Halloween Hijinks Wrestling match. So much so that I got too close to the ring when one of the wrestlers was falling out and he ran into me. Sgt. Rico had been smack talking his opponents and even the audience members as soon as his name was announced. When he almost plowed me down though, his tough guy act took a 360 turn and he immediately grabbed ahold of me so I wouldn’t fall and made sure I was ok before he got back into the ring. Villarreal told me before the match he was retiring from wrestling that night. He exceeded the timeline he set for himself by a couple of years and due to too
many injuries, could no longer fight. He hadn’t informed any of the wrestlers of his decision till after the National Anthem played. He grabbed the mic, put his boots in the middle of the ring and gathered the men to break the news to them. A wave of sadness hit them all at once. After a round of hugs, Villarreal gave his boots to his little brother Joey Dynamite who wore them around his neck with pride. Joey later brought the boots back out and hung them on the side of the ring until his match was over. After he beat three other wrestlers in a Zombie Deathmatch, Villarreal joined him in the ring and they both celebrated his win with their fists in the air and prideful smiles on their faces.
11
SMILING THROUGH MISFORTUNE Photos and story by Vivien Sanchez
O
n Aug. 24, Rebecca Chambers, a 24-year-old student at Del Mar College, and her friends grabbed their bikinis and headed to the water. Just like any ordinary Sunday, they spent the day drinking and letting loose on a boat on Padre Island. This day will forever run through Rebecca’s mind as she recalls her near fatal boating accident. Rebecca said all it took was the wake to knock her off the front of the boat, where she was relaxing, and into the water. In a split second, she was sucked under the boat. “I remember everything. I remember the boat hitting my leg,” the physical therapy student said. Rebecca lost her leg that evening. She said that she remembers the feeling of the water flowing through her leg and that if her friends and the Coast Guard did not react as quickly as they did, within minutes, she would have lost her life. “I have never felt so lucky to be alive,” Rebecca said. “I am even grateful for the small things. The wind looks so pretty blowing in the trees.” Even throughout this tragic event, Rebecca remains positive, never missing a chance to crack
a joke or smile to lighten the mood of those around her. She sees this as an opportunity to be an example to others with every person she meets and every interview she does. Wanting only to use her story to motivate and encourage people to not give up, and to always look at the brighter side, is her goal, she said. The fact that Rebecca did not have insurance never shifted her positive vibe due to the support of her friends, family and community as they continue to raise the money so that Rebecca can on her recovery without the added stress. “I have not been able to thank everyone for their generosity during my recovery,” Rebecca said. Rebecca continues her recovery by attending physical therapy three times a week for two hours. The doctors wanted to focus on balance to over-compensate for her losing her left leg. Workouts consist of balancing with weights, squats, and even tossing balls at her to increase the balance. Rebecca admits that it was a struggle at first but that now she is catching on rather fast. Doctors have also started her on an upper-body strength routine that she will need during the next few months while using her crutches. From time to time it is easy for Rebecca to forget
how recent this accident really was. Anxious to return to her life as it was before, she mentioned that the only thing holding her back was getting her prosthetic. She had been excited to start her therapy, register for school in the spring, and start working out and running again. Then doctors broke the news to her. On top of attending physical therapy three times a week, she also attends wound care where doctors hope to speed up the recovery process. In this routine, doctors have discovered that the wound is taking a little longer to heal completely than anticipated. Chambers, who had a goal to have her new leg before Christmas, is now postponing that part of her life to start after February. “I have to remind myself it has only been two months,” Rebecca said, “My healing process is moving along, I am just waiting. Were like sitting ducks waiting on this cut to properly heal.” Chambers is still very much ready to get started with the next phase in her life, considering online courses, and focused on completing her PT. She is scheduled to receive her prosthetic in March. Chambers is realizing that even though she feels stronger than ever, and is capable of handling this, people who take notice of her on a daily basis tend to feel sorry for her. She explains that when she wants to enjoy time out with her friends at a bar or concert, or dinner with her boyfriend, they are constantly having run-ins with people wanting to share their condolences, maybe even sharing a relatable story. To her, repeating the story on a daily basis is only a reminder that “she was the girl that feel off the front of a boat, and lost her leg.” “I am grateful when people share their sympathy and their amazing stories,” Rebecca said, “but I do not want people to feel sorry for me. I lost my leg; I am not fighting for my life, just to move on.” As she continues to discuss this, she mentions that a couple of days before a doctor’s appointment, the doctors had told her about a 17-year-old boy who came in during the week and lost both of his hands in a boating accident. She immediately was reminded that she is not alone, and being able to relate to his story, knows that his fight will be a tough one, and only wishes that he is as strong and motivated as she is. “All of these boating accidents! Why is this happening?” Rebecca said. “I hate to think about what happened to me happening to someone else. I hope my story helps them.” As she continues on this new journey, Rebecca is always discovering more and more about herself. Taking in this experience, she will be that determined motivator that enlightens individuals to challenge themselves each and every day. Rebecca will continue to share her story on the television show “I Shouldn’t Be Alive” in the spring.
