Cerebus | Spring 2024 Issue by Ashley Hall

CERBERUS

Cerberus

The Literary Magazine of Ashley Hall

Charleston, South Carolina

2024

EditorialTeam

Charlotte Torrez ’25: Senior Editor-in-Chief

Helen Kourtidis ’26: Junior Editor-in-Chief

Elizabeth Brisson ’27

Charlotte Guﬀey ’28

Faculty AdvisorsandEditors

Chris Hughes

Christina Trimarco

Jane Pelland

Emmad Soltan

FrontCoverArt

Caroline Rivers ’25

Brian Principe, Ashley Hall Marketing

From the Editors

Cerberus, an Ashley Hall publication since 1912, earned an esteemed place among the School’s time-honored traditions. A stuﬀed dog traveled around campus, standing guard at the Ashley Hall gates to welcome the students back every school year. Adored by many students, it became a mascot to “guard” the School’s gates – hence its classical namesake.

The Cerberus team returned to the original namesake in 2023, shifting from the rebranded name, the Acanthus, which honored architectural features in McBee House.

The current Cerberus team is excited to build oﬀ of our 2023 Winter Volume of Cerberus and continue with the same enthusiasm for our 2024 Spring Volume. Please join us in congratulating the Cerberus girls of 1912 and of 2023, to whom we all must say PQV.

CERBERUSSTAFF

CHARLOTTE T. ’25: Senior Editor-in-Chief

Charlotte Torrez is a rising senior and this is her second year at Ashley Hall, transferring from a boarding school in New York. She is passionate about her role on the Cerberus staﬀ as it allows her to express her love for literature and art. She looks forward to what future editions of the Cerberus will hold!

HELEN ’26: Junior Editor-in-Chief

Helen Kourtidis is a rising junior who has attended Ashley Hall since third grade. She has long enjoyed the humanities and arts, and she loves drawing, reading, writing poetry, and performing in vocal and instrumental recitals as well as theater. She has loved working on the Cerberus and can’t wait to see what future issues hold!

CHARLOTTE G. ’28: Fiction Editor

Charlotte Guﬀey is the ﬁction editor of the Cerberus. She is a rising freshman and has been attending Ashley Hall for two years.

TESSA ’28: Fiction Editor

Tessa is a student in the eighth grade whose hobbies include reading, writing, and playing volleyball. She enjoys English and History, those being a few of her favorite classes. She can be found in the library and on the gym courts after school, her most common places to be found.

SAVVY ’26: Poetry Editor

Savvy Lewis is a rising junior.

ELLA ’26: Poetry Editor

Ella McCall is a rising junior and an editor on the Cerberus. She’s been a member of the Ashley Hall community for ten years and loves to draw, write, read, and play video games.

GISELLE ’26: Art Curator

Giselle Thacker is a rising junior, who has contributed various works to the Cerberus as well as editing. She has been a member of Ashley Hall for four years and has loved contributing to the visual and creative arts.

ELIZABETH ’27: Staﬀ Writer

Elizabeth Brisson is a rising sophomore and a member of Ashley Hall’s varsity tennis team. She is passionate about literature and art and thoroughly enjoys the diligent process of creating the Cerberus magazine.

LUCY ’28: Staﬀ Writer

Lucy David is an eighth-grader who has submitted personal works and written an article for the Around Campus section of Cerberus.

Journey Theme

The theme of this edition is Journeys, in all its forms. Our cover, a flock of migrating birds, is a lovely symbol of this theme. Whether they are traveling to a new place or heading home, it is a journey all the same. Many of the works in this edition exemplify the theme just as literally, from our overview of class trips to photography on Amalthea and OLP. Other journeys are more metaphorical. Nature, the journey of living beings, is a common theme in this edition. Identity, the journey of understanding oneself, is found in self-portraits and poetry about where we come from. Every single work here embodies the journey of creativity. From a concept in one ’ s mind to a rough draft on a page to a final product of words or paint or charcoal. Finally, there was the journey of bringing all of this together, which every single member on the Cerberus staff did beautifully. Thank you for taking the time to look through these students’ creations we hope you find this reading a journey of its own.

Around Campus Spring Play: King Lear

Helen Kourtidis

One of the most famous lines in Shakespeare’s King Learis “Nothing can come of nothing”. None understand this better than the cast of this year’s spring production of the play, echoing the time-honored tradition of Shakespeare at the Bear Cave. For months, the team spent late nights and long weekends bent over the script and running scenes on campus, trying to make something out of the words and setting we were given. Trying to tell the tragedy of the unwise king and his foolish decisions. With the leadership of our director, Mrs. Phelan-Deconick, and stage manager Mrs. Ellis-Reynders, we tried to step into Shakespeare’s world. The Bear Cave became Dover, caught in a storm we had to believe in even as the sun shined on. The Student Life Center and the Shell house became palaces, full of people who existed only because we believed they did. We took the play around the Senior Lawn, the audience turning to find actors entering from an entirely different place. The cast spanned the Upper School, with five 7th graders, four 8th graders, two Freshmen, two Sophomores, and a Junior. We worked with Innovative Event Services Inc. and Mr. William Tuesca to iron out the show's technical elements, including the crucial sound system and beautiful filming. On the highly emotional show 8

days, we were graced with the backstage help of Mrs. Moseley and volunteer ﬁfth graders, who ran around setting props, helping with costumes, and making sure doors to the stage were unlocked. For two performances, the cast of King Lear poured out their hearts and lines on the steps of the Bear Cave until it was suddenly over. From seemingly nothing came a world of unforgettable memories. Thank you to everyone who participated and to everyone who supported.

Cast

Kent VayiaKourtidis

Gloucester NelaLong

Edmund DagneyMauro

Lear HelenKourtidis

Goneril AverySteele

Regan ElenaHollister

Cordelia EllaHutchison

Albany LucyDavid

Cornwall/Burgundy PennyGalvan

France/OldWoman/Curan/Gentleman—LeilaRoseToporek

Edgar VeraGalvan

Oswald/Captain—GraceCorona Fool RhettaRutledge

Gentlewoman KatEllis-Reynders

Doctor EllaYaegar

Crew

Director AimeePhelan-Deconick

StageManager—KatEllis-Reynders

BackstageHelp—TylerMoseley,ElizaBrown,BeatriceWatson

FilmDirectorandCinematographer—WilliamTuesca

OwnerofTechCompany ThomasSmith

Video/SoundOperators MattVarnerandRussAult

Spring Sports

Elizabeth Brisson

Track

The varsity track team has completed another competitive season. Despite ups and downs, “It has been a really fun and rewarding season ” Rhett Hersey ’27 says. Their Scisa Region meet at Wilson Hall was a strong day for many of the Panther Runners. Throughout the season, these girls have shown oﬀ the resilience and strength of Ashley Hall girls.

PQV!

Lacrosse

The lacrosse team welcomes a new coach, Shea Mcardle. Coach Shea cultivated an environment of discipline and hardwork, pushing the lacrosse girls to their fullest potential. They proudly ﬁnished the regular season with a 5-9 record, the highest in Ashley Hall lacrosse history, go Panthers lacrosse!

