Breakwall - Issue 5

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BREAKWALL LITERARY JOURNAL VOLUME 5 • SPRING 2014

CUYAHOGA COMMUNITY COLLEGE

BREAKWALL

Literary Journal Volume 5 Spring 2014

DESIGN EDITOR SELECTION COMMITTEE

Steve Thomas Mary Breiner Lauren Mangan Alice Merkel Marvin Perry

FACULTY ADVISORS

Jack Hagan, Creative Arts—Journalism Brian P. Hall, Liberal Arts—English Daniel Levin, Creative Arts—Photography Lindsay Milam, Liberal Arts—English Jennifer Skop, Liberal Arts—English

Breakwall would like to extend a special thank you to the Cuyahoga Valley Career Center, Bill Delgado, and the senior Graphic Imaging class for making the printing of this publication possible.

The Breakwall staff would like to thank the staff, faculty, and administration of Cuyahoga Community College, specifically Dr. Belinda Miles and Dr. Michael Schoop, for their support.

Breakwall assumes all responsibility for the content of this magazine.

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The fourth volume of Breakwall won a 4th place Best in Show Award, a national contest from the Associated College Press, at the National Media Convention held in New Orleans in October 2013. The Breakwall staff is incredibly proud of our students’ achievement and would like to thank the Associated College Press for this honor.

WHY BREAKWALL? Breakwall is a title that will call up personal images and memories for the many people familiar with a Lake Erie breakwall. Metaphorically and symbolically, this title also connotes a need for people to break down the barriers, or walls, of separation, ignorance, fear, and so on. Breakwalls are strong objects that are meant to withstand storms and the furies of nature, and they help keep the calm and rough waters separated; in fact, they help create the calm water on the shore, provide safe harbor for boats, and breakwall lighthouses were once beacons of light providing safe passage for ships. In a community as diverse as Cleveland and its surrounding areas, these metaphors and symbolic images certainly apply.

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CONTENTS POETRY The Quiet Song of Earth Natalie Gasper . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 BEAUTY Faheem Khabeer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Hellfire Faheem Khabeer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 An Unexpected Gift Faheem Khabeer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Child Fannie Smith-McArthur . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17

PROSE Strange Reactions Bridget Kilbane . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 My Experience with God Adela Redding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 The Price of Desire Adela Redding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 Second Date Linda Zajac . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46

METROPOLITAN CAMPUS FRESHMAN ESSAY CONTEST WINNERS Airport Full Body Scanners: Good Idea?

Mel Drake . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 Seeing Through the Looking Glass Charles Esau . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 His Work Was Done James Jones . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 Fork in the Road Joshua McCarty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 Literary Analysis of “My Dearest Joel Mills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 Contributor Biographies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 4

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PHOTOGRAPHY

By Ahmed Alrajeh, Joseph Banker, Ashley Farmer, Brittany Gifford, Jessica Halberg, Chris Harman, Roadell Hickman, Robert Kovatich, Samantha Kukowski, Sarah Lehmann, Brittany Reid, Taylor Schmidt, Brian Swaney, Nile Vincz.

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POETRY

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The Quiet Song of Earth Natalie Gasper

A flower is a simple thing With its roots and stems, and petals and leaves.

A beautiful sight for all to behold But how many can truly see?

This gentle flower may be hiding great secrets, Those delicate petals are there to share with all a story.

Or perhaps they simply desire to make us laugh Best lean in close to hear their soft-whispered words.

Just think of all the flowers that lay at peace within the forest, Surely none has time to hear them all.

Instead, one might listen to the trees.

Far greater are they in number; their stories longer They have more to share.

Flowers share only simple beauty, whereas trees share a lifetime.

The life of a flower is but a blink of time in the eyes of a tree, To imagine the change they have seen!

Centuries back their wide reach spans, Remembering a time when nature was harmonious with man; Wanting for those days to come once more.

These trees share desire, but also know grief For the loss of their brothers, Joy at the start of each sun kissed day.

To those who listen with an open mind they bring comfort, As sitting in a tree; to feel its strong, sturdy boughs that have survived violent storms, Ever graceful as they dance in the wind, Is to know the true meaning of comfort.

Understanding this, one can share in the knowledge of the trees That standing alone does not a lonely heart make, and that While all may exist separately our roots forever connect.

Smiling at this newfound understanding, This man sitting in the tree turns Able to see the forest in a new light.

As he looks, he spies an old man in the distance

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Resting upon a cliff, deep in meditation.

Smugly the man thinks his knowledge greater For what could a rock teach?

But this old man is wise.

He spent his life listening to the stories of the flowers and the trees, Feeling in his heart as though something was askew.

Thinking that in viewing the forest as a whole he would find his answer He climbed a cliff, and closed his eyes, And heard the wind.

The wind has the most difficult job, Carrying the songs of all to make a sonorous melody.

He whispers gently through the forest, quietly passing through the flowers, Bringing their sweet stories to life.

He rustles the leaves of the trees as they dance playfully in his silken grasp.

If one listens closely the wind carries a intricate song That sends shivers down humanity's spine.

For in this melody the wind holds the truth, Showing the eternal beauty in nature.

As the old man resting upon the cliff Listens intently to the story within the wind, He hears the flowers and the trees; The harmony of the gurgling streams and babbling brooks And feels the power of the mountains behind him.

Those ancient giants who move for none and have lived through all, Said to be home to Father Time, Because the passage of time means little to them As they stand guard for all eternity.

Mountains create the most breath-taking sights; Purple hued in the winter and capped with gleaming snow.

When the moon leaves the starry night sky, The mountains will dance with the rising sun, Throwing shadows and bright rays of color as far as the eye can see.

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The wind is the child of these powerful guardians, Forever whistling around their feet; Helping eagles to soar through majestic skies.

One eagle comes to rest upon the cliff To share nature's secrets With the old man Father Time.

Releasing a cry, his mighty wings outspread, The great sun bursts forth As all the forest begins to wake.

The meadowlark begins to chirp in time With the echoes of deer bounding through the trees, Floating as if carried by the whispers upon the wind.

This is real and true.

Nothing exists in the world that can best The unending symphony of nature's beauty, Of the earth's pure spirit.

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BEAUTY Faheem Khabeer

Beauty is found In untouched snow In a wide open field Where wild roses grow.

It’s in the bowing of The weeping willow When the Four Winds begin to blow.

Beauty is found In a light rainstorm In the wide open eyes Of momma’s first born.

It’s in the rising of the sun In the early morn It’s the settling of dew Right before dawn.

Beauty is found In each waterfall It’s a fresh water steam When you had no water at all.

It’s in nature’s fruit That tastes so sweet It’s in the Hereafter When your Lord you meet.

Beauty is found In you and me It’s in my prayer Where I find serenity.

Beauty’s sound Is the call of the night It’s the phenomena known As the Northern Lights.

It’s the Great Mount Everest With its towering height And the soaring of a hawk In mid flight

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Beauty’s scent could be Any flower you pick Easter lilies, honeysuckles Carnations or tulips.

Or it can be found In a Baby’s breath.