13
Picture by thejointblog.com
Cannabis: on the road to
legalization
Story and photos by Carlos E. Gonzalez
T
he era of prohibition of marijuana has been slowly coming to an end ever since the state of California decriminalized and legalized the medical use of cannabis in 1996. Twenty-two states have followed in its steps, including in recent midterm elections in November. Alaska, Oregon and the nation’s capital, Washington, D.C., have all enacted laws that allow anyone over the legal age of 21 to purchase marijuana for recreational use. Anything below one ounce is acceptable to have in your possession, depending on what state; anything over two ounces can be a misdemeanor and jail time, with fines that can range from a thousand to a hundred thousand dollars. The road leading to decriminalization has not been an easy one. Marijuana activists and organizations such as NORML, the National Organization to Reform Marijuana Laws, have worked hard to make this possible. NORML states that over 20 million U.S. citizens have been for arrested for marijuana possession since 1965. The organization believes that the time has come to amend criminal prohibition and to enforce taxation and regulation, along with educating the taxpayers. With its wide network of chapters in cities around the nation, Corpus Christi has joined the movement. They host meetings once a month at local restaurant Tango Tea Room. Local lawyer Kyle Hoelscher, who has specialized in marijuana defense cases and believes that every citizen should be protected by their constitutional rights, leads the chapter. In a recent interview with NORML activist Kathleen Gray, who suffers from epilepsy, shares her experiences with the disease and how she is unable to use medical marijuana because of her place of
employment and its laws. After using many dangerous drugs prescribed by doctors, Gray has not had her epilepsy controlled. Her experiences with doctors in the South Texas region have been negative, and it wasn’t till a year ago that she came across a
CNN documentary called “Weed.” In this documentary, Dr. Sanjay Gupta, who is a practicing neurosurgeon, fully supports marijuana from a medicinal standpoint. Unfortunately, for Gray, she has not been able to use medicinal marijuana, despite all the supporting articles stating how marijuana not only is safer than most prescribed drugs treating epilepsy. She also expresses that Big Pharma, also known as all major pharmaceutical companies, do not want to lose money to cannabis treating their patients. “Marijuana can control many problems with side effects. It’s time for our government, doctors and pharmaceutical companies to realize that we’re not here to be turned into vegetables with their drugs,” Gray states in the interview. Not only is cannabis a safer choice for medicinal purposes, but it can also be turned into hemp which can be transformed into other products such as rope, cleaning products and food just to name a few. Cannabis can bring in great revenue to the state of Texas with its universal use. It’s sad to see that our government allows poison in our prescription drugs, alcohol and tobacco, even though it has caused hundreds of deaths, but does not fully support the use of a plant that has no recorded deaths or overdoses. For any more information on how to join the movement to end the marijuana prohibition, visit norml. org or look on a social media sites for nearby chapters or groups.
15
The Art of Stained Glass Making Photos by Victoria Trevino
ABOVE LEFT: The soldering iron melts the seams between pieces of glass to hold them together. ABOVE RIGHT: The different types, colors and textures of glass are on hand to make each stained glass unique. BELOW LEFT: Soldering irons run at an ideal temperature of 700 degrees Fahrenheit. BELOW RIGHT: A finshed piece of stained glass shows the difficulty it takes and beauty one can create.
ABOVE LEFT: The grinder takes off the extra “flare” of the pieces to make the artwork work together cohesively.
McInturrf’s Glasshaus, located at 1625 S. Alameda St., offers custom, hand-made original designs, pristine re-creations, as well as repairs and classes in the instruction of stained glass art. The Glasshaus has been up and running since 1974.
17
Story by Vivien Sanchez Photos by Victoria Trevino
Sparking Interest in Others
T
iffany Rivera, a 20-year-old Del Mar College welding grad- dents but to the rest of the instructors.” uate, is now a full-time instructor at the West Campus. The Always being the only girl, and being so young, Rivera has had course was first offered to her as a sophomore at Ray High to overcome many obstacles to be accepted into the industry. Vela School, where this high school cheerleader would begin said that at first during a night class full of military men, the students surprising just about everyone interested in the welding industry. seemed to gravitate toward him not knowing her abilities, but once Having the support from her family was encouragement enough she started welding it was a whole new ballgame. to enroll in the program with her older brother. Rive“Don’t get me wrong, it’s ra says that he was not fond of the idea at the beginone thing to be a great welder, ning but both enjoyed the competition throughout but it’s another thing to teach, the class. and she can teach,” Vela said. “At the time I was the only girl in the program,” “Now I have students asking Rivera said. “And now when he comes to visit me at me all the time ‘If I come back work he snaps pictures of him in booths and posts next semester will Tiffany be them all over Facebook about how proud of me he my instructor? I really want is.” her to be my teacher.’” When Rivera was a junior, she attended RobVela said he believes that stown’s Annual Welding Show, where reporters had having her on board should always made an appearance. After being noticed by increase the amount of a photographer from the Caller-Times, questions bewomen participating in the gan circulating and Rivera was in the spotlight. program. According to a 2013 Shortly after, she was presented with a full scholreport from the U.S. Bureau of arship to DMC from an anonymous donor. Labor Statistics, only 7.8 per“I never thought my parents were going to be cent of welders in the United able to put me through college, nor was I interested States are women. till this opportunity came along,” said Rivera, whose “I make an effort to have father is also a welder and nurtured her skills growher speak to students when ing up.” they are taking tours throughI have already used the scholarship to get my asout the classes.”Vela said. “And sociate and now using it for my bachelor’s degree.” I have her speak to the groups It only took Rivera nine months to get her associas much as possible so they ate degree in December 2013. Just two weeks after, too can hear her story.” DMC offered her the full-time welding instructor poRivera knew she would sition. face many challenges in such Rivera shows a student where to put his next “I welded in the morning, during the day, and at bead and how to angle the rod. a male dominated industry, night, so that I wouldn’t have to be in school long,” yet was undeterred. Rivera said. “I didn’t hesitate to accept the position when Del Mar of“You really have to prove yourself as a woman welder,” Rivera said. fered me this job.” “I have a few friends that have told me, ‘Don’t let your mouth do the Right now Rivera is living a very independent life, with a well-pay- talking, let your welding’s do it for you.’” ing job that allows her to have her own apartment and a brand new In January of 2013, Rivera was offered to join the American Weldtruck. Rivera’s hardworking family never stops speaking about suc- ing Society. They then flew her into Florida to represent the Corpus cess. At a young age she has managed to accomplish so much that Christi Chapter and develop her teaching skills. Here is where she her students admire her success and use her story to influence the had the opportunity to meet numerous welders from all parts of the work they put into the class. world. Maria Pena, a 16-year-old who is taking the course with Rivera As surprising as all of Rivera’s accomplishments are, one more through high school is relieved to be working side by side with an- needs to be mentioned. Rivera was born with spina bifida, a type other girl. of birth defect that occurs when the bones of the spine don’t form “Me knowing her and how great of a teacher she is,” Pena said, “is properly around parts of the spinal cord. Amazingly enough despite motivation to stay in welding and to stay in college.” all the medical procedures that Rivera has to complete on a daily baPena describes Rivera as a “hard core welder” and always willing to sis, she still manages to put on her hood and keep welding. take the extra time to teach us something new. Overall, Rivera is satisfied with her career path she has chosen, Sonny Vela, associated professor of Welding Applied Technology and says she has no idea what she would do without everything that explains that he had the pleasure of teaching Rivera at Del Mar and DMC has provided for her. now has the pleasure of working with her. “The instructors here care about their students and always try “She has advanced so much,” Vela said. “She is a great example to working with them,” Rivera said ”Don’t take what you have here for other ladies in the program and a great motivator not only to the stu- granted. I know I never did.”
19
Emily Jasso Ever since I first held a pencil I would draw. I created many different worlds and creatures. Growing up, my mother would always have a pencil and paper ready for me when I would get a sudden spark of inspiration. Life had its ups and downs but I never stopped drawing and creating short stories. I would escape reality by entering the sanctuary of drawing, thus giving me the idea of actually creating a sanctuary, 13 of them to be specific. This is my first dedicated comic I’ve ever created but it certainly won’t be my last. Each sanctuary is something that I love. It represents that what may seem so simple is actually very deep and complex. Art is my life. — Emily Jasso
21
23
ONLINE To see more of Sanctuary 13 and Emily Jasso go to www.facebook.com/emilysanctuary13
25
Librarian assistant. Dancer. Writer. Actor. Artist. Kai is a 27-year-old Aries. Aries, according to astrology.com, is the first sign of the zodiac. Aries is usually associated with leaders and are the first in line to get things done (whether or not it gets done is another question). As seen by Kai’s many works getting it done is his forte’. Born and raised in Corpus Christi, Kai is the middle of three children, having both an older and younger sister. Kai clearly remembers the day him and his sisters tried to draw Tweety Bird and his sisters drew it way better. They bragged so much that he practiced until he got better than them. Though his sisters gave up on drawing Kai’s only thought was ‘what else can I draw?’ That moment led Kai into becoming an artist. “I am constantly learning, wanting to know more,” Kai said. Kai enjoys school, learning and broadening his horizons. He is currently a liberal arts major at Del Mar College. He also enjoys dancing, writing and acting. He has performed locally with the Del Mar College Dance Ensemble, with the Texas A&M Bailando, with the Corpus Christi Ballet (“Nutcracker”) and with the Aurora Art Theater (“The Producers”). He plans on writing and illustrating his own book in the future. His career goal is to become a professional illustrator or character designer for an animation/gaming company.
Artist Profile
Kai Hernandez.
“Just a Jest”
(watercolor & pen)
Kai works with all types of mediums. He started out with a love for pencil and graphite but is now leaning more toward pens and mixed media.
27
Showing off his dance moves, Kai demonstrates the fluidity of his movements that he uses in his artwork. Kai believes in growth and positive change and that has become part of his signature mark. A mark that has helped him win several awards such as: The Student Art Association 25th annual juried art exhibit where he took first place in Printmaking with his work entitled “The Body” and the DMC Student Art Association 2014 Art Portfolio Competition. “My inspiration (for “The Body’) was an old Grecian work,” Kai said, “I wanted to make a piece that would convey that sense of falling, inside us.” Kai used a metal etching to create his award winning piece “The Body.” He then used special paint and manipulated the red and blue shades to create this piece. He has used other techniques such as lino print, block print, lithography and water colors. “I like control in my work and drawings but it’s hard to get that with watercolor but I find you end up with happy mistakes,” Kai said of his ventures with watercolors.
Kai uses watercolors in many of his pieces. He mixes his pen work with watercolor and acrylic alike. Kai has a current love for mixed media. He originally started out with pencil and graphite and has slowly moved into pen work with the mixed media. “I usually don’t like to scrap work, so I cover it up and make it something else,” Kai said of using pens. The artists that have inspired Kai to create his artwork are Edmund Dulac, a French born artist and Alphonse Mucha, Czech born artist. The immense detail in these artisst work and the the ability to draw the viewer in has inspired Kai to work on the amount of detail he puts into each piece of his work. He has always put extra effort into the main focus of his pieces but now is on a venture to work on his background details. To see more about Kai Hernandez and his works go to www.facebook.com/artofkai.
TOP LEFT: “The Fire Inside” a version of “The Body”- metal etching print TOP RIGHT: “Man on the Moon”- multiplate lino print BOTTOM LEFT: “A Quiet Darkness”watercolor BOTTOM RIGHT: “The Warrior”- a single layer lino print
29
The broken pieces symoblize how we are not perfect and can never be, we are always in a state of flux. This represents Kai’s signature mark: growth and positive change.
Each insect represents the different stages of life and the changes we must all go through.
The dragonfly was chosen because it alludes to an afterlife or sense of reincarnation.
Kai chose the butterfly because it symbolizes change and rebirth.
The bees were chosen as a symbol for plenty; the golden honey they produce is rich and synonymous with spring.
31
When Life Gives You Pepsi
by Elijah Banaag
“You want a Coke?” Will asked, his voice a bit scratchy and hoarse (though it always seemed to be like that lately), as Lark sat across from him at their usual table. He was surprised his two other best friends hadn’t arrived yet. “Come on man, you know my only love is Pepsi.” Lark grimaced at the thought of drinking American-produced Coca-Cola; he preferred the Asian-produced kind where they use real sugar instead of corn syrup. Regardless of his answer every time, Will would always ask him if he wanted a Coke anyways. He probably did it to annoy him. Will grinned, rolling his eyes at Lark’s response, and returned to silently browsing the menu of the restaurant. Lark wasn’t sure why he bothered as they came here enough since starting high school to have already memorized the entire thing. The Asia House was a small restaurant that, shockingly, served Asian cuisine — specifically Filipino food since it was owned by a Filipino family. The place was cheap and within walking distance of the high school, making it one of the chief hang-out spots for teenagers after school. It wasn’t as popular as the Burrito Shack that was even cheaper and closer to the school, but Lark preferred not to spend hours on the toilet emptying his bowels. “Are David and Mike coming?” Lark wondered aloud, propping his arm on the table and lazily resting his cheek on his hand. “Yeah, they texted me saying soccer practice is running a little late.” Lark was only half paying attention to Will, opting to pull out his phone and fiddle with it. “They’ll be here
soon.” Lark hummed a response and continued to idly play his cell. Every other Friday, he, Will, David, and Mike would meet up at Asia House for an hour or two to spend time together. It was an idea devised by Will since the four of them all had their own little cliques that rarely overlapped with one another. They were still the best of friends since meeting in sixth grade, but different interests had slightly made them drift apart in what was now their last year of high school. “How’s your cancer?” Lark asked idly, having grown bored with his phone. “Mike said you’ve been doing well.” Oh, and Will had been diagnosed with cancer early on in their sophomore year. “I’m on a new treatment,” he answered smiling. “I have these pills that help me out with the pain. As long as I take it, I’ll be fine. I don’t have to go in for treatment and miss school all the time now.” Will pulled off his beanie, revealing the growing fuzz one would call hair on his head. “I can finally grow out my hair again.” “Nice, dude! Your hair won’t look as sexy and spiffy as mine, but…” Lark didn’t finish, choosing instead to run his fingers through his black hair, showing off the care and maintenance he put into having straight, silly threads. He was right to be arrogant about it: his hair had earned him several compliments from the ladies. “Your long hair makes you look like a girl.” Lark snorted. “You’re just jealous.” Unlike many of their other friends, Lark never fussed over Will’s cancer. He disliked how several of their classmates and friends flocked to Will like he was an invalid. It annoyed Lark, but he never allowed himself to show it. So whenever he and Will had time to just hang out, the cancer was a topic that was rarely brought up seriously. After all, Will was still a teenager, and not even cancer would stop that. Lark could barely count how many girls Will dated throughout high school. But despite how he felt, Lark knew the cancer changed Will. As Will fiddled with his phone, Lark quietly observed him. Ever since he began treating his cancer, Will’s face always appeared to have a swollen appearance. His already big lips were even more pronounced, and his thin eyebrows appeared even thinner, being almost invisible since he also had blond hair. His appearance was a far cry from the scrawny kid he used to hang out with every day in freshman year. “How’s Mikki?” Will asked, looking up from his phone and grinning lecherously. Lark arched one of his eyebrows at him, surprised that his first girl was suddenly brought up. He often forgot how out of the loop Will could be at times. “What about her? We broke up a year ago!” “Oh.” He frowned. “Dude, my bad, I didn’t know.” “Nah, it’s fine, bro. The breakup was pretty harsh.” Lark sighed. “She was a bitch.” “Remember back in freshman year when you first got her number? You were freaking out so badly.” A huge grin was now plastered all over Will’s face. “I had to call her for you because you didn’t have the guts.” Lark covered his face in embarrassment, groaning as he remembered the memory all too well. His cheeks felt
flushed and warm, having been reminded how mortifying it had been to call her. It was truly a trying experience. “I remember… and it was her dad that answered the phone.” ‘‘I laughed my ass off when you suddenly hung up on him! Dude, he was so pissed when you called again.” Looking back on it, it was pretty funny. Freshman year was when he was closet to Will. That was when they spent most of their time together. Because Dave and Mike were in sports, it meant Lark, a geek and proud of it, had time to spend with Will who was part of the go-home club. The dynamic would shift next year when it was him and Dave. Lark realized he hadn’t hung out with Will one-on-one since freshman year until now. Just then, David and Mike walked through door and spotted him and Will at their usual table. They were in their practice uniforms and were sweaty all over. Nevertheless, Lark and Will waved them over. It wasn’t long before a waiter knew they were now ready to order and the time was spent talking about their week and other nonsense teenage boys were prone to talk about. After a few hours, they all parted ways until the next time they came together. However, next time never came. Will died peacefully in his sleep not long after. There had been a wake where all of his friends and family said their farewells. Will’s body was cremated as per his wishes. There was a service in school to honor his memory and nearly everyone in the senior class walked with a sullen gait throughout the week. Nearly everyone had known Will, after all. Lark walked into Asia House the week after to find it nearly empty. It was as if the students only came to the restaurant because Will did, but Lark rationally knew that was hardly the case. Asia House wasn’t even that popular to begin with and he heard Burrito Shack just added something new to their menu. To his surprise, Lark found David sitting at their usual spot. He didn’t expect one of his best friends to be here. “Hey Dave, I’m surprised to see you here,” Lark greeted him, taking the seat in front of him. “Is Mike here too?” He’s still broken up over Will. He’s at
home,” David answered, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Lark looked at him oddly but decided against pointing it out. “Yeah, well, too bad. He’s missing out on some good food. Not as good as my mom’s cooking, but it’s good enough.” David hummed a response, not actively paying attention. Lark observed him quietly, noticing how he actively tried avoiding making eye contact with him. There was no smile, but that was to be expected since Will was dead. “Mike’s kind of angry with you,’’ David suddenly confessed, surprising Lark by the weirdly shy tone David rarely used. Scowling at whatever anger was directed at him, Lark wondered why Mike, the biggest softie he knows, was angry at him. “What did I do? I haven’t seen him since last week.” “Dude!” David nearly shouted, minding the scenery. “You didn’t go to Will’s wake! What the hell, man?” Lark stared at David blankly for a moment before scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Oh, that. He noticed David Didn’t look particularly angry, but Lark was well aware of how he was good in wearing a mask. “ I’m not good with wakes, Dave,” he lied. “I mean Will died. I get that. I’m sad about that, but you know, that’s life. I didn’t want to go in there and see his dead body, and have that be the last thing I remember of him.” David appeared taken aback but nodded. “Yeah, I understand. Still, man. You should’ve gone, but I’ll tell Mike that. Man, how are you not broken up about it?” “My dad, I guess.” Lark shrugged. David looked at him pleadingly, urging him to elaborate. “Well, my dad taught me differently. Basically, it’s okay to be sad, but don’t get caught up with it. Sure, I was sad, but it shouldn’t really let it consume me. Besides, I already made peace that Will may die when he first told us he had cancer. It’s been a thing coming. I was just ready for that.” Lark could tell that David didn’t like his answer, but he frankly didn’t care. “Wish I was as strong as you man,” David muttered quietly. Lark grinned and reached out from across the table to pat his friend on
the shoulder. “Lighten up, dude. Will wouldn’t want you to be all depressed. You’ll be fine soon enough. Trust me. I’m not broken up about it.” David relaxed and the small hint of a smile was finally showing on his face. Satisfied, Lark called for the waitress to take their order. The waitress, a friend of theirs, smiled bubbly as she bounced up to their table. As David placed his order, Lark quietly observed the room. The Asia House was from being called a big restaurant. There were only six tables in all, two big enough to fit eight people and the other four holding only six. A small television had been placed in one corner for the customers to enjoy, but Lark doubted it was for their benefit as the channel was on some Filipino soap opera. Surprisingly, as he looked around he caught some familiar faces. Kristine, one of Will’s exes, was sitting in a table with three of her girlfriends, laughing and chatting as they ate. Charlie, Victor and a few others on the football team he knew were at the table by the door yelling and screaming about a football game they watched. At another table at the corner closest to the kitchen sat Denise and Rick, a couple he knew, eating together and whispering. From the way they all acted, it seemed they frequented the restaurant. How did he never notice this before? Solemnly, he knew why. The same reason why he refused to go to Will’s wake. He was selfish. He had always been selfish, doing only things he wanted to do and refusing to do anything that may harm him. Despite the reassuring words he had told David, he had been afraid of Will dying. It was why he stopped spending less and less time with him when he diagnosed. Spending more time with Will meant becoming closer to him, and it would only hurt once he was gone. Maybe that’s the real reason why Michael didn’t show up. Maybe he didn’t know his friend at all. “Pepsi, Lark?” the waitress asked him. Lark smiled politely, glancing at David, and placed his phone face down on the table. His throat a bit parched and dry, made his voice a little scratchy, but nevertheless he replied, “No, I think I’ll have a Coke.”
33
One Quiet Night
By Melissa Cook
We have to be real quiet tonight. Earlier, Mom made our favorite food for supper, spaghetti. I didn’t have to take a bath, neither did Lily. We were whisked off to bed when the sun was still shining outside, but Mom said it was bedtime. She told us to go to sleep and not come out of our room for anything, with a very strong emphasis on anything. Dad came by a little while later to tuck us in and let us know the belt would be waiting in case we thought about making even a peep. Lily got a little scared after Dad’s visit, so I stayed awake to keep her calm. My mom was 16 when she had me, 17 when she had Lily. Grandma made Mom and Dad get married right before I was born, but Mom says they would have gotten married anyway, just not so soon. Grandma says my mom wanted to be a doctor since she was little, but dropped out of high school to have me and never went back. Mom says me and Lily are the best things to ever happen to her, even though she always looks a little sad when she says it. Dad met Mom when he was a senior in high school. Mom says it was love at first sight and I came along almost exactly one year after they met. Mom tells us Dad was some sort of football hero at their school and had won a full scholarship to college. Dad says he was going to go pro one day and would have had the world handed to him on a silver platter, but had to drop out in his first year of college in order to help take care of us brats. I think he means me and Lily; although, every so often, I think he means Mom, too. Dad can be mean sometimes, but Mom said it is just because he has broken dreams inside of him. I imagine having broken
anything inside must hurt real bad to make a person get so mean. Now our room is blanketed in darkness with moonlight filtering through the transparent curtains. Everything is cast in barely discernable shadows and instances of clarification as a car’s passing headlights flit through the room throwing the dimness into startling clarity showing off the peeling wallpaper and dilapidated furnishings. However, most of the time, I can barely make out Lily’s bed on the opposite wall; even though I know she isn’t there. She abandoned her bed a long, long time ago when the noise first started on the other side of the wall. Lily and I knew our parents were going to have some of their friends over. It was impossible not to hear about it. Parents oftentimes talk about certain subjects around kids as though they are too stupid to understand the subject. Mom spent the day getting ready for their party. She went to the grocery store, got her hair done, and cleaned the house like a crazy person, not that it needed that much cleaning. If she doesn’t keep the house clean, Dad will yell at her. All of our toys were put in our room or outside, almost like they were trying to erase us from other areas of the house. Lily and I were excited about the prospect of a party until we found out we couldn’t go. The music stared quietly at first, as did the talking. Lily and I had almost fallen asleep when someone decided to crank up the music. We could feel the beat of the music surrounding us, shaking our eardrums. That was when Lily got in bed with me. The music and talking just kept getting louder and louder coming through the thin wall. We could hear
35
people sitting down and getting up from the tired, old couch right on the other side of the wall. The springs would make a particularly loud clunk against the cheap wood paneling whenever someone sat down just to the left of the center cushion. Mom had tried to disguise its decay with a colorful crochet blanket she tells us her grandmother made. There isn’t much other furniture in that room except a long coffee table made of dark wood with edges all worn down to a lighter shade. Everything winds up on the table and my mom is constantly cleaning it up. The aging walls are masked with the ugliest wallpaper ever to grace the eyesight of man. I am sure the colors had to have been different at some time, but that was before my time here. It is orange and green and brown blobs of designs overtop of a yellowed background hemmed in with lines of black and purple. The only thing the wallpaper is good for now is to camouflage the roaches that skitter over it. At first Lily and I thought we could hide under the covers and escape from the sounds of the party we weren’t allowed to go to. Then, we tried pillows over our heads, but nothing worked. Lily poked her fingers in her ears and fell asleep until her fingertips found themselves nestled in her sleeping fists, before the noise roused her again. I could feel Lily’s body shaking with silent, tired tears next to me. I tried to cover her up and calm her down. I even made sure she had her little dolly, the one with the crooked eyes, green dress, and blue hair made of yarn. She eventually got tired of crying and stopped, but I could see her tearstained face staring at me every time those headlights flashed through the room. She looked at me like I was supposed to save her, like I was her only hope. We tried real hard to pretend everything was okay, like it was just a normal night, but it wasn’t. The noise had gotten so loud it was if that wall wasn’t even there. My imagination took over conjuring visions of what must be going on in the next room and I am sure Lily’s did the same. We clung a little tighter as we tried to match the noises we heard with images we could understand. There were loud voices trying to be heard and a weird sense of merriment bombarding our ears. I am sure there must have been at least ten glasses break over the course of the night. I imagine my mom is really upset about the mess on her blue speckled area rug placed so carefully in the center of the room, but then I heard her laugh, a sound we don’t hear very often, and I knew it didn’t bother her at all.
Lily and I had stared to find a comfort within all the noise and chaos flowing from the other room when, suddenly, I knew we were in trouble. I had to pee. I remember my mom saying not to leave the room and my dad saying not to make any noise, but I had to pee real badly. Just thinking about not being able to go to the bathroom made me have to go even worse. I waited and wiggled trying to pretend I didn’t have to go. Finally, I verbalize my predicament to Lily whispering, “Lily, I have to go to the bathroom.” Lily’s eyes widen and she just shakes her head at me. She doesn’t really understand my urgency, since she still has to wear a diaper at night. “But Lily, I really have to go,” I quietly whine back. I can take no more. Surely everyone is so busy in the other room, they won’t notice one little girl silently making her way to the bathroom. There is just one long, empty hallway to go down to get to the bathroom. I will have to pass the doorway to the living room where my parents hare having their revelries, but surely I can do it. I silently slip out of bed to the cold hardwood floors, my nightgown falling to just above my ankles. I look to Lily for strength and see fear in her eyes for me as she still shakes her head at me. “What am I supposed to do,” I question her, “pee on the floor?” Lily just shakes her head at me as I start to tiptoe my way through all our toys toward the door. I can see the light from the other room seeping beneath the doorway as I grasp the handle gently, quietly. I firm my grip on the door so slowly and begin to turn the handle. I can hear every reverberation of click and pop the knob makes in its rotation. Any second one of my parents will come rushing in yelling at me. The knob finishes its revolution and I unhurriedly begin to push the door open. The light from outside our room blinds me as it enters and the sounds from the room ratchet up in volume. The door creaks in warning when I start to pus too fast. Finally, it is wide enough for me to just slip through. I look back at Lily in our bedroom. She is cast within the light entering through the door. I take a deep breath and begin walking one minuscule step after another down the hallway that never looked so long before. I get to the archway to the living room. This archway never seemed so wide before. I look back toward the open door of my bedroom and Lily is standing in the doorway to our room watching me as if I could do anything. I turn attentively back toward the archway. I can’t get distracted now. I think if I listen hard enough I can tell when everyone is distracted. I hear the clinking
of glass bottles and clunk of cans, the overly loud laughter, the bragging and boasting, words I don’t know. Then I hear it, a lull in conversation followed by a thunk on the floor, and really loud laughter. I start walking, not looking into the room. If I looked at them, the cloak of invisibility I have surrounded myself in would deteriorate and I could be caught. I peer down the hall and just keep waling all the way to the bathroom. I had made it. My silence does not seem as important at this point of quest. I grip the handle to the bathroom door and turn it in triumph only to discover it locked. A woman’s voice I don’t recognize calls from inside, “Hold your horses, I’ll be out when I am good and ready!” What terrible luck! I can’t let one of my parents’ friends see me. They might mention me to my dad and I would get a whipping with the belt. My parents’ room is next door with its own bathroom. I am not normally allowed to use it, but it isn’t like they will know. I now have to sneak past Jesus. Lily and I have speculated that Jesus has to go to sleep sometime. With that hope in my head, I go around the corner and to my dismay, there is Jesus staring back at me. By this time, I have to dance as I walk in an attempt to not wet myself. I juggle pas Jesus, staring at him as he stares back at me the entire time, and enter my parents’ room. There isn’t a whole lot in their bedroom, one gigantic bed with black covers and two small tables next to the bed, one with an alarm clock that doesn’t always work. The other table holds a vase with fake flowers covered in a layer of dust and one small cobweb. The room is not very big and I have to scoot by the foot of the bed to reach their bathroom, but scoot I did. I reach the bathroom with just enough time to throw my panties to my ankles and sit on the toilet seat and finally get relief. After what seemed like an hour of urination, I start to glance around. I am never in their bathroom. There is brown tile on the floor and walls kept in place with white lines. The toilet is a beige color that almost looks pink. It doesn’t quite match the tile, but nothing seems to match here, not even the towels. There is a small window with a crack in one corner above a really white sink stuck to the wall as if by magic. There is not a bathtub in here. I enjoy my baths I cannot imagine not having a bath, but there is just a small shower, covered in that same annoying, brown tile each framed by white lines. With a now empty bladder, I must make my way back to my bed without detection. My confidence declares I made it one way; I should be able to make it back with no problems. I bound back through my parents’ bedroom, bouncing over the bed this time instead of making my way around. I get through the door, head bowed to avoid the condemning glare of Jesus, and listen attentively for any sound in the hallway. Hearing nothing,
I creep my way around and begin my return to the safety of my room. I spy Lily waiting anxiously for me in the partly opened doorway to our bedroom. She franticly motions for me to hurry. I cautiously reach the opening to the living room and pause to take note of the activity. Again, I hear a sudden burst of laughter and start past the doorway. For some inexplicable reason, my curiosity seized me at this very moment and I had to glance in the room for just a second, long enough to tell Lily about it. There was smoky haze masking the scene before me as I raise my head and glimpse up into the room. My father’s gaze immediately meets mine. I stutter to a standstill, frozen in shock. My father casually bellows at me, “You shouldn’t be here! You should be in bed asleep!” My mind seems to have completely lost all concept of how to speak or move. I hear Lily gasp in in front of me and the patter of her feet as she runs back to bed. Finally my mind clicks back into a functional mode and verbalizes something that sounds a lot like a strangled cat. I clear my throat and begin again, trying to explain how I really had to go to the bathroom, “I had to go potty real bad.” Dad’s face turns an unfortunate shade of red before he rises from where he had been seated like a king on his throne and comes towards me, anger making his steps seem even fordeliberate and menacing. “Did I not tell you to stay in your room? Did your mother not tell you to stay in your room?” he queries in a voice made more intimidating by its quietness and I try to shrink within myself. He reaches within hitting distance of me and explodes into rambling tirade with arms flailing, “You stupid brats never listen. Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am?” Of course I know who he is. Why is he asking these questions? I am voiceless in the face of his blasting rage. He continues with spittle flying from his mouth and beer spilling from his bottle
SILENCE
as he gets really going. “You are just a worthless piece of shit I wouldn’t even scrape from my shoe. I am your father and I demand respect from you little mistakes. I ask one goddamn thing from you, ONE, and do I get it? No I don’t. Do you know why? Do you?” I don’t think he really wants an answer and remain mute. “Well, answer me, damn it!” “I love you, Daddy,” I softly reply because I don’t know what else to say. “LOVE?!? Pfft. You kids don’t know the first thing
37
about love,” he replies, and I think he might be right. “You play with the toys I bought you and wear clothes I bought you as you eat food I bought for you and …do what? What do you do around here? I will tell you, you get in the way, you leech off of me, and you take the joy of life.” I stoically remain silent. I know it isn’t him buying us stuff. How can he when he doesn’t even have a job? Mom and Grandma are the ones who buy us things and that isn’t very often. I thought his rambling tirade should have embarrassed him, but it didn’t seem to. His friends just laugh a little hysterically, looking a little uncomfortably at each other. I don’t see my mom anywhere. She would have let me go back to my room. I see my dad drink the last of his beer with a triumphant display for thosearound him. I start to sneak back to my room so very slowly, but he spots my movement. He yells, “I didn’t say you could go back to bed! Can’t you see me talking to you? You are the stupidest thing I have ever known. You should have been an abortion along with you sister,” as he tosses his empty beer bottle towards me. It shatters into pieces at my feet, nicking me in the ankle. The room goes silent, and then my dad starts to cackle followed by his friends. My mom rushes up to me, chastising me as she approaches. That is when she notices the blood that has started to trickle down form the gash on my ankle. She glances back at my dad with a censure he never notices as he laughs uncontrollably. My mom gathers me up and takes me to the now empty bathroom. Soundlessly, she sets me on the counter next to the sink and begins to rinse my foot of blood, beer, and broken shards of glass. I don’t know what to do. I want to run away, farther than anyone can reach me. I can’t make a sound. I am not supposed to make a sound, but I need to make a sound. My mom is quiet. I know I have disappointed her. She gently dries my foot and ankle off, but my cut is still dripping blood so my mom wraps it in a towel and squeezes hard. It hurts and I try to wriggle away, but she won’t let me. I begin to cry silent tears that Mom still notices. She tries to soothe me with gentle words claiming the pain will pass. She starts to hum one of my favorite songs, but her voice crackles as she hums. She must be tired too. Minutes pass as my mom holds this towel to my ankle and I try to think of some way to apologize for going to the bathroom during their party. She checks my wound and seems
satisfied with results of her towel holding. It really doesn’t hurt as much anymore, either. My mom looks for a Band-Aid to put on my cut, but it is too big for a regular bandage and too small for a bigger bandage, and it is in a weird spot on my ankle. Eventually, she settles for a giant looking bandage that she holds on by wrapping gauze around my foot. She kisses her final results and picks me up. I cling to her as she carries me back to bed. Lily is in her bed pretending to be asleep. Mom tucks me in without a word and turns to leave. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I quietly whisper to her, “I love you.” She pauses, but doesn’t turn back around or say anything. As soon as the door closes behind her, Lily isback in my bed wanting to know what happened, but she saw everything that happened, more than I did. The music outside gets a little softer, the voices more subdued. I don’t want to talk to Lily. I just want to be left alone. Lily, exasperated by my lack of communication, huffed her way back to own bed. I could see her lay down and get comfortable as exhaustion finally stole over her and she slipped into fitful dreams. I blink back against my and the mirth of the next room drone on. The next morning comes faster than we had anticipated. Mom and Dad are still sleeping as I help Lily make our breakfast of Fruity Pebbles. My ankle is sore and bled through the bandage while I slept. I limp a little as I walk to the kitchen this morning, but might have more to do with the wrappings all over my foot than a real need to not use my foot. Lily doesn’t mention the night before or my wound and neither do I. We are both quieter than normal as we set up rickety tray tables before the TV in the little room off the kitchen. It has a couple worn beanbags for us to get comfy in, but we can’t eat in them. Three of the four walls and the ceiling are made of grimy windows with a small fissure creeping its way down one side. The entire room is long and narrow. In the summer it gets way too hot in there during the day and winter it is way too cold, but me and Lily can be here almost any time we want. Today there are beer cans and cigarette butts littering the room. We try to ignore the mess as we click the TV to our morning cartoons. My thoughts are centered on the events of the previous night and I don’t really notice the bright colors streaming from the television set as me and Lily mutely eat our breakfast. The more I think about it, the angrier I get at my dad. After consum-
ing our food, I clean up the dishes and put the tray tables back behind the TV. Lily flounces down into her beanbag, the pink one with big orange spots surrounded by blue. My beanbag is just a nice, medium shade of blue with no spots or sparkles. I throw myself back into it with a sigh and wait. I am waiting for my Mom or Dad to wake up and punish me for going to the bathroom when they said not to leave my room. I would prefer if Mom woke up first, though. Time goes so slow when a person is awaiting their own punishment. Our morning cartoons have already ended and the afternoon shows have started when we hear someone stirring in the living room. I can tell by the lighter, more deliberate steps that it is my mom. Within seconds, she is standing in the doorway wearing the same rumpled clothes from last night. She looks like she has been sick or crying. Lily and I just smile at her as if nothing has happened, like everything is as it always is, but I can feel my heart careening throughout my chest. Mom merely gives us a small smile as she comes over and ruffles Lily’s hair, then mine. “How are you guys doing today?” she asks us both. Lily and I answer in unison, “fine.” “Good, good. How is your ankle, Monkey?” “It’s okay.” “Did y’all already eat?” “Yep. We had cereal already.” “Do you want me to make sandwiches for you guys?” Lily replies for us both, “YES! Peanut bubber and jellwie, pwease.” I take a deep breath and another. Maybe she won’t say anything about last night. Mom goes into the kitchen and comes back with our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, strawberry jam for me and grape jelly for Lily, like always. She sits down between us and tells us it’s okay to eat our sandwiches in our beanbags and begins to watch cartoons with us. After a little while, questions begin to intrude that I know I am going to have to ask. “Mom,” I interrupt her cartoon watching, “what’s an abortion?” She glances quickly at me in astonishment and then looks away, replying, “ an abortion is something people do when the don’t want to have a kid.” “Is Daddy going to abortion me and Lily?” “No, Monkey, your dad is not going to ‘abortion’ you,” as she slips her arm around me. “Oh. Okay, good. Am I going to get in trouble for going to the potty last night?” “No, Monkey, it was okay that you went to the potty on your own.” We sit there in silence watching the vivid cartoon
characters getting into stranger and stranger situations. Finally, I asked the question I most wanted to ask, “Mom, am I the reason Dad has broken things in him?” Mom appears stunned and I see tears fill her eyes before she glances up at the ceiling and takes a big breath without answering. She looks back at me, opens her mouth, and looks away again without saying anything. Finally, looking distractedly at the floor, she responds with a deep sadness in her voice, “No, baby girl, that is all my fault,” but I think she was lying to make me feel better. Lily, sensing the distress of both me and Mom, leans into Mom and all three of us sit there together in a cleansing solitude broken only by the TV with Mom’s arms around us. We stay in our glass room the rest of the day watching show after show, not really speaking at all with Mom getting up every so often to make snacks for us. Eventually, we hear Dad stumbling about the house, groaning as he walks. Trepidation rises within me. My breathing becomes shallower, less comfortable. I feel Lily glance toward me and I gaze back. Within a blink of an eye, Dad appears in the doorway draped in his old brown bathrobe and tall black socks, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sunlight filtering through the dirty glass. I feel my mom involuntarily tighten her hold on me before releasing me altogether. He gazes at us as if we are all strangers to him. He pauses as he notices my bandage, but then completely ignores it and me, instead sneering at my mom, “Woman, get me some fucking food. Why do I keep you around here if you aren’t going to do your job?” Mom rushes to do his bidding, pausing to pat my knee on her way. Dad lingers in the doorway staring out the window a second before plodding his way into the kitchen to point out all the things my mom was doing wrong as she makes his meal. We can hear him berating her every move. I want to go help her. I want to scream at him to stop, but know nothing I can do will help her. Instead I just sit where I am pretending like I don’t hear anything, watching cartoons that no one laughs at today. I glance toward Lily to see her looking at me. “What?” I ask her. “I don’t wike Daddy vewy much. He’s mean to Mommy” “I know, Lily, I know.” 39
P O E T R Y
The Dawn Of The Moonlight
by Aaron Combs
The stars of peace warm me, the light blue fire that burns above us. So my heart expands to see your love like the sky that burns before our eyes. I keep touching your hands, laughing at our past, seeing the pictures, remembering the sunsets and darkness. I can only say how I love you, like a dream your touch carries me. There are some days when the skies and the earth become grey, it is the time when the ants can’t find their queen, and the axe can’t cut into its wood, because their lost victory was so long ago. In a child’s heart the wooden stairs were steps to dreams, perfections, holiness, and so I wish that in this moonlight I’ll look in the stars and find you there. So I repeat and remember the praises of the night, the sweet solace of crowns that unite the sky, the embers of sweet peace.
Illustration by Amber Quaid and Devark
FORGET ME NOT
Art by Amber Quaid
A Day of the Dead Poem by Mary Jane Tejeda
You’ve awakened to a voice that softly calls your name. It is I, your mother—deafness do not feign! I call out to remind you that the time has come to feast. Come mi hijo, come! Your time away must cease. For now the day is upon us, El Día de los Muertos is here. Come and replenish my soul, Of death you must not fear. My flowers have long since wilted, My urn of water has gone dry. Hijo mío, you must fulfill my wishes. My requests you must not deny. I long to taste of sweet breads, the smell of incense burning in the air. Make an offering to your long departed mother, Show me that you care. Lay a blanket of marigolds where I now lay to rest, Light a candle and share the foods you know I loved the best. Come here and sit by my grave. Please don’t forget about the sacrifices I once made Stare upon my picture and sing of a woman lonely. For as the years go by, the living treat us coldly. Remember me on this day, and all of your relations long buried Let us laugh and wail and weep— Lift a glass to those who sleep. Life has its bitter sorrows, But oh, so does death!
41
Along the River by Cozette Sevier
The winds whisper and whip through my hair, black as the ka’tsina’s eyes. He calls me closer… Yellow Woman, Yellow Woman. I wrap the red blanket, still faint with his scent, around my full hips. I follow the white, sandy banks fresh with his tracks. The sand sinks beneath my feet and presses through my toes, painted red as the blanket. The falling sun, apricot colored, reminds me… Soon, I will surrender to the salt on his skin, and the stories of us.
The Sun
by Aaron Combs
Let the light under your skin and the light over the tresses of your hair be filled with my embrace. Let me hold onto you, let my heart wrap around you, like the scent of coffee that fills our room. Let me soul fall in love with you. Let me soul fall in love with you. Let me be dressed by your voice like St. Clare’s song whle the wind and leaves dances upon our chimney. Let me run with your soul, and let’s sit on green grass as the star light shines their rays against the wolves and blue trees. Let’s have fun and free the world beneath us, through our songs and sighs let’s cite the verses of our heart. For if we pretend and lie, and never tell the truth, and if I can’t forgive you, my soul will always love you. And so our hearts will grow together as a vine and our prayers flow stronger than the blood of the moon, let’s remember our love. For as the binding rays of dawn upholds our hearts, and the deer pants for the waters, so my soul streams to you.
Nightly Sorrow by Cayce Berryman
Sorrow sits under the starlit moon with tears settling as dew on the leaves. Cried of sadness fill the air like howling wind, and blood fills the sun as it rises to present morning. When the world wakes, she finds that death has found a host. The sorrow that filled the night sky has destroyed the day and what it could have been. The nightly terror that screams its name in the hearts of nature will find its power when it finds its true self in the hearts of death.
The Meaning of Life - The rantings of a homeless man by Miranda Amey (Found Poem)
To live, to live in a mystery, and to find purpose to live in the now This, I remember this this is an adventure, this is a memory. Younger generations live in the moment, don’t get old, don’t judge people. You can’t be free, if you judge people. love now, create and inspire. To do what you love, This is the moment. Love now, It repeats. You are already doing, You are always doing what’s in your heart. You cant get away from your heart. Life is a paradox A mirror of confusion. So, Love now. I love all of you. Photo by Amber Quaid
Ocean Blade
by Cayce Berryman
Kinder Poker
That one day at the beach with the sunset that came to be, it took my heart and threw it, far, far out to sea.
by Miranda Amey (Found Poem)
I looked into the sunset, with its pink and purple streaks. It stretched further than the ocean blade, and higher than the mountain peaks. The sun silenced the ocean far and called upon the moon, and as the sunset faded and brought in night the sun said I will be back soon. I waved to the miraculous sun and its lights that slowly fade. Then the moon brings out the wolves and fish and hides the ocean blade. Photo by Maria Garcia
Butterfly legs and sticky palms Polished stone currency, to pay off qualms Children cluster and crowd the floor Silver fish green felt, apple juice and more All in with the tiger’s eye Cards held down so they can’t fly A flush is laid down, and a pair of twos Winners is the latter, no one knows how to lose Tears begin and won’t stop Until the mom brings out orange pop Scraped knees leave, their bottoms stained with grass A perfect late afternoon, how every summer day will pass
43
PHOTOGRAPHY. POETRY. SHORT STORIES. ART. EMAIL SUBMISSIONS FOR THE SPRING/SUMMER 2015 ISSUE TO: EDITOR@DELMAR.EDU