Soccer

The soccer team continues to show excellence in their season. They’re incredible dedication and team spirit are evident. This year, they bid a farewell to seniors Martha Rivers, Abby White, and Anna Stricland. Molly Mettler ‘27 says, “Our team cultivates such a fun and inspiring environment. We will miss our seniors a lot.” Keep up the good work soccer girls!

Spring Dances

Elizabeth Brisson

Prom

The juniors and seniors were all dancing queens at this year's prom. When asked where they got their dresses, the most common answers were Retrofête and Revolve. Stylist panthers! Another successful Ashley Hall dance in the books.

Banquet

Banquet was a swell time for the class of 2024 and the class of 2025. The seniors noted the exceptional brunch food. Props to the food committee! The juniors jokingly called it “Lunch and LuAnn’s” a play on the theme of this year's banquet, Breakfast at Tiﬀany’s, as Gates McCants ’25’s mother, LuAnn graciously hosted this year’s luncheon.

Trips

Lucy David Quebec

Sixth and seventh-grade French students got the amazing opportunity to go to Quebec. It was about a week long in early February, and students got to experience the festivities of the Winter Festival, the biggest winter festival in the

world. It was an incredibly memorable experience for the French students, allowing them to immerse themselves in the culture and being able to use their French skills in real-world situations.

Disney

The eighth graders went to Walt Disney World to learn about physics by looking at real-world examples. They all got several hours of free time with friends to just have fun after three hours of taking a class on physics. They went to the Magic Kingdom and Disney’s Hollywood Studios over the course of the four-day trip (two travel days, and two park days).

Oﬀshore Leadership Program (OLP)

The OLP is a trip that entails being on a boat for around twelve days. The students who go are anywhere from Freshmen to Seniors. They learn about boats and the ocean and about themselves too. This is an amazing opportunity to meet people you haven’t met before. Connecting and creating friendships like never before, made them all like a family. And what better way to make a ﬁrst impression than to live on a boat together for two weeks?

Bonding Trips

Every grade from Freshman to Senior has a bonding trip or a trip that allows them to recuperate after the summer. They are an amazing way to end the summer and start another great year. This year the Freshmen went to

Nantahala, the Sophomores went to James Island County Park, the Juniors went to Bulls Bay with Coastal Expeditions, and the Seniors went to Nantahala.

Amalthea

This fall, 27 students applied to be part of the yearlong Amalthea project. Each one of them was accepted, and so began their research. Every student chose an object to research and write a paper on. Then, the group visited all of these locations in person during a 10-day trip to Italy. Bonds were made, and it was a trip none of the students would forget. Perhaps one of the favorite parts was being shown around the country by Mr. Muti, an excellent docent and teacher. As he returns to Italy, he is leaving behind this wonderful trip and tradition which is sure to be continued at Ashley Hall.

OLPby Caroline Rivers

Rome Iand Rome IIby Elizabeth Brisson

Spoleto by Elizabeth Brisson

Endashian Between Fantasy and Reality

Lucy David

The painting Endashian by Tom Uttech makes us think of bigger questions: questions theoretical physicists ask: what is the nature of the universe? Where did we come from? What is time exactly? Beyond that, it makes me think of the introduction to The Twilight Zone: “You are about to enter another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land of imagination. Next stop, the Twilight Zone” (Serling). According to American Scientist, “the original phrase “twilight zone ” came in the early 1900s. It is used to describe a distinct condition between fantasy and reality” (Saunders). I chose this piece because of the vibrant colors and beautiful landscape. More than that, I chose the piece Endashian because it made me feel transported to another reality. A reality where time stands still. A reality inside the imagination of Tom Uttech. Uttech’s painting Endashian, painted in 2007 depicts the magic and wonder of nature and reveals the way time moves in the wild. Uttech uses line, color, shape, and space to make a vast sprawling forest that explores the feeling that time has frozen in one perfect and beautiful moment where “all the earth stands still”. Uttech reminds us how important the natural world is and how gorgeous, and magical it can be, so magical that a special sunset can freeze time.

Technically, Endashian is a masterwork. It shows us that nature is messy. It is uneven and imperfect. One could say that nature reminds us that the beauty of everything on this earth is in the imperfections, not in the impossible quest for perfection. Through his work, Tom Uttech reminds us that everything is beautiful just as it is. And the more imperfections that are allowed, the more perfect the authentic experience of the painting becomes. Line is one of the very important parts that make this painting come to life. The creation of a line sounds simple but is actually complex in Endashian. According to one critic, line is “the path created when an object moves from one point to another” (“Elements of Art: Line”). All of the lines in Endashian are not perfect: they are made completely free of rules and are thus unrepeatable and just like the way lines in nature appear. No one could exactly recreate the unpredictable lines found in nature; therefore Uttech’s own unpredictable lines make the painting look and feel more real. The colors in Endashian are equally technically brilliant. Color is “when light hits an object. Some of it is absorbed, and some of it is reflected, depending on the materials the object is made of. The light that is reflected off the object is what we see as color” (“Elements of Art: Color”). All of the colors in Endashian are incredibly vibrant, and yet all are pastels, or lighter colors. There are also vibrant but muted colors in this painting with a bit of hot pink and a very light yellow with the intensity we would see in a real sunset. The shapes in Endashian are very interesting and important and because they are one of a kind and they seem real. The shapes in this piece are organic or freestyle shapes. Freestyle or organic shapes are freeform and are one of a kind. The reason Uttech uses them is because they look natural, like the world could be

real. The shapes look rough and natural, and can look as scary, dark, and foreboding and beautiful as an actual forest. The last thing that I would like to look at is space. The landscape “encompasses” (“Elements of Art: Space). The space in Endashian is very vast. It is an open world that ends where the eye can not see but only imagine. The distance between the birds range from up close to incredibly far, and the scale ranges from large to incredibly small. For example, the details that he brings to the little dragonﬂies, some of which I can’t imagine being more than a centimeter in size, are intricately designed. They are tiny but still look like they are in the same space.

Uttech has a very strong connection to nature. His memories and experiences have influenced his art throughout his career and have contributed to the emotions in his paintings. He was born in Merrill Wisconsin where he would go into the woods and nature (“Tom Uttech - Artists & Work”). It’s hard to convey how important birds are to Tom Uttech. One of the first things he remembers from when he was a very little kid is seeing a bird. A male redwing bird to be specific. This sparked a lifelong fascination with birds and a need to be around them (Watson). Tom Uttech himself says, “Possibly the first thing I remember in my life involves a bird….a male redwing blackbird flew across in front of me and was doing an aerial display…. and that burned into my brain ….and probably also set in place the idea of being an artist or doing something to capture that experience” (Watson). His need to paint birds illustrates this passion. He is also an avid bird watcher. In 1965, he got his B.A at the Layton School of Art in Milwaukee. After that, he got his M.F.A. in Cincinnati. After some criticism from colleagues, he stopped painting for a few years. During that time he was teaching at

UW-Milwaukee. After that time he became an artist again and took inspiration from Da Vinci and Vermeer. In the mid-1980s he bought a farm with a barn he could use as a studio .Uttech is an advocate of prairie restoration, which is “the rebuilding of prairies by planting prairie seeds and areas changed to another land use ” (“RestorationMinnesota Prairie'').