After a long day at work It’s found in rest Beauty is found In the eyes that behold One man’s tin Is another man’s gold One man’s sin Is another man’s mold There’s something beautiful In everything one may see Even the word alone Beauty

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Hellfire Faheem Khabeer

Hellfire Have you seen my life?

Traveled the path of lies From when the sunrise Until the sun dies Watched the demise Of those once prized When the veins rise And the soul dies Hellfire The flames touch my toes The heat warms my bones I guess that’s why the demon Stays behind my eyes So he can see My Life The pain of fear The fear of pain The loss of these tears From the red blood stains Ghetto raised Death held my hand Poverty my companion Anger my best friend Love Love spit at me And slit my wrist That’s when hatred clenched My fist And I beat myself Half to death Until the Angel’s tears fell And I resurrected myself

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An Unexpected Gift Faheem Khabeer

Have you ever Raised your eyes to see A woman Standing before you That let you keep Your breath Only to steal away your soul Dangled a heeled toe Close to you Making you long for her touch Has a woman ever teased you With harmonious verbs Licked your ear with words That don’t belong to her Instead She speaks your innermost desires Using your heart as a canvas To display your dreams Kissed your third eye with passion Bringing to life Wished dreams Have you ever Never wished To ever say good-bye Instead spend mornings Wiping the sleep from the eye Of a woman A true woman That makes ladies sing the blues Because she’s mastered the tools That they refuse To use Have you ever Been in the presence of a queen A ruler of men’s hearts A mother to all things

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Understood that her love Is the home to heart beats The very survival Of those that she kiss And realized That what you now miss Is something You never had before And you’re peeking in The window With no key To a locked door Her lips whisper Another man’s song And no matter Even if you feel it’s wrong To see a grounded eagle That was meant to soar Find sadness in the reality That a lioness caged Cannot truly roar It is in true care That you take due care Not to misstep And disrespect A bond that she shares But If there’s a time When she stands alone I will welcome her into My heart My soul My home Without You You think if you leave I would forget

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But b4 that could happen Water would no longer would be wet Fire would lose its heat And the sun would no longer set You tell me think life If we never met When that thought Is like death Constricting my chest Choking my heart Stealing my breath I tell you You are my everything My all That surprisingly warm day In the middle of Fall A summer breeze When there was none at all In the middle of a desert A freshwater fall I found paradise Gazing in your eyes Wrapped between your thighs In the meeting of minds In each and every sign That brought me to love you

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Child

Fannie Smith-McArthur What I thought about being young was A child like all the innocence being Wrapped in one big ball while A lullabye swing sings cuteness

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PHOTOGRAPHY

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Brian Swaney

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Ashley Farmer

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Brittany Reid

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Jessica Halberg

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Roadell Hickman

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Joseph Banker

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Jessica Halberg

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Chris Harman

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Brittany Gifford

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Samantha Kukowski

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Sarah Lehmann

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Robert Kovatich

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Ahmed Alrajeh

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Nile Vincz

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PROSE

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Strange Reactions Bridget Kilbane

“Gramma?” asked the little girl standing in front of the elderly woman’s feet. Her strawberry blond hair reaching to her knees. “Yes dear?” the woman responded.

“How did you meet grandpa?” the little girls head tilted up to see into her grandma’s eyes. “Well. It is a long story?”

“Please Gramma?” The little girl’s eyes turning sad, waiting for her grandmother to take the bait. “Very well, come on the couch with me, dear.

The sun was strong and hot that afternoon. A heat scorched most of the school grounds of Gilman-Fitch Academy. One could tell by the paper fans most of the class had in their hands, even in the air conditioned class room. Pit stains grew on the teachers’ dress shirts as they continued to lecture in the day’s heat. Heads were on desks, either in pure heat exhaustion, or in mere boredom. While others were paying attention to every word. That is how one found Olivia Watson, sitting at a desk listening to every word that came out of Mr. Goldman’s mouth.

“See class. If we take the square root of a number, it should either come out as a single number or as a radical. So the square root of twenty-five is five, and thirty six is six, and so on for any perfect squares.” The teacher rambled about the square root of numbers, as Olivia diligently wrote every word in her notebook. “Mr. Donovan would you care to tell me what the square root of one hundred and forty four is?” He called out to the sleeping young man in the back of the class room. Olivia snapped her head back when the number twelve came out of the sleeping boy’s mouth. A puzzled look came about her face. Franco Donovan didn’t talk. He could have, of course. It was out of character for Franco to answer a question. On a normal occasion he wouldn’t respond, leading to detention for sleeping, which is what math consisted for Franco.

“That’s right, Mr. Donovan,” the teacher responded, just as surprised as I. He then moved to the other side of the chalk board, explaining the process of what to do if the number under the radical is not a perfect square. Near the end of class even Olivia was getting too dehydrated and sweaty to care about math anymore. The last fifteen minutes of the class, the teacher stated that night’s math homework. When the class had begun working, the teacher called out to her.

“Miss. Watson, would you please stay after class?” She nodded at Mr. Goldman going back to finishing some of the problems on the worksheet.

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The class ended not soon, and the rest of the students scurried from the class room as Olivia moved toward the teacher’s desk.

“Miss Watson, you are one of my best students.” The teacher praised, smiling at the girl. “Thank you,” she replied. “I am sorry that I will have to ask you this, since you are taking on such a large work load this year. But, I have to ask you to agree to be a tutor, not just for my class, but also Mrs. Taylor’s, and Mr. De Noir’s. You are the top in all three classes, and it will get you extra credit.” He tried to sound convincing.

“Who will I be tutoring?” Olivia asked.

“Well,” he started pulling his hand through gray hair. “Mr. Donovan.” He waited for an answer from her.

“Oh.” she stated with surprise. “But sir...” she trailed off trying to think of an excuse on why she couldn’t tutor him. See, Franco was not a friend her. To say otherwise would be an understatement. He was a slacker, and had no regards for others’ feelings. He was one of the school delinquents, and he was also the school’s soccer team’s varsity captain. Sports and slacking wasn’t qualities she looked for in others.

“It does offer twenty points of extra credit per class, and can be used on college applications.” He stated hopping to pressure her into taking on the job.

“Fine. As long as my grades do not suffer.” she sighed. The teacher smiled, “Alright, you start Saturday at noon. I will make sure Mr. Donovan is informed.”

Saturday morning came faster than Olivia was hoping for. She had an idea that she had her work cut out for her today, if he even showed. She got ready for the walk to the library, which sat across the campus. Olivia shoved three books and notebooks into her messenger bag, and after making sure in the mirror that her straight strawberry blond hair was up in a perfect pony tail, she left.

When she reached the library, the boy sat with his back to the wall with his brown eyes closed. She had the idea he wasn’t sleeping.

“You know, sleeping during tutoring will not help you catch up on the things that you missed because you slept through the lesson.” She stated, disappointed that he wasn’t taking this seriously. Didn’t he realize that he was lucky to even go here?

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She had worked so hard just to sit here in this library. He acted as if he did not have to do anything, that he didn’t have to work for it. He peaked one eye open as she sat down. The one eye giving her a once over.