Finally, I want to emphasize the importance of Uttech’s use of time. Time is usually described as a human invention, but it’s not. Time is the observation of the movement of the sun, the moon and the constellations. The cycles of nature and time are absolutely interconnected. There is no absolute time according to the theory of relativity. In his book ABriefHistory ofTime, Stephen Hawking says, “Time should appear to run slower near a massive body like the earth” (Hawking 33-34) The twins paradox in the theory of relativity demonstrates the absence of absolute time: if one twin stays on earth and one twin went into outer space, the one who traveled in space would be much younger than the one who stayed on earth. “In the theory of relativity, there is no unique absolute time but instead each individual has his own personal measure of time that depends on where he is and how he is moving.” (Hawking 33-34). Thus, according to Hawking’s theory, by freezing time in the scene, Uttech reminds us that there is no absolute time and because of that, ultimately, I think that Uttech is saying that time is precious. If we remember that time is a matter of perspective, we need to remember to slow down and appreciate nature. We will get the most out of our time on this earth in nature much more than living in the city where time seems to speed up. All of the animals in Endashian are using time in their own way. The birds are ﬂying in a migration-like pattern. The wolves are

standing and using time to look at something very intently, as intently as we look at the sunset. So to me this is a moment at sunset. For the birds, this is a moment in their long journey South.

I’m so happy I was asked to take a harder look at this painting. I think my study of this piece will make me a better artist myself. I know I can take control of what I want to say and by learning how to take control of it, say something deeper. That means something, just like this painting. I too can create a magical moment that can be frozen in time.

Eurydice or Merida?

Miya Brown

Stand up straight.

Pull my hair back.

Wear tight clothes.

Love the ﬁner things in life.

Impress the men.

That is what my entire existence boiled down to.

But that wasn’t me.

Slouch my shoulders.

Let my gorgeous, copper hair roam free.

Wear breathable clothing.

Exploring the Scottish Highlands with Angus and my bow.

Impress no one.

Now that was good ole’ me.

My mother, the revered Queen Elinor is the exact opposite of myself:

Clean, while I’m dirty, Tame, while I’m rowdy.

To be honest I don’t even think she gave birth to me.

We were just diﬀerent.

The Queen says I have to choose between the sons of the clans.

But what she really meant was to choose who I wanted to be less bonded by more.

Who will restrict my freedoms less?

Who will give me the opportunity to be myself?

All I could think of was: me.

I didn’t want to be “courted” by any man.

I wanted to be free.

But the Queen will have no such thing.

So you know what I did?

I prevented the bondage of my freedoms.

I stopped the one thing that was stopping me.

I killed my mother.

Well, rather I put in her in a state where she had no power. I rendered her incapable of controlling my life.

I transformed her into, ironically enough, a bear.

But then, Everything fell apart.

The world spinned into chaos.

Because I didn’t attend the displays of courtship by the sons, They feuded. Because I denied my hand in marriage, They feuded. And because I killed the Queen, There was no one to break the feud .

So I had no choice. Undo my actions

And bring the Queen back from the dead. Ugh.

But you know, If it’s not one thing denying what you desire, It’s another. In this case, it was a man. The king. My father. He tried, Emphasis on “tried”,

To hinder my mom ’ s return.

But since when do I let a man deny me of any of my rights?

To have a say in anything I do? Psh, I would never.

And just because he tried, I tried even harder.

However,

As I was on the cusp of relieving her, From allowing her return to the world of humans, I remembered.

I remembered when I was a wee bit tall, When my father awarded me my ﬁrst bow.

My eyes lit up.

An instrument that would become my expression of freedom, The epitome of my existence. And you know what she did?

That glorious Queen everyone looked up to Snatched it away and threw it in the ﬁreplace. Charred into bits.

I remembered when she prevented me from learning how to ride Angus.

I remembered how I was an “excuse of a princess” because I’d put my feet on the table.

I remembered how nothing I ever did could make her happy.

And all I could think about was:

What if she hasn’t changed?

I’d be opening the doors for the same treatment I experienced beforehand.

And I can’t do it again. I won’t allow it.

I won’t.

So I didn’t.

I slouched my shoulders.

Let my gorgeous, copper hair roam free. Wore breathable clothing.

Explored the Scottish Highlands with Angus and my bow.

Impressed no one.

But this time with the absence of the revered Queen.

Who stood up straight, Who pulled her hair back,

Who wore tight clothes, And who loved the ﬁner things in life.

Sundown in Lucea Town by Jaalah Brown

Identity

Helen Kourtidis

Who am I?

Three familiar words,

The age-old question

That every human has asked.

That everyone believes teenagers should ask.

Are we our personality traits?

The Myers-Briggs test,

The Enneagram,

The hundreds of quizzes on the Internet

And thousands of titles we put on ourselves, “I am extraverted, agreeable, adventurous, careful, aﬀectionate, closed-oﬀ, quiet, loud,”

And many many more.

Are we our history?

A nationality, Race, Ethnicity, Gender identity, Sexual orientation,

A Venn diagram proudly displaying Our intersectionality

And a past that Meticulously Molded

A Million labels.

Are we what we love?

The songs that we scream in the car and blast in our headphones,

The books that transport us into another world, The movies and shows we binge, The hobbies we spend hours perfecting, The skills we spend years honing, The subject with homework we don’t mind completing, The moments when we have too many things we want to do.

Are we who we love?

The parents who raise us, The siblings who know us, The friends who validate us, The teachers who inspire us,

The celebrities we ’ ve always wanted to be.

Are we what we hate?

A song or artist or hobby or book or poem or subject or class or job or person that we love to mock-

An opinion that makes the rest of the world

Inferior to our intellectual ideas.

How can we tell?

How can we discover?

How can we know?

Is the answer found somewhere inside us, A treasure only mined through introspection?

Is the answer identiﬁed by others, The people around us who tell us who we are?

Is the answer a predetermined thing, Something we have to search for?

No.

I don’t think so.

There is no map, no path to who you are.

There is no guide, no one to tell you who you are.

There is no such thing as discovering who you are.

You don’t discover.

You decide.

What choice do I want to make?

What do I want this person to think of me?

How do I want to go about my day?

How can I understand my feelings?

The next time a voice speaks in the back of your mind, Asking “Who am I?”

Answer it with another question:

Who do I want to be?

Bridge by Tatum Elsner

“This is where I'm from”

London Danyluk

I am from Sandbox Treasures, from cold lemonades.

I am from the dewy mornings. (where dribbling drops feel smooth against my skin)

I am from Azalea bushes. The big oaks. Oaks that hide the morning sun.

I'm from Christmas Cookies and Elf movie re-runs.

From Paula D. And Taras D.

I'm from the ER stories. And the magpie tendencies. From “Danyluks never quit” And “Keep your chin up ”

I'm from Sunday morning cartoons. And slow mornings at the store.

I'm from Savannah and a mystery. Perogies and Gumbo.

From the Prom queen who was all by herself.

The dusted Archie comics.

In the studio where art comes to life. Photos of faces I've yet to remember. Drift in that little yellow box.

When I could do nothing more than babble. Winter has set, leaves must fall.

But never will the leaf be forgotten.

Where I’m From

Kate Graham

I am from Georgia vs. Georgia Tech, From sweet honeysuckles at Little Nancy Creek. I am from the Sullivan's house.

Old, beautiful, ﬁlled with laughter.

I am from the hydrangeas in the front yard.

The pristine orchids

That my mom could never keep alive.

I am from the salt and sand we played in at Morris Island, The sand spurs we stepped on at Capers.

I am from Christmas Eve with my mom ’ s side

And late-night drives.

From singing in the car with Mads And hugs from my mom.

I am from the New Year’s trips with Peyton, And jumping from Pitt Street Bridge with Georgia.

From “Be sweet,” “Kate Kate and Mads,” And “Don’t talk to strangers.”

I am from Sunday School when I was little When I was scared to drink the wine at Communion.

I am from Augusta, Atlanta, and Charleston

From Thanksgiving rolls and Willy’s with Peyton and Caroline, Weekend breakfasts, and celebrating at Obstinate Daughter.

From the Pollyanna games at Bee and Grandaddy’s, That would make me happy as can be or mad at my family.

The dark skies of Scranton where everyone knows everyone.

I am from the wind in my hair on the jet ski, From the scraped knees and elbows from the water mat.

I am from sunburns, day-long boat rides, And camp days that I never want to end.

I am from golf cart rides at the farm

And through the Old Village backroads. From dance recitals and the Family Grill And tennis lessons with Coach Paige at Capitol City Club.

I am from ski school and snowboarding with my dad, From Chickmasters and Pre-K Olympics.

I am from Wifesaver and Cracker Barrel, From Disney World and Baha Mar.

I am from sprained ankles and getting stepped on by horses.

Photo books and memories we share around the table, The family and loved ones inspire me

I am from the memories.

Sketchby Anonymous

“Where I’m From”

Jocelyn Caufmann

I am from dirt roads in the South

From the fresh air of the southern country

I am from the cows in the ﬁelds grazing on the green, dewy grass

I am from the trees in the backyard of my trailer

The rough-barked, green-leafed, cool-shaded trees

In the back and one in the front of my trailer, I look at the stars through the leaves at night.

I’m from listening to old country music in the truck and going to the ﬁre station to meet my dad's friends

From my grandpa Skip who took me to the gas station to get sweet sugary candy and my half-sister Megan who always kept me company

I’m from the playing outside all-day on the itchy grass and playing with my stinky puppies after school

From “I love you ” And “let's go get candy”

I’m from San Antonio and England

Hamburger helper and take-out

From the great-grandfather who was in the army

The father who was a ﬁreﬁghter.

An album and picture frames on the wall and on a shelf

Pictures of when my great-grandfather was in the army

Pictures of my birth and other fun memories with my mom and dad.

New Day, New Beauty by Jaalah Brown

Where I’m From

Aziel Reed

I am from Sweet Tea and sunshine, from bright blue chlorine pools and a backyard with blasting music With fresh red lobsters for Lowcountry Boils

I am from sweet and Magnolia Trees that were ﬁlled with dreams, memories, and laughs

I am from Park Ave hangouts and late nights that last until 3am

I am from Barnwell County and a pound cake-scented house

I am from Millers Breadbasket and broccoli casserole

I am from Minnie Mouse Ears and Peterbrooke’s Chocolate covered popcorn

I’m from birthday parties and Thanksgivings with the Simmonds from the fried dumplin’ and red rice to the sweet sugar cane and mac n ’ cheese.

I am from St. John’s Children’s Choir with

old grandmas catching the Holy Spirit in sassy church hats

I am from the “Who you are” and “Whose you are” along with “Waymakers” and “Miracle Workers”

From Gregory Porter’s albums and soothing jazz to actually seeing him perform and getting to meet him

I am from Sid the Science kid and Fresh Beat Band and late-night costume performances for my parents

I am from 10 hour hair braiding with my mom, having Daddy Daughter dates with my dad, and Movie Night with my brother

In my closet, I have a special blue jersey with “Hampton University” in bright white sequins

I make sure to wear it every Homecoming to properly represent my home by the sea

I am from Z88.3 and Kirk Franklin’s Praise Music that ﬁlled motivating memories, moments, and zeal.

Figure Drawingby Rylee Keevil

Where I’m From

Vera Galván

I am from Whisks, from Goya beans.

I am from the American dream, loving, together, carpet on your feet.

I am from the hydrangeas, dogwood trees, and dirt in your wounds, The leaves, camellias, oaks, grassGreen, skinny, a blade. The pain worth “Walk it oﬀ”.

I’m from the smell of Pfeﬀernüsse on Christmas and resurrection bread on Easter.

From Elias and Lula.

I’m from mangos pronounced all Spanish like by my German Grammy, And dry January because the pool was too cold to swim in.

From hearing “set yourself up for success ” and “Don't wish yourself away. ”

I’m from the road to Damascus, carrying my cross all the way.

I’m from Charleston South Carolina

And Canada but also Germany and Mexico, Putín and Salsa wedged in there somewhere

From the ﬁrst time at camp, Tasting the rain on my tongue, Seeing the smile on my brother's face when I saw him after 7 weeks.

From the shelves full of books.

Books full of photos, Photos full of stories, Stories full of memories, And poems full of repetition.

I am from 2010 until only God knows when.

From the apple that fell not so far from what I can see And from my parents and their parents and the presumed apple tree.

Where I’m From

Annabelle Lee

I am from Pins and needles, from Tide and Aquaphor.

I am from the little yellow house on Bee Balm road (sweet, home, it smelled like cinnamon).

I am from the azalea bush, the great oak tree Whose branches tell stories as old as the Bible.

I’m from shrimp and grits after church on Sundays and Fresh squeezed OJ on Christmas morning. From Uncle Trey and Meme.

I’m from the days of collecting sand dollars at Morris Island and the pizza and movies on Friday nights, from children should be seen but not heard and you dinkidow.

I’m from Matthew 7:24-27 and Psalm 23.

I’m from trips to Tennessee and Rome, Georgia, Fried green tomatoes and cracked potatoes.

From my brother's funniest catch phrase “Bring the cash”. My dad's lamps that he protects with his life.

The clear box under my bed

Telling stories of past birthdays, family members from Long ago.

I am from those memories, Lost but now found, Pictures from a lifetime ago.

Figure Drawingby Eva Kvarnstrand

Where I’m From

Avery Steele

I am from swing sets, from Faber-Castell pencils with graphite that gets all over your hands.

I am from the orange room down the hall, A “haunted house” with smooth plaster walls.

I am from the maple tree With branches that stretched over the roof; I could see every leaf from my bedroom window.

I’m from lattes and Homemade bread.

From Patsy and Kathy.

I’m from sarcastic comments and TV show quotes.

From laughing over a poker game and the second world in the backyard.

I’m from wisdom from the East, temples and the moon.

I’m from the Moravian Star.

I’m from scones and marshmallow fudge. From the time my dad got stung by a full nest of hornets and the trips to New York City on the weekends.

I’m from piles of books And the smell of old newspapers, Each tucked away But always there, Phantoms from the past. They speak to me, Tell me to go for it.

To be bold and be free, To harness the time I have.

Where I’m From

Sydney Cooper

I am from a society of masks, From grace on the out to indiﬀerence on the in.

I am from intellect, and logic,

Worth and deception.

I am from blooming cherry blossoms, Bustling streets, and cold hard cash.

I am from leader boards and scores, Grades, and perfection, exaggeration and manipulation.

I am from D.C.

I am from kindness and welcome, Community and heart.

I am from trust and honesty, Truth and prosperity.

I am from oysters and octopus, And the scent of the salty ocean.

I am from the waves crashing on the sandy beach, Laughter running through the air.

I am from a slow paced city.

I am from Charleston.

I am from love, warmth, Peace, and empathy.

I am from a loving home, With loyal people.

I am from my parents.

HeadphonesSelfPortraitby Giselle Thacker

SketchSelfPortraitby Giselle Thacker

Where I’m From

Maxine Miller

I am from the expensive headphones in my dad’s oﬃce, the music in his ears turned up so loud I could hear it from the next room.

I am from dresses with bows around the waist that I wore to the dance with the cheese cubes on sticks I stuﬀed in my mouth, and the DJ who wouldn’t play the song I wanted. I am from the damp soil next to our plum tree that fell on our Toyota Sienna, and the fairy garden I made in our backyard with the plastic rhinestones.

From the rough sandpaper in my dad’s garage, and the smell of bicycle oil and wood shavings after a bike ride.

I am from the broken ceramic bowl with the giraﬀe on the top that I taped back together, still on my mom ’ s vanity in her bathroom. (She keeps her rings in it.)

From the rubber pencil grip that I used to ﬁdget with in class.

I am from vegetable soup and saltine crackers, and the seafood restaurant with the merry-go-round in the parking lot.

From the song about the college party and the tennis player that I listened to with my dad way past my bedtime.

From the bag of ﬂour I dumped on my head and stained my hair white with, leaving powdery footprints all the way up to the shower. From the movie about the smart girl who lived with her uncle that my parents loved, because they said she looked like me.

I am from the two-dollar bill I earned after my lemonade stand that I set up near the lake with the bike trail, and the man and his son who gave me a hug after I handed them their drink. I am from the wooden bracelet with the elephant that my friend who had a bruise on her left eyebrow from her hockey stick gave to me,

at the restaurant with the koi ﬁsh tank and the deer head on the wall.

In the attic, under the wrapping paper, there is a bottle of bicycle oil, a DVD copy of the movie my family liked, and the two-dollar bill.

In the attic, under the wrapping paper, there lies my childhood.

Where I’m From

Lucy David

I’m from ﬁreworks, the feeling of accomplishment, winning something for once.

I’m from the glares sent across the table, but that’s ﬁne because

“it’s a game about luck, not skill, Tobin”.

I’m from the unstoppable feeling the front seat of a car with music blaring brings.

It’s funny because he knows the songs but I’m singing them.

I’m from spending all day calling myself stupid while doing something big for school

And she was there to help me, she didn’t even know what I was doing internally

I’m from the Paciﬁc Ocean, calling me closer with sand beneath my feet.

And I got it in your eye, but it’s okay. We can make “sand angels”.

From hitting and being hit, you’d be surprised I can take a punch.

And I’m sorry. “You can hit me so we’ll be even ” and you would.

From food too spicy for most people’s tongues, and yet I’m addicted to the stuﬀ.

You tried it, but it hurt you, “WATER” and I grabbed it. You were panting.

From spending New Year’s and July Fourth with them. The yelling over the fact we teamed up for Uno, somehow I ended up with her best friend? He was with his sister.

The room ended up being a “Uno card rainbow” as I helpfully put it.

I’m from the never-ending ache in my chest two years ago.

I had no one, not really williteverend? Then winter came, and the world was as right as it could be. Because I was back by everyone’s side.

From the strong smell of grilling meats when guests were over Does hestilldothat?Imissthat. That gross restaurant everyone around me is so enamored by

“Why do you like it though?”

I’m from the warmth that penetrates my chest when I think of home

Whatis home?

What makes me me? What makes things “Home”?

I’m from realizing there is more to wonder about than why is the sky blue.

From Lucy, Light.

From Reagen, Little King.

From David, Beloved.

Who am I?

Am I a sum of parts? Or something greater? Am I where I’m from? Or is it just a part of me? Would I always be the same person? Or have my memories shaped me?

Where am I from?

I am me

No one can tell me who that is.

My family is what I make it. To me it’s my close friends, and my family in the literal sense

The people I love and the people who ground me, I don’t need anyone else.

That’s who, where, what I’m from.

Gesture Drawingby Gabby Falk

Anonymous 59

ChalkTalkBandCollage by

I was raised by rap

Nyla Jenkins

I was raised by rap, The smooth rhymes combined with a racing beat, An introduction to a world I love, It was that kind of music, Lessons were learned, Words were taught, It was that kind of song.

Some thick hair black kid, With one hairstyle. Buns.

Buns on Monday, BunsonTuesday, BunsonWednesday, MaybetwistonThursday, Thathairstylemademychildhood. Theonlyhairstylemydadcoulddo.

SomenicknameIgotwhenIwaslittle, “Bean”makingaperfectsymphonywithmyname, Myearsbeingthereason, “NylaBean”ismyname.

SomesportIwasforcedtodo.

Asportthatblazedatrial. Asportthatcreatedme. A sport that made me strong. A sport that formed my love for other sports. That is sport soccer.

Some friends,

The family I can never get tired of, A family of many diﬀerent kids, A complex combination of many diﬀerent aspects, All sharing one thing in common, Their loyalty and love for each other.

Some dog, An animal, An animal that taught me things, How to walk with Patches, Teething tips with Patches, How to love someone unconditionally with Patches, That dog was my brother, My hero, And my most loyal friend.

I was raised by legacy.

Raised by love

Lindsey Forte

I was raised by Sunday dinner cooking,

Movie watching,

Shopping on Sundays, Kinda Aunt.

A Hardworking, Single mother, Who says “Anything for you baby”. My loving mother.

Table making, Ice cream eating, Steak cooking, Type of uncle. Outside games, Green army men playin’, Soccer loving,

Kinda cousins.

Tiktok making, Cake baking, Obx watching,

Bestfriends.

I was raised by a big loving family.

Southern cooking, Maybe not blood, Type of family.

Dogby Caroline Rivers

Mi Mundo

Selena Jo Ruiz Luna

“Selena, agarra los liquidos!” (Selena, get the cleaning supplies)! Once I heard those words from my mom, I knew exactly where we were going - a limpiar (to clean). Most of my life had revolved around using cleaning products, rags, and fancy vacuums. Working for my mom ’ s cleaning company has taught me how to clean a toilet and strive for more than cleaning toilets for the rest of my life. I have learned not to be ashamed of cleaning the same homes my friends would spend their summer breaks in or the same classrooms where I would learn and take notes.

The scents of Fabuloso and Clorox Clean-Up are ingrained in my nostrils, from cleaning Kiawah Resort Villas to cleaning my school, Ashley Hall. My summer breaks did not include packing my bag with ditzy bathing suits or winter coats for going skiing. Instead, my bolsa (bag) held torn-up rags, Windex, multi-purpose cleaners, trash bags, and a water bottle.

My school, Ashley Hall, is a private all-girls K-12 school in Charleston, SC, so the energy I put into cleaning multiple three-story buildings was quite a lot. I began cleaning Ashley Hall before I even knew its prestigious name. Every summer since my fourth-grade year, my mom ’ s cleaning business has been employed by Ashley Hall to clean its facilities. Instead of packing my bags for a luxurious summer break in another country, I was going back to school with a broom and rags, ready to leave the classrooms spotless.

With my bucket and bag of cleaning supplies, I took a

deep breath - it was time to clean mi escuela (my school). My task was to pull and replace all the trash bags in the cans. Often, I would race against myself by starting from the top floor, checking every room for trash cans. Moving onto the final two floors, I would sprint through the halls, which felt good because la limpieza (cleaning) would make me sweat within minutes. Getting the slightest gust of wind from sprinting was my version of a luxurious summer vacation. Sometimes, I was too slow for my expectations, and my mom, who called my name, would tell me “apurate” (hurry up) and move on to the next task. The sooner I finished cleaning my school, the sooner I got to go home and scrub off the bleached scent that seemed to become fixed into the stitching of my clothes. And the next morning, everything would repeat. My world intersects between school and work. Time at school is spent either sitting at my desk, taking notes, or cleaning that same desk with a rag on a summer afternoon. Each time I am at school, I enjoy looking down at my uniform to see which one I wear: my school uniform or my work uniform. No matter which one I wear, I walk into my classroom con felicidad (with happiness) because I know that whatever I wear, I wear with gratitude for the things I will learn, regardless of whether I have a book or broom in my hand. Now I stand, taking my supplies with me, taking a deep breath, ready to enter my next classroom. Ready to step into mi mundo (my world).

CupofTea by Giselle Thacker

Personal Memories

Anonymous

I watch as my grandpa's car pulls into the driveway, doughnuts in hand. He walks in the door, gives me a tight hug and winks at me. As I run upstairs to go watch a movie, he calls me downstairs and we talk for a while but never for very long. I watch as my younger cousins open presents on Christmas eve. I sit on my grandma's lap as we watch Elf and play Pollyanna for the third time that day I know she's tired of it, but she still watches it with me anyway. I hear my mom talk about middle school and high school, I tune her out and dream about what it's going to be like when I'm old enough to experience the same things; the same parties, the same football games, the same memories. I begin middle school and all of a sudden I'm busy; when my grandpa comes to visit I don't talk to him for as long and don’t wink at him as much. I start to notice it's harder for me to sit comfortably on my grandma's lap and how when my mom tells stories, I don’t really listen. As I ﬁnish up middle school, I'm told by my parents that this is my time to focus, I'm told by Mr. Fisher to keep my head held high throughout the next few years.

Next thing I know, I start high school. My grandpa barely comes to visit and when he does I'm not usually home. I'm too big to sit with my grandma and I've heard all my mom ’ s stories already. I ﬁnd myself wishing I could go back to when I was small and nothing was as important when I didn't have papers piling up on my desk, when I wasn't being asked what I saw myself doing in 10 years. My parents' friends tell them I'm growing up fast, and

that the next four years will go by in a blur, but I don't believe them.

Now it's August before my Sophomore year and my grandpa gets sick, I go visit him in the ICU. I hug him tightly and wink, just like he used to do when he would greet me back at home. I leave and think to myself that everything will be ﬁne. On that drive home, my mom got a text that he passed. I’m sad, but I try not to think about it because everyone else seems to have moved on. Soon, the sadness starts to feel like it's over before it ever even started. At the funeral, distant family tell me that this is just a part of growing up. I ask myself if that was supposed to make me feel better. I remember winking at him that last time, and I realize how much I miss it.

I’m told the news that my grandma's house has been put on the market. I try not to think about losing the house where all of my favorite childhood memories were made, but it's hard not to. I finally pass my drivers test and now my parents don't drive me around anymore. The freedom feels fun at first, but then I find myself missing singing in the car with my mom on the way to school every day. I start to miss those stories I've heard hundreds of times.

I find myself missing all of those memories, the good and the bad. I remember winking at my grandpa for the last time and I realize how much I miss it. I remember the last time grandma offered to play Pollyanna with me at Christmas and regret not talking her up on the offer. These days I try to spend more time with my mom and listen to her when she tells me about her high school experience because I realize that making memories with the people I love and never taking things for granted is important.

MoonMan and FaceMasks by Dagny Mauro

Sunsetby Tatum Elsner

ALittleSomethingSpecial

Rhetta Rutledge

Alittlesomethingspecial: Thesefriendshipbondsthatwillneverend, Handandhand,theseasonsgoby, Wechange,wechange,yetourchainsonlygrowstronger.

SometimesIfeelyoudon’tknowhowmuchyoumeanto me.

SomaybeI’lltellyounow, Mysummersarespentwithonepairofshoes, ButanydayIwouldsharethemwithyou; I’lltaketheright,youtaketheleft, YouarethepersonIcantellanythingto.

Alittlesomethingspecial,alittlesomethingstrong.

Iwouldlovetogrowoldtogether,knowingwe’llneverdie, Let’slifteachotherupwhenwefeelthatweshouldcry. Youaremyotherhalf,evenwhenweareapart, ButIwantyoutoknowyouhaveaspecialplaceinmyheart.

Alittlesomethingspecial,alittlesomethingstrong,andlittle somethingforever.

I’mscaredtobealone,I’mafraidtomoveawayAndwhenwepasson,Ihopewewillmeetagain…

Iknowwe’llmeetagainsomeday.

HereComestheSun by Jaalah Brown

sometimesiwonder

VajiaKourtidis whatitwouldbelike tolookuptoastarrysky, danceinthegreenfields swiminclearbrooks Tofeeltheearth

ToknowwhatIaminthisworld butweliveinaworld wherelightsblockoutthestars andtheskyispitchblack, whereconcretereplacesgrass andbrooksaremuddiedup andsometimesIwonder whoIaminthisworld wherenothingisleftforus

Treeonthe Beachby Caroline Rivers

Us vs. Them

HelenKourtidis

isn’t it such a relief that We are always right?

not like Them. They are wrong. of course, We are on the right side of history. if We weren’t, We wouldn’t be Us. not like Them. They are wrong. We know what is best both for Us and for Them. not like Them. They don’t know. thank goodness We are always right.

if We weren’t, something would be horribly wrong.

no, We are not biased. how could We be biased? They are the biased ones. They cannot understand. Our bright light of objective wisdom We need to show Them even by force. better They are dead than not like Us. yet sometimes I wonder what if They believe the same? what if We are the hated Them in Their minds?

Flowers by Veda Patel

FlowersbyZyJenkins

Lotus Flower byCarysSills

Flowers by Penny Galvan

Flowers by Rylee Keevil

BurningLeaves

by Jaalah Brown

BotanicalColorby Natalie Bennett

Flowers by Izzy Scolnick

BrightMoonlightby Jaalah Brown

Flowers by Liza Hood

Flowers by Eva Kvarnstrand

Cornucopia by Giselle Thacker

Dumpling byTatumElsner

The Fight to Remove Our Confederate Soldiers Monument

Dagny Mauro

It's a common experience not to understand the pain someone else goes through. Some choose to ignore their pain, some try to put themselves in their shoes, and some do their best to help them. It could be said that the Our Confederate Soldiers monument should not be taken down because it does not harm a society that knows better than to believe in the Lost Cause. But because the statue was erected by the United Daughters of the Confederacy and was dedicated to all the soldiers who fought in the war and for the Confederate cause, there are indeed people who continue to fight for the Lost Cause and white supremacy. Moreover, tolerating pain others experience simply because some aren't affected in the same way is ethically wrong. In June 2020 Lancaster South Carolina started a petition to remove the Our Confederate Soldiers monument. Since a majority of the protesters were and are black, they have an ancestral connection to the Lost Cause and have been affected by its consequences firsthand. The United Daughters of the Confederacy were a group of Southern women whose goal was to restore the Old South to America in the early 1900s, calling their movement the Lost Cause. One of the main ways they achieved this goal was to erect statues of Confederate soldiers all across the country and they are responsible for many of the Confederate statues that still exist today, including Our Confederate

Soldiers. Even though their cause was more than one hundred years ago their effects have still been significant in modern society. Not to mention white supremacists still exist today. In 2020 (during the protests to remove the Our Confederate Soldiers monument) there were 838 “hate and anti-government groups across the U.S.”. Only two years later there were 1,225 “hate groups” ("White Nationalist Southern"). The meaning of the statue goes beyond the stone man standing heroically on its peak. The Confederacy and the Lost Cause’s fight for white supremacy has segregated the modern world. Confederates left such a prominent mark on history that their influence is engraved into every mind. As a member of the youngest generation, I find it impossible to ignore that there are differences in skin color, and I and others struggle with the reminder of that difference. As a society people unintentionally change the way they approach one another, fighting to forget that segregation. But removing the statue would bring the town of Lancaster one step closer to an equal society. The South is forced to live with the Confederacy, casting a dark shadow over the South; we live with the consequences of our history until we choose to remove them. While the South is built with constant reminders of the Confederacy, and it is understandable that many relics remain, moving the Our Confederate Soldiers monument to a museum that appropriately represents it is a corrective act to educate the public to prevent ignorance.

The eﬀects of Confederate history in the South show itself everywhere because there are endless numbers of streets, parks, restaurants, and towns named after Confederate “heroes”. Just walking down King Street, Chalmers Street, Church Street, East Bay Street, and others in Charleston, you are walking on the streets where the

Confederacy was established. For example, Market Hall holds Confederate artifacts, Charleston’s famous Hampton Park was named after Confederate General Wade Hampton, and on James Island alone, there are nine streets named after Confederates. This evidence proves that it is unrealistic to try to remove all the Confederate reminders because there is an endless amount of them. More importantly, most of these reminders have lost their significance due to the fact that a street or park will form a different meaning to others the longer it is utilized, and the more it begins to mean something different to every individual, the more it creates its own personality which changes what people associate its name with. A statue can never have this effect because it only serves one purpose: to honor. Consequently, because the Our Confederate Soldiers monument represents the town, and since the statue honors the Lost Cause it also makes the town a supporter of the Confederacy. Thus, the removal of Our Confederate Soldiers memorial should be a bigger priority before renaming locations due to the fact until it is removed, it continues to honor white supremacism and racism.

While the Our Confederate Soldiers monument’s purpose is to honor the Lost Cause and fallen Confederates, it should be removed, because frankly, Confederates did nothing honorable to deserve a statue. The Confederates seceded from the United States in the ﬁght to keep slavery. This caused the Civil War where 800,000 men fought for slavery and nearly 260,000 died for it ("Why Confederates Fought"). Clearly enslaving an entire race of people and abusing them, raping them, making them work for no pay, and forcing them to support that treatment was horriﬁc and wrong. Not only did African Americans endure this but they also had to support it by helping the Confederates in

war, being forced to ﬁght, build forts, and work “at ordnance factories and arsenals, mine potassium nitrate to create gunpowder, labor on fortiﬁcations” ("Why Confederates Fought") and more, all done in dangerous conditions. This evidence proves that Confederates don’t deserve a statue to respect or thank them because of their horrible mistreatment of African Americans for decades. Consequently, if society allows this reminder of the Lost Cause to remain, it means that we allow the message of the Confederacy and white supremacy to stay eternal in a society that should know better. It should be understood that the Confederate cause is wrong and that we should take down the statue because it no longer serves an honorable purpose in our society. Furthermore, not removing the Our Confederate Soldiers monument badly represents the South and those in it.

Even with all the Confederate history that lives on so prominently in the South today, Lancaster County Courthouse Museum chooses not to address the Lost Cause or the Confederacy and does not correctly educate visitors on the monument’s Confederate background. If the monument does not represent the Museum it must be moved to a place that correctly educates people on its history. When one visits the Lancaster County Courthouse, they receive a tour of Lancaster’s history, but throughout all that's on the Museum's website, nothing addresses the Confederacy’s presence in the town. Even though Our Confederate Soldiers Monument stands in front of the Courthouse. There is not a sign or other acknowledgment to provide it context. When exploring the Museum’s website, you can find a link labeled “Our History”. In this link all it talks about is where Lancaster is located, what its flag is and why, and five historic landmarks in Lancaster,

including Buford’s Massacre Site, a memorial for those who died in the Revolutionary War; Kilburnie, the oldest standing Lancaster residence built in 1820; an 1862 Old Presbyterian Church and Cemetery; the Courthouse itself; and the Old Lancaster County Jail ("Lancaster County, SC"). All of the things listed were from the 1700s to the late 1800s, and none of them involved the Civil War. This evidence conﬁrms that the Lancaster County Courthouse should not be the location of the Our Confederate Soldiers Monument because the museum does not educate anyone on the statue’s meaning. Consequently, if the statute isn’t provided with the appropriate information about it, this allows others to live in ignorance of white supremacy. Due to the lack of an informative sign by the monument, visitors do not know the statue’s dark meaning unless they read the tribute to the Confederate Cause on its East side: “Worthy, the Confederate soldier to be hallowed and held in tender remembrance…defending the honor of the South, the rights of the States, the liberties of the people, the sentiments of the South, the principles of the Union, as they were handed down to them by the fathers of our common country. Our Confederate Soldiers” (Our Confederate Soldiers). Until then, a Confederate Statue remains to represent a town and its people. Furthermore, the monument is placed outside the museum, not inside, making a clear distinction between what represents the museum and what is featured in the museum. Due to this fact, the monument should be either moved inside the current museum and provided with the correct information to educate visitors or it should be moved to a museum that already educates the public on the Confederacy and the Lost Cause’s place in history. The lack of Confederate references on the website is evidence that the people who created the website and those who work at

the museum know that the Confederacy is not something to be honored and that it is not a positive attribute to associate with the town.

Most importantly the removal of the Our Confederate Soldiers statue shouldn’t be up to me because I, a young white citizen, am not in a position where I should choose to tolerate the eﬀect it has on others. Demands from Lancaster’s citizens to remove the statue have been ignored by those who have no understanding of the experience or relationship Black citizens have with the statue. In 2020, roughly 8,400 people were living in Lancaster, of which half were African American, and on an online petition started in June of 2020, there were 5,917 signatures. The town is still waiting for the response of eight State and National Legislators. Petitioner B’Ni Gua commented that the statue represents the “hate and the blood/sweat/tears my ancestors endured during slavery times…it’s a constant reminder of a painful history” (“Remove the Confederate”). Another comment from Loree Montgomery expresses: “This is my hometown and this town is a breeding ground for racism and white privilege. It’s time it ends and our black community is heard!!!!!” and Nikloe Watson simply commented: “My ancestors” ("Petition Remove The”). As a young white citizen, I am not among this group who has this shared ancestral experience, so I can never relate to the words of B’Ni Gua, Nikole Watson, Loree Montgomery, and other African American petitioners; however, I am also not in a position to tolerate the pain they experience so if the statue negatively impacts people then it should be up to me to support those who are. This evidence supports that if an individual is not negatively aﬀected by the Our Confederate Soldiers monument it shouldn’t be up to them to decide if the statue should be removed because they can not

understand the shared experience and the eﬀect it has on others.

Being cognizant of history and the various ways people are affected is essential to building a healthy community. In Lancaster, to achieve a respectful community means removing the Our Confederate Soldiers statue. Not addressing the statue’s relationship to the Lost Cause means preventing members of Lancaster from feeling welcome in their town. Not providing context to the statue is an excuse to not address the negative effects the monument harbors. This goes for other Confederate monuments still standing out of dismissal. Often when others are ignored for so long the acquiescence provokes fear in those with power. The unaffected become scared of the change, and as a result, they choose not to remove them because the work that is required is too demanding. Furthermore, not providing context to the statue’s dark history permits those responsible for the monument’s presence to be blameless for its significance. As a result, those who are hurt by the statute’s existence are overshadowed by others who may or may not be aware of its significance. Only when the statue is removed or relocated will the relationship between Lancaster citizens be rebuilt with better understanding and respect for one another.

GoatHouse by Jaalah Brown

Leaving Home

Lucy David

When I was 11 I was ripped from my home. It was a consented push and pull and I couldn’t escape and the world felt too bright. And everyone was too happy and too mean.

And outside, it was too hot and I was suffocated and everyone pretended it was fine when I Wasn’tfine. But it’s

not like anyone asked if I was okay. Not one person said “Do you wanna be my friend” or “You look sad” and I was hurting but no one cared.

And I got stuck halfway through another world and I was burning a hole in both realities.

I felt indescribable pain. I knew we had to move, and that this was best for me. But it always felt wrong. The best thing for me was to stay.

But the humidity made it so I couldn’t breathe and my tears fell ﬂat in the wet air. I was drowning and was wet and coldbut hot and Alone.

Then little sparks of hope started ﬂaring everywhere I went. Someone liked talking to me, I wasn’t so alone.

And I started to feel little sparks of happiness. All of a sudden I realized how dull everything had become. I started seeing reds and yellows again. Really seeing them.

But the sun looked too bright and there were too many colors. And it drove me insane.

And the world was still too happy. How could everyone be happy when I was miserable?

And that joy made me mad because I was so done with everyone even though they didn’t all hate me.

Then slowly, like a dimmed light, happiness returned.

I didn’t realize it at ﬁrst, but then all of a sudden I looked back and realized that colors weren’t too bright. Joy wasn’t too loud.

I looked back and saw how far I had come.

And it made me more attuned to my emotions. I can cry, I can laugh, I can yell, if I need to.

And I can push that all aside and pretend I’m fine because I’m fine. I’m fine.

And being able to feel that much, it’s made me stronger, and it’s made my imagination grow. And it deepened my understanding of humanity.

And when your imagination grows, when you understand humanity, that’s when you can go out and do something amazing.

BalletSlipperby Giselle Thacker

Waiting

Helen Kourtidis

It has occurred to me

From a young age

That everyone Is constantly

Restlessly

Waiting For summer

For the break

For the weekend

For the ride home

For the end of class

And in waiting we pass the day

Miserably

Wondering why we are not in some other place

That we never appreciate when we arrive in As we continue to wait

What if the misery is not caused by an external force

A lesson

A toxic friendship

A boring day

But by ourselves

As we ignore the benign And wallow in our wretchedness

Waiting

RavenelBridge by Caroline Rivers

Cerebus | Spring 2024 Issue

CERBERUS

Cerberus

The Literary Magazine of Ashley Hall

CERBERUSSTAFF

HELEN ’26: Junior Editor-in-Chief

TESSA ’28: Fiction Editor

SAVVY ’26: Poetry Editor

ELLA ’26: Poetry Editor

GISELLE ’26: Art Curator

ELIZABETH ’27: Staﬀ Writer

LUCY ’28: Staﬀ Writer

Journey Theme

TABLEOFCONTENTS

Around Campus Spring Play: King Lear

Spring Sports

Track

PQV!

Lacrosse

Soccer

Spring Dances

Prom

Banquet

Trips

Disney

Oﬀshore Leadership Program (OLP)

Bonding Trips

Amalthea

Endashian Between Fantasy and Reality

Eurydice or Merida?

Identity

Where I’m From

“Where I’m From”

Hamburger helper and take-out

Where I’m From

Where I’m From

Where I’m From

Where I’m From

Where I’m From

Where I’m From

Where I’m From

I was raised by rap

Raised by love

Mi Mundo

Personal Memories

ALittleSomethingSpecial

Us vs. Them

HelenKourtidis

BurningLeaves

The Fight to Remove Our Confederate Soldiers Monument

Leaving Home

Waiting