“Paying more attention to your studies and less attention to girls, should be our first course of action.” Olivia bit out in irritation.

“Well, I hope you know that is not going to happen, before you even begin this charade to care what I get in my classes.” He sighed, turning his body toward her.

“I really don’t need the stress. With you shoving lectures down my throat on how the square root of thirty six is six, or that work problems are easier. Before you even begin on deciding that I have to have extra work to do. And I start to understand your petty need for teacher’s attention. I am going to leave.” He got up and grabbed his stuff off the desk, leaving her before she could even respond to him.

It was a month later, and every Saturday she went to the library and sat at that table. Olivia hoped that maybe one of these days he might show up, or even approach her for help. The girl went to Mr. Goldman about her problem, and he told her that he would sort it out. She realized that meant even if the threat of detention or even worse suspension from the soccer team was given. She still waited, and as soon as twelve thirty hit she was on her way out of the library doors and tell Mr. Goldman that he would have to find someone else. She did want the experience and the ability to use this for her college applications. So, she didn’t open her mouth.

Since leaving the library she decided that she should head to the cafeteria for lunch.

It was still ungodly hot out, so most of the student body were in tank tops and shorts lounging around the grounds. She walked into the cafeteria and grabbed lunch, saying hello to others. There were cafe tables staged around the campus, and Olivia thought this would be a better place to study her own material. Her flip-flops flopped on her way over to the small table with her lunch tray in her hands. As she sat, she pulled out her laptop, which had another English essay on it, and began typing away.

Little did she realize a certain boy strolled around the corner, just getting out of the Dean’s office. The campus was all spread out in little buildings. She heard him grumbling before she saw him. Her eyes looked up; Olivia never really looked at him. She never gave him the time of day. She was caught up in her own life. He wasn’t wearing his black hoodie this time, but his brown hair was still as shaggy as always. He wore athletic shorts that had the number eighteen written on the bottom, which she surmised to be his soccer number. Since they were the school’s maroon and white, and a solid black t-shirt that showed off more muscle than she was used to. When he looked up and saw her sitting there, he got more angry and

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irritated than he already was. She saw him turn his eyes to her direction and went back to working on her essay. She didn’t even gaze up when he sat down across from her, seated with his bottom on the edge of the chair.

It had to be two minutes before he started to speak. “I’m sorry.” he started. “I’ve kind of been an ass.” He let out with a sigh as if apologizing wasn’t something he had done.

“Have you? I haven’t noticed.” she bit out, raising her eyes to meet his. “But, then again when have you not been.”

“I guess I deserve that,” he sighed. “But I really do need your help,” he said looking eagerly up at her.

“Hmm, asking help from the, how did you put it to Bash the other day? “That stuck up, teacher’s pet, who never gets her face out of a book,” she grumbled at him, her eyes glaring back down at her computer screen. His face turned from pink to a pale white.

“You heard me say that. Olivia I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“Wow. This must be a record for you, apologizing to someone twice in your whole life. You know? I need to finish this,” She calmly stated never looking up at him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was just pissed that I had to be tutored. I have never had to be tutored, before today,” he stated, as he got up to walk away.

She now had something to think about.

“Well, that is a start. Actually caring about someone other than yourself,” she said as he walked away. She shook her head. “The nerve of that boy,” she thought.

A week passed before she began to notice that he wasn’t coming to class anymore. A week and a half before she realized he wasn’t seen on campus. Two weeks was when she wanted answers. Her cousin told her that Franco still attended soccer practice, just not attended classes. She went to look for him that morning.

It was a hot and sticky, just as it had been the last couple months. The tank top she wore already stuck to her body, no longer protecting her from the early morning heat. Her demeanor was calm much to her own surprise. She was a very logical person, and she seemed to be illogically looking for a boy she only talked to twice.

The logical thing was to not care. The logical thing was to turn around, but then she saw him. His face lost of color, and a man standing in front of him. The man lectured, and Olivia knew he was not the soccer coach, that he must be a parent. The rest of the players were completing drills on the field, and the boy that changed her calm demeanor stood in the stands. She exhibited a flight or fight response. Fight gathered her emotions and she took another step. It was just enough of a step to

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get out of the way of the angry man heading her way. She walked over to Franco, and on the bleacher, next to him. He wasn’t oblivious to her presence, but he didn’t acknowledge it for some time. When he did, she knew didn’t feel comfortable.

“What! You coming to yell at me now too?” he stated with force, not taking his eyes away from the field.

“I wasn’t planning on it. What made you think I would?” Olivia stated, turning to look at him. She wanted to search his face for a look of surprise, and she got just what she was looking for.

“I don’t know. Maybe the fact that David tipped me off that you would be coming to find me,” he said calmly, turning his eyes in her direction.

“Well, I am not here to lecture or yell at you. It seemed you already had enough of that for the day,” she stated calmly.

“You saw that?” His face turned red.

“I did. It is none of my business, but I am concerned why you haven’t been to class all week. Also, why you aren’t out there?” she asked pointing at the field below, with her a tilt of her head.

“I kind of got kicked off the team,” he mumbled hoping she didn’t hear him.

“Is that why you haven’t been coming to class?” Olivia asked him concerned.

“Well yeah, the only reason I attend Gilman-Fitch is because of a soccer scholarship. Now, I am wonder what the point is. The scholarship is as good as gone,” he sighed and leaned toward her for advice.

“What will it take to get you back on the team?” she asked intrigued, and wanting to help.

“Coach said that I have to contribute to every practice, and get my grades up.

I already know you don’t want to help me with the latter,” he said with a hurt look about his face.

“I told you I wouldn’t help because you were being a jerk. Now, you are not being a jerk, and you gave me a reason why I should help you.” Olivia told him sincerely.

“And what reason is that?” he asked.

“I am the only one who can,” she stated.

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Instead of meeting once a week for tutoring Olivia had him come to the library every evening after classes until she believed him to master the topics at hand.

“This essay is better than the others you have written. Just fix these sections I circled and you should at least pass the assignment.” She smiled at him. “As for math, you got an eighty seven on the practice test I gave you, and Biology you missed three questions this time.” she smiled again.

“Are you serious? You mean I learned this stuff.” The surprise on his face was evidence enough that he didn’t believe he was capable of mastering any of the topics he slept through or skipped this year.

“Yeah, you are doing well. I think tomorrow’s quarterly exams should go as planned,” Olivia advised, clearing her books off the table and into her bag.

It had been a week since quarterly exams, and the whole school was anxious for results. The hot days felt as if they never end. Most of the student body was standing in front of the Dean’s office building, waiting for the posting of their results.

A stampede hit the ground when the students saw Mr. Goldman walked outside the front doors with a sealed manila envelope and a roll of tape. Olivia stood in a group of her friends when Franco came running through the crowd. She noticed his smiling face before he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “I passed! I passed all three!” he exclaimed stepping back from Olivia.

“Really!” she exclaimed back just as surprised as he expressed. It was in that moment that she began to realize that she began to care for him. That she did care for him. What happened next she never anticipated on happening. He leaned into to kiss her, and kiss her he did.

“Ew, Gramma.” The little girl cringed at the thought of kissing a boy. “One day little one, you will realize that this story is not gross, and you’ll have a boy that will kiss you. Then, I will promise you it won’t be gross.” The grandmother smiled, laughing at the little girl’s expression. We all have to grow up at some point she thought, with a realization that that kiss with her Franco, was her moment of growth. Olivia grew as a person that day, and several years after the two became one.

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My Experience with God Adela Redding I do not know if anyone else has had an experience like this but it happened to me when I was only five years old. I was a tomboy, running on the roofs, jumping from trees, and doing everything that the boys normally do. I had a hard time behaving according to my gender. Acting like a girl was never for me, I wanted to be free!

One day, while I was playing cops & robbers, I found myself in a dangerous situation. I was crossing a roof in a construction area but the shingles were not yet fixed in place, so I slide off and fell all the way to the ground. Unfortunately, a very large nail was lodged between the wall boards and I was left hanging from the nail where I was found. I now have a huge scar on my back. Miraculously, I survived, but I can not remember anything after my fall.

All I remember is being in a vast meadow and I knew I was a little older than my actual age. I was so happy. I wanted to run, to breathe, and to laugh. I felt love; love in a way I had never felt before. Everything caressed me and I was happy. Suddenly, I remembered that I ought to go home. I found my way home, a charming man was there. He welcomed me. At that moment a voice called from somewhere. It was a distressing call that scared me just to listen to it. That voice begged for the return of someone but I didn’t understand anything else. I had a conversation with the charming man whom I assumed was my father.

He asked me: . . .What happened?

I: . . . . . . . . . . .That voice, could you hear?

He: . . . . . . . . . What happened with the voice?

I: . . . . . . . . . . .It scared me!!

He: . . . . . . . . . Why? I: . . . . . . . . . . .I don’t know? It is calling for someone with such despair.

He: . . . . . . . . . But, tell me. Why do you feel such despair?

I: . . . . . . . . . . .I don’t know, for some reason, it hurts me.

He: . . . . . . . . . Try to remember.

I: . . . . . . . . . . .Remember what?

He: . . . . . . . . . You always forget. You have got to be aware.

I: . . . . . . . . . . .Aware of what?

He: . . . . . . . . . Listen. Pay close attention.

Another: . . . . . . Claudia, please. Don’t leave me, come back!!!

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I: . . . . . . . . . . .Who is Claudia, papa?

He: . . . . . . . . . You don’t remember? Claudia is you.

I: . . . . . . . . . . .But, it cannot be. I am …

He: . . . . . . . . Yes you are. But, you are Claudia over there as well.

I: . . . . . . . . . How? I don’t understand.

He: . . . . . . . . Try to remember what you dreamt today.

I: . . . . . . . . . Why? I don’t understand. What it is all this about?

He pulled up a chair and asked me to sit. He took my hands between his and began to explain the essence of life in a very simple way. He used metaphors, images and comparisons that created a universe for me. He described a universe that has many alternate and parallel worlds.

He explained to me that we are born because we want to be, and we do so many times. Birth is an individual decision based on our intention to protect, help, or pay debts that were still pending. So, for example, if a person commits suicide, this creates echoes in the universe that affect our lives. These echoes are like earthquakes in space and time. Those souls return to life in a similar situation to the life, which they had truncated. For others, it is a family reunion, a reunion with friends and relatives.

There are others who come back to life by the mere sense of service to others.

He, whom I called father in the other life and God in this one, made me understand that we all have a purpose. Big or small, strong or weak, we all are part of this huge mechanism that holds life. No matter the size of the gear, we are all unique and tide to the system of the universe.

At that moment I trusted him. He held his hands. At that moment I began to hear the shouting once more. I tried to overcome my fear. I wanted to know where the shouting was coming from so I turned my head toward the sound. Now it was more like a sob, crying. I heard a call “Claudia...” I closed my eyes and I was back to the present. My mother had brought me home and I was lying in my bed.

I haven’t spoken about this experience with anyone until now. You, dear reader, may or may not have experienced something similar, but what I want to let you know is that we have to be aware, help each other, live with each other, accept each other, tolerate each other and most importantly, love one another, remembering always that nothing is more precious than life itself.

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The Price of Desire Adela Redding Far away, in the land of nowhere lived Juan Montoya who was the richest man in town. I met Montoya at the end of a melancholic autumn, five years ago. The moon was out, and the dark night with her flirty black veil stroked all the stars. In one night like that, Montoya came to me. Back on the time I was a well-known woman on Viru (a place just in my mind). Juancito- I will call him by his first name- requested me a very special favor. I must emphasize that on Viru I’m a very special woman. My unique services have been always well quoted. I've always known how to please the most exigent clients; Juancito was among them a very outstanding customer. He wanted something very special, unusual. I should begin this story by describing Juancito Montoya’s aspect. He was ugly, as ugly as toad with warts included. All his money wasn’t enough to give him the pleasure of a woman’s caress.

In his forties he got despaired. Now, after everything is done, I am wondering if my solution was the best solution for his dilemma. My recipe was simple, as simple is the world with all its problems. Juancito needed an extra help, not only my psychic paranormal powers but a real power indeed.

We were talking for several hours to find out a solution. I sent Juancito to the cemetery. He took one of his wonderful horses and rode all the way to the cemetery. He found the tomb of someone who was sent directly to hell.

The ritual began with prayers, begs and shouts for the favor of the king of hell. Suddenly Mr. Evil appears. The time stopped and a voice asked juancito for his deep wishes.

Juan said, “I would like to be as handsome as Clint Eastwood, strong as The Rock, and I would like to have “That” – he pointed on between his legs“like my horse.”

The Devil replied, “All this will cost you your soul.”

Juan, who was desperate, accepted immediately the transaction asking only for the time he will get on exchange his soul. One full year was the answer, and Juancito was satisfied.

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The Devil replied, “Take your horse and ride as fast you can, when you reach your house all your wishes are going to become truth.”

Juan, in his euphoria, flew like the wind toward his house. Only one sound had broken the beauty of the peaceful night; it was the sound of the whip of the rider on the skin of his horse. The moon illuminated his way and Juancito was as happy as a little child with a new toy.

At home, Juan ran to his room. He opened the door and reached his bathroom. In the mirror he saw another face; his heart was racing and he was delighted. A shout filled the immensity of the night. He got undressed and in the mirror his body was awesome; once again he shouted loudly with feverish happiness. Then he took off his pants and once again a deafening scream was heard through the cold night. Juancito unfortunately rode not a stallion but a mare horse.

Sorry Juancito, you should be more careful with your wishes.

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Second Date Linda Zajac She arrived slightly before 6 PM. Her hands clenched the large brass knob stationed to the French door like a sentry guarding the only entrance into the eatery. She struggled with the barrier into the small foyer. The wind, wicked and relentless, blew the door shut behind her. She was slightly early, which was fine with her. Her hands were frozen and did not thaw on the drive to the restaurant, an establishment of her choosing, and a local haunt to the neighborhood of some thirty years. She could feel her cold fingers inside of her rabbit fur lined gloves. A silent prayer went out that her hands would warm and not reveal her nervousness.

She walked past the darkened bar with its carved oak, its glimmer of bottled spirits, and its semi vacant stools. She knew that she needed hot water for the two appendages that would give her away. She reached for the restroom door, which almost left her grasp. Her Popsicle fingers were not able to perform their normal functions. To her knowledge, the room had not changed in 20 years. Her delicate hands striped from their fur cocoon plunged into the basin. Another prayer was sent into the Heavens, “Thank God the water is hot, thank you.” With each drop of hot water, her hands and mind relaxed. She dried her hands and replaced her gloves, just to make sure that the icy chill would not return. Her face, make-up and attire were flawless, but those hands could be suspect.

A few strangers were arranged around the bar, mostly staring at their cocktails and not making contact or conversation with their fellow inmates of the hour. Directly behind the bar stools were a line-up of hooks upon which resided a small community of coats. She decided to adorn a brass hanger with her camel colored suede. A wave of bravery swept over her being and the gloves came off. She gently pulled out a stool and sat perched upon it, looking like a porcelain bust from a museum with her outfit of winter white and her skin that resembled her couture. She sat hoping that he would arrive so the whole ordeal would begin.

The bartender inquired, “What was her liking on this fine evening?” She asked for a taste of the grapes, not knowing of what he would approve

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once he arrived. A fellow innmate who sat two stools over smiled, a woman perhaps 10 years her senior with a round face and warm eyes. The woman gave a rudimentary introduction to her life. A conversation began, which calmed the hands further.

Pleasant banter went back and forth between the two women, until the door opened, and a man walked past both. He was on a mission and appeared to be in search of something or someone. His hands stayed at his side and appeared to be red and raw from the frigid night air. He continued on his quest until she put an end to his misery and called his name. “I’m here,” she said. He walked casually towards her, greeting her jovially.

They sat next to each other. He joined her in relieving a bottle of its spirits to join his own spirit in the merriment of the eve. A tête-à-tête began small talk of the day, light and happy. He watched her perfect palms as they caressed the glass, her finger that played music on the rim, as the room was filled with a chime in perfect pitch. Laughter ensued minute by minute.

Their laughs were an epidemic, so contagious that modern medicine would not be able to cure the infection. Once again, her gracious hand was holding her puckered mouth to calm the tremors of laughter. Her hand came off her face and gestured to him to stop the abuse of comedy. He could stand it no more, and their hands met. His hands, kind and experienced, only touched hers but a second, and they knew there was more to come.

He asked for a table, as he rose purposefully touching her forearm with his left hand. “Shall we,” he inquired as his hand gestured for her to take his and follow him to an adjoining room. The restaurant was quite deserted on such a cold Monday in January. It was like having their own private sanctuary in the midst of winter. The waiter gingerly handed each a menu filled with culinary joys with a separate list of fare concocted just for the evening’s consumption. Another bottle of vino was ordered. The waiter vanished. She held the document of delights with her left hand as her right hand rested on the crisp white linen. The votive candle glowed diligently to provide enough light to shine on her menu, as well as her eyes, eyes that

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were dark as the night, as shiny as onyx and as provocative as both.

The waiter returned, a bottle, a cork, and some glasses all sung in harmony to his skillful hands. The orders were taken. He was turf; she was surf. It was only fitting for two so different yet so alike.

He could wait no longer. He reached for her freed hand, China white and as pristine as the white linen upon which it rested. His fingers matched hers perfectly, palm to palm, wrist to wrist. The finger foreplay continued while every morsel was consumed. Dinner ended, and their hands could not part. A night cap, he hoped. They moved to the marble bar ornately adorned with iron grill work. She requested hot chocolate, seamy, rich, decadent, topped with clouds of cream. The bartender could not fill her request; there was not cocoa at the inn. Tea was the regrettable alternative.

Kisses and giggles ensued, as their hands did not cease to astonish each other. They continued the conversation about their work, their interests, and the weather; all the while their hands told a very different tale of longing, desire and ultimately amour.

The last drop of tea trickled down her esophagus, hot, sweet and final.

The piano player had closed shop with the wait staff wishing for the two to depart. Midnight came so silent and swift without the common courtesy of an announcement. “Shall we,” he suggested, his hand clutching hers. “Of course,” she agreed gazing at his firm grasp.

They strolled, arm in arm, hand in hand, eye to eye to her car. They parted with the preverbal good night kiss, a peck on the lips. She thanked him for the evening. He said that he would phone. One last touch and the hands left the comfort of each other. They were unsure of the evening’s success, but the hands knew better.

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

METROPOLITAN CAMPUS FRESHMAN ESSAY CONTEST WINNERS

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Airport Full Body Scanners: Good Idea?

Mel Drake Passengers will be taking part in a new technology experiment that will provide safety and security as well as ease privacy concerns regarding confidential security measure. Citizens are going to be introduced to a machine that will literally allow Transportation Security Administration workers (TSA’s) to scan and detect any items deemed contraband or that pose security threats. Unfortunately, the TSA delayed the use of these machines due to privacy concerns. (Thomas) The machines look sort of like large phone booths and will produce images so revealing that it will actually show the outlines of a person’s undergarments. American Civil Liberties officials have stated that it will condition Americans to the use of invasive technologies. (Thomas) These machines, through the use of low radiation x-ray, will produce cartoon like images with the hope of being less intrusive. Passengers, as a result to the alternative of being patted down, have overwhelmingly accepted this new technology. (Thomas) Love it or hate it, the Airport Full Body Scanner technology is here to stay. Or is it? This Editorial Cartoonist uses an effective and persuasive strategy in the form of a question to present two opposing cartoon captions that says “you make the call.”

First, we see this ordinary Joe who is not likely to be a threat and certainly doesn’t fit the profile of what the American people have come to symbolize as an individual that might bring harm to them. He is highly unlikely to be a shoe bomber given he has holes in his shoes, and the cartoonist temps our reasoning into this possibility.

Of course, the cartoonist doesn’t stop there with teasing our rhetorical taste buds. With closer observation one can clearly discern that this passenger is scared to death because of the embarrassment illustrated in the exaggerated caricatures of this person’s eyes; not to mention the nose, which is flush red. Ultimately this creates a sense of fear that is further compounded by the TSA’s security team laughing at his obvious naked

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image on the computer screen.

Then we see the sign above the heads of the TSA’s that says airport, which symbolizes a standard of professionalism. Yet below the sign government officials in uniform are laughing at the fat guy’s naked image on the computer screen. Then there is this exaggerated portrayal of this guy being fat not to mention the TSA’s being fat. Finally this exaggerated caricature the nose seems like a contradiction of some kind; from the appearance of the image looks as if they are laughing at his nose when they too have rather big noses.

All of which suggest a contradiction. This paradox created by the cartoonist leaves us with feelings of anger and outrage.

What is a person to think coming through an airport body scanner and seeing bullet holes in the wall behind it? Should the bullet holes be a cause for concern? Without these body scanners should we expect more bullet holes? Is this the message that the Editorial Cartoonist is trying to get across? All of which suggests an analogy of some kind, further eroding the credibility not to mention the absence of safety and security.

Lastly, this object that sits on top of the TSA’s head, could this image quite possibly be the cartoonist’s attempt at raising some sort of moral paradox? Unfortunately, you’ll have to make the call.

Airport security depends on T.S.A. body scans and pat downs TSA officials have expressed concerns about how far the government should go to guard the safety of its citizens. In light of these concerns the TSA is continuing to push forward only stopping short of searching a person’s body cavities. Because of the 9/11 attacks, government officials in Washington D.C. have to make some tough choices. They have been engaged in a balancing act of sorts between protecting Americans from terrorism and upholding the rights this country was founded upon.

Unfortunately, Al Qaeda and its operatives have placed the American citizens in a state of fear so strong that it has caused the government to protect them by any means necessary. (Monitor’s Editorial Board)

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In order to gain more effective protection measures such as nonmetallic bombs in shoes, water bottles, and underwear, the TSA has been forced to adopt more intrusive methods, such as body scanners, and pat downs.

Congress whose leaders see the intelligence reports on threats has weighed the public outcry and stood behind the TSA. (Monitor’s Editorial Board) In this second cartoon caption the Editorialist continues his rhetorical persuasion by using an image of an elephant dressed elegantly in a business suit. In addition, the elephant has on boxer shorts that are embroidered with the statement Scare Politics. There is a lot going on here, so let me highlight some of the significant rhetorical concepts in yet another part of this cartoonist’s argument.

Obviously symbolism is being suggested by the elephant head which represents the Republican Party. The idea here is to remind us of the partisan efforts of a particular political party to push its interest, and influence the minds and hearts of the American people through the powerful tool of fear.

Pathos in an argument can be a very effective strategy to influence a reader.

Logo is contained within the cartoon narrative when the TSA officials state simply that at least the person being scanned is not hiding anything; in this case the scare tactics. However, what’s interesting is the distinction the cartoonist draws when he changes the color of the caption to black and white. Which poses and important question, does the conservative base see things only in black and white, no gray area?

As I conclude this rhetorical analysis, the Editorial Cartoonist has portrayed two very convincing arguments through the use of an array of rhetorical concepts. These concepts both persuade and influence us in very powerful ways, but they do something else, they leave us with a question. Is freedom really free? We’ll have to wait and see what the future holds for us.

Works Cited Editorial Cartoon: Airport Full Body Scanners: Good Idea?

Issues & Controversies n.d. Web. 25 Jan. 2013 Monitor’s Editorial Board. Airport security depends on TSA body scans and pat downs

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Christian Science Monitor 17 Nov. 2010: n.p. Academic Search Complete Web 25 Jan. 2013 Thomas, Frank. Phoenix airport to test body scan machines. USA Today n.d.: Academic Search Complete. Web. 25 Jan. 2013

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Seeing Through the Looking Glass Charles Esau The prejudice in American society forces some of its African-American citizens to see themselves as aberrations. This burden of continuously focusing on the perceptions of society and the ambitions of the individual can hinder African-Americans from truly exceling in their own right. The continuous second-guessing mentality is described by W.E.B. Du Bois as “double-consciousness.” The concept of double-consciousness that Brent Staples exhibits in order to deal with his alienation by society in his 1998 essay, “Just walk on by: A black man ponders his power to alter public space” is explained by Du Bois in his 1903 essay, “Of Our Spiritual Strivings.”

Double consciousness describes the phenomenon of an individual constantly looking through two lenses. The first lens is how the individual looks at society. The second lens is how the individual sees society looking back at them. Du Bois’ first mention of double-consciousness describes the term well, “It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity” (5). While Staples doesn’t label his feelings, he exhibits double-consciousness when he reveals, “It was in the echo of that terrified woman's footfalls that I first began to know the unwieldy inheritance I'd come into -- the ability to alter public space in ugly ways. It was clear that she thought herself the quarry of a mugger, a rapist, or worse” (38). While the second lens that Du Bois describes is less violent in nature, both authors describe a significant gap between who they are, the first lens, and how they are perceived by society, the second lens.

Both essays demonstrate how prejudice is observed. Staples observes how his physical presence impacts those around him. Society paints large African-Americans as predators looking to cause harm. Du Bois is much more direct in his observations. He writes, “They approach me in a halfhesitant sort of way, eye me curiously or compassionately, and then, instead of saying directly, ‘How does it feel to be a problem?’...To the real question, How does it feel to be a problem? I seldom answer a word” (3-4).

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While Du Bois knows that society views him as a problem through the second lens, he also knows that he is not the real problem by seeing clearly through his own lens.

The first awareness of double-consciousness is similar between the two authors. Both write about their traumatic realization that they are viewed as monsters by society. Du Bois writes, “Then it dawned on me with a certain suddenness that I was different from the others; or like, mayhap, in heart and life and longing, but shut out from their world by a vast veil” (4). Staples acknowledges this awareness with his statement, “It is not altogether clear to me how I reached the ripe old age of twenty-two without being conscious of the lethality nighttime pedestrians attributed to me” (39). In each statement, the authors vividly describe exactly where they are and what they’re doing at the point of their heightened self-awareness.

For better or worse, their self-enlightenment changes how they act—and effectively who they are.

While Staples doesn’t go as far as to speculate at the origination of double-consciousness, Du Bois is compelled to do so. Du Bois writes, “The history of the American Negro is the history of this strife, -- this longing to attain self-conscious manhood, to merge his double self into a better and truer self. In this merging, he wishes neither of the older selves to be lost” (6). Du Bois points out that double-consciousness is a symptom of a man trying to become better. Staples exhibits this symptom of self-improvement by recognizing how he appears to society and how he can alter his behavior in society to not appear as a monster. Staples concludes his essay with, “Virtually everybody seems to sense that a mugger wouldn't be warbling bright, sunny selections from Vivaldi's Four Seasons. It is my equivalent of the cowbell that hikers wear when they are in bear country” (42). This quote indicates how Staples goes so far as to choose his wardrobe based upon how he is perceived by society.

While Du Bois doesn’t comment on changing his physical appearance, he comments on how he curbs his social interactions. Du Bois writes:

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[T]hey say, I know an excellent colored man in my town; or, I fought at Mechanicsville; or, Do not these Southern outrages make your blood boil?

At these, I smile, or am interested, or reduce the boiling to a simmer, as the occasion may require. (4) Both Staples and Du Bois deal with society in a similar manner, evercognizant of their double-consciousness. Staples expounds on the behavior changes he makes to fit into society. Staples writes: I began to take precautions to make myself less threatening. I move about with care, particularly late in the evening. I give a wide berth to nervous people on subway platforms during the wee hours, particularly when I have exchanged business clothes for jeans. If I happen to be entering a building behind some people who appear skittish, I may walk by, letting them clear the lobby before I return, so as not to seem to be following them.

I have been calm and congenial on those rare occasions when I've been pulled over by the police. (42) In each of the authors’ scenarios, separated by almost a century, they must continuously be on guard of who they are, only because of how they look. Their vigilance compels them to alter their interactions with society in order to fit in.

This constant vigilance not only alters how the two authors behave, but also how they feel. Both authors reveal how they feel when they see a prejudiced society watching them. Du Bois expresses the impact of double-consciousness on his psyche with, “Why did God make me an outcast and a stranger in mine own house?” (5). Staples feels the same sense of being a false outcast with, “Suffering a bout of insomnia, however, I was stalking sleep, not defenseless wayfarers. As a softy who is scarcely able to take a knife to a raw chicken--let alone hold it to a person's throat--I was surprised, embarrassed, and dismayed all at once. Her flight made me feel like an accomplice in tyranny” (38). In each essay the authors demonstrate how society’s prejudice instantly transforms their lack of any deserving action into a certain tragedy that can have no good outcome. The impact of society’s lens reaches so far as to make both of the authors question their right to belong, or even to exist.

Thirty years after the fifteen amendment, Du Bois continued to observe a treacherous prejudice, “But the facing of so vast a prejudice could not but bring the inevitable self-questioning, self-disparagement, and lowering the ideals which ever accompany repression and breed in an atmosphere of

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contempt and hate” (12). The tragedy is that almost a century later, Staples describes the same prejudice that Du Bois wrote about, “The fearsomeness mistakenly attributed to me in public places often has a perilous flavor” (41). It is horrifying to know that more than a century has passed since the fifteenth amendment, and more than four decades have passed since the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was passed, and yet an age old phenomenon of double-consciousness caused by a prejudicial society still exists.

Double-consciousness is a coping mechanism that African-American people are often forced to adopt due to a society still plagued by lingering prejudice. The unsettling reality is that the prejudice comes from American citizens even today, almost a century-and-a-half after slavery has been abolished. It’s difficult to conceive that the apple has fallen far from the American tree when Staples writes about the same injustices that were written by Du Bois. In order to put an end to this tragic legacy, society itself must understand the consequences of its prejudice. In order to heal the divisions created by this duality, society must become more self-aware by recognizing the impact of this double-consciousness.

Works Cited Du Bois, William Edward Burghardt. "Of Our Spiritual Strivings." The Souls of Black Folk. New York: Blue Heron, 1953: 3-14.

Staples, Brent. "Just Walk on By: A Black Man Ponders His Power to Alter Public Space." Literary Cavalcade, 50.5 (1998): 38-42.

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His Work Was Done James Jones

The phone rang. “Hello?” I answered.

A noticeably shaken voice on the other end said, “Jim… Pa’s in the hospital again; you should come right away.”

“I’m on my way,” I replied. Throughout my twenty-two years of life, Pa had several close calls with death, but he had always pulled through. Why would this time be any different? He had his first heart attack a year before I was born. The family was told they could not save him, so the doctors declared him dead. While the nurse was unhooking the various monitors, he opened his eyes and immediately shared that he had talked to Jesus.

“Jesus told me I was not done, and that I had more work to do,” he said. I was told the nurse nearly jumped out of her skin.

During one of his many hospital stays that I can remember, his vital signs were so poor that everyone thought he had only minutes left. I was standing next to his bed when he waved me closer to him so he could tell me something. In a weak voice he said, “When I get my health back and I leave here, me and you are going for a hike. We’ll go from Ajo to Coffee Pot Mountain.” That hike is about forty miles in some pretty tough terrain. I knew he would never be well enough for that hike.

Perhaps, in the next life we will complete it.

Pa was my grandfather. He and my grandmother raised me from the time I was about two years old. Together, they are the reason why I stayed out of trouble. My grandmother told me that Pa was always sorry that he was not able to play sports and run around with me due to his health conditions. I just told her that it was okay. He was there for me in every way he could possibly be. To me, he was my father. He taught me right from wrong. He took me camping and hunting, showing me how to survive. He taught me about guns and how to be a responsible gun owner. He was an all-around good role model.

We were involved with the Tucson Mountain Men. It is a club that reenacts times of mountain men of the 1800s. We would go to rendezvous,

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which are large gatherings of mountain men groups from around the country. Everything was a time period re-enactment. We would camp in teepees or other shelters of the time, using bear or buffalo skins for bedding. The clothing that we wore was made up of buckskin and canvas. There were tomahawk and knife throwing competitions, as well as shooting competitions using time period black powder guns. We became involved with this because Pa thought it would be good for me. He was right.

One of my favorite memories happened when I was twelve. I was walking home from the school bus stop with a group of friends when a couple of us started arguing. Words turned into pushing and shoving. I was ready to start punching, but I saw that Pa and his cousin Alton were watching. I wanted to fight so badly, but I knew that I could not disappoint him, so I walked away. When I arrived at the house I heard Alton say to Pa, “James, why don’t you let Jimmy go kick that kid’s ass?” Pa looked at him and said, “Because after Jimmy kicks that kid’s ass, that kid will go tell his daddy. Then that kid’s daddy will come up here, and I don’t feel like cussing out no goddamn knee cap!” His dad was 7’2”. I started laughing and felt so much better.

On another occasion, while in high school, a few friends and I went to a party that was being held at a cheap motel. Within minutes of arriving the manager came to the room and kicked us out. There were a few kids that were drunk so we had to figure out who would drive what vehicle. I was the only one sober that could drive a stick shift. I gave the keys of my grandparents’ automatic to a friend, so I could drive the only vehicle that was stick shift. We got stuck at a red light and lost sight of all our friends. At this point I realized we never said where we would meet. We searched all the usual hangouts without luck. After several hours we went back to the truck owner’s house and I walked home. Standing outside my grandparents’ bedroom door, my mind was going crazy. How am I going to tell them I lost their car, I thought, and how could they ever trust me again? It seemed like eternity before I knocked on their door to tell them I screwed up. When they answered, I just told them the truth. Pa said, “Okay. Go to bed; we’ll go

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to your friend’s to get the car in the morning.” I was in shock. He wasn’t going to yell? We wouldn’t fight about it? I stood there for another ten minutes wondering why. Very early the next morning he woke me up to go get the car. We talked on the way. He told me they were a little upset, but they were glad I did what I did.

Pa was a very caring person. He was always looking for the good in everyone. He would turn someone in for breaking the law, but he would never leave their side. He would support them and give guidance to the best of his ability. This is the type of person I strive to be, thanks to his teachings.

Arriving at the hospital, I saw my aunt was in the waiting room. She told me they were working on him so we went outside to talk. She asked, “How do you feel? What do you want?” At first I was confused by the questions.

Looking into her eyes helped me understand. Getting the words out was the hardest thing I had ever done. “I don’t want him to suffer anymore” I said eyes blurring, “It is time for him to leave us.” I was scared how she would take it, but she started nodding in agreement. We hugged. Within a couple of minutes my grandmother came outside. Not needing to say a word, I knew. His work was done.

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Fork in the Road Joshua McCarty

When I was a boy, I would walk in the dirt alongside the road. Whenever I had a problem, or just needed to think, I would find the most secluded road around – and walk. This wasn’t easy considering that I was born and raised in downtown Chicago. I could walk for miles on end, it seemed. I would stare down at the ground and forget about all of the worldly noises and actions going on around me. I imagined that I was off in the countryside somewhere, living the life a country boy searching for turtles and playing in creeks. I needed this time alone to reflect on what my life was to become. Where was life leading me? What would I amount to in the future?

These were questions that over time, I would find the answers to in the most unusual ways.

My first ever job, was grave digging. I was 15 years old, and what an opportunity! I was going to be paid $4 an hour, under the table of course.

I didn’t know it yet, but this job would change the course of my life, forever. Some people look at it as creepy, other people think it’s interesting. I looked at digging holes as just another way of making a few dollars - until I witnessed my first funeral. That was the day that everything changed. My partner and I had only just dug the hole the night before the funeral. The funeral procession started at 1 o’clock p.m. sharp. Lying in the casket was David Mosely, my former English teacher. He was my favorite teacher. He had died suddenly, of a brain aneurism, just a few days earlier. The cars filing into the graveyard seemed endless. I was impressed by all of the Cadillacs. The actual funeral didn’t last long. There were a few words by a priest and a few final farewells by old friends and family. Eventually nobody remained but me. It was after everybody left and Mr. Mosely and I were alone, that I truly understood what it meant to be dead. I had never really had to deal with death before, and now not only did I have to see it up close, but I had to invite it into my life. I had to throw dirt in Death’s face, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it.

I sat at the edge of Mr. Mosely’s grave and had a long philosophical debate with myself. I would say that David (we had somehow come to be on a first name basis in the last two hours) and I had a long discussion, but it may sound strange to some that I could have had a discussion with the dead.

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Eventually I came to a realization. I wasn’t the one ending David’s life. I wasn’t finalizing all of his life’s achievements by shoveling dirt over him. I was helping to put him to rest. His family could start working toward the closure they needed. As I picked up the first shovel full of earth, I thought to myself… “I’m glad it’s me standing here.” I appreciate everything that Mr. Mosely did for me in school, and in life. He was more than just a teacher; he was a much needed friend. I knew that whenever I needed to talk to him, he would be there in spirit. Still to this day I consider him a friend that I can go to when life becomes overwhelming.

Years later, I’m a grown man, but Death still taunts me. Over these years I’ve had numerous friends pass away. Most of them from random ailments, car accidents, or drugs – but all of them far too young to die. I’ve had my own fair share of close calls as well, numerous near misses in fact.

There is one particularly close call that sticks out in my head more than the rest. This event still haunts me to this day, not because I was any closer to death than on any other day, but because this time people were actually trying to kill me. This was no accident; it was not my own doing, these people really wanted me dead. They wanted to close the cover on my life.

I was in Miami, Little Haiti to be exact. It was dark out and I was driving in circles looking for my friends’ house. I decided to get out of the car so that I could actually see the address on these damn doors. I was walking up the street when I noticed a young Haitian man following me and another one down the street walking toward me. They reached me at the same time. The more unkempt one in front of me asked me for some money.

I told him “no.” The man in the back pushed me into the first guy. I saw where this situation was headed, so I reacted. I punched the guy in front of me and turned around to punch the other guy when I saw a third figure in my peripheral view. Before I could even think, I felt the third guy punching me in the ribs. I kept trying to fight, but I tasted metal for some reason and my vision was tunneling. I was not thinking straight anymore. Next thing I know I woke up in the hospital 3 weeks later. I had been in a coma. The third guy was stabbing me, not punching me, and that’s why I tasted metal.

I often wonder what kind of desperation must compel people to hurt each other. My body has healed, but now I’m much more wary of the situations that I put myself into on a daily basis.

An entire lifetime has passed since that boy who would walk in the dirt alongside the road was here. Many lessons have been learned and many things have changed. One thing has always remained a constant in my

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life. When I need to reflect on life events, I revert back to that little boy. I drive out to the countryside and find a deserted road… and start walking.

Sometimes, I think back to Mr. Mosely and as I’m kicking up dirt, I’ll imagine myself kicking dirt over my past lives. My memories and experiences are what make me who I am today, but sometimes it’s best to just let go. So today I have a gift for myself. My gift is to allow myself to move past all of the negativity and bad memories, and to focus all of my energy on progressing forward toward a new beginning.

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Literary Analysis of “My Dearest” Joel Mills Dedicating yourself to a cause is one thing, but dedicating your body and soul to another person is an entirely different story. To put things in perspective, a bit of background information will be needed. The lyrics to this song are from an anime opening and are usually accompanied by music and a video. The song is generally an upbeat Jpop song utilizing drums, piano, violins, bells and guitar. It is sung in the opening of the anime by a female character named Inori, who is singing it to the male lead, Shu. During the series, it is sung many times by Inori to inspire hope in people, to support Shu, or to just express her feelings through music when her actions aren’t enough. The words sung by Inori and the meaning held within them are the focal points of the song, as well as this paper.

The key idea throughout the entire song when taken at face value is the concept of love, or just deep belonging to someone. “I’m yours” is a phrase repeated constantly throughout the song. Though the words “love” and “like” and even the names of the people related to the song are never mentioned, it is clear that this song is about a strong sense of connection that one person feels for another. The anime itself is the only thing that gives names to the singer (Inori) and whom she is singing to (Shu). As to what the true meanings of the words are, they are up for interpretation since words that convey the exact emotions felt are never stated. Without the context of the anime, the only thing that is certain in the song is that a person is having a one-sided conversation with someone. She is explaining what is going on in her mind, what could happen to the person she is talking to, and what she would do if something did happen to her anonymous beloved. In a very literal way, even with the music, the lyrics can’t convey anything more than this; the only way to know more is to see the animation that follows the song and create your own meaning.

The beginning of the song opens with the chorus, and the words themselves are powerful: “So, everything that makes me whole, I will dedicate them all to you now.” They give off a strong meaning essentially saying that every part of the singer is dedicated to the one she is singing to. If

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someone just read it like poetry, the meaning is there, but there is no real emotion to slam the words home to whoever is hearing it. In a way though, the words have their own subtle power since they are directed strongly toward someone, even without direct words like “love.”, “I’m yours” is a strong indicator of how the singer feels. When experienced in its whole form as a song, however, with the actual vocals and the music behind them, the passion of the singer hits the listener forcefully, and the emotions of the words are easily recognized. The impact of the music with the lyrics is greater than the words by themselves, and the impact is still larger when made with the visuals of the animation as well. Even though the impact with the visuals is larger, this isn’t to say that it helps with delineating the words; in most cases it just causes you to read more into each individual word to understand their true meaning.

The next two stanzas sound almost as if they’ve come from a romance novel instead of a song. “You know never in my life have I been able to smile so much” Inori is confessing how much she loves Shu without ever using words that actually talk about her own feelings. With just reading the words “With your hand in mine, we can go on forever and ever,” it’s easy to envision being deeply connected to someone emotionally, and on the verge of confessing to them, but being embarrassed and your words go stray from their intended meaning. The words “I’ve been walking on a path full of mistakes, all by myself just for this day” give us a hint that the singer has been through demanding times before she met the person who has changed her life. The singer is head over heels for this person: “You tell me I’m no longer alone and again, you smile”--and with just a smile, she is comforted and realizes she’s no longer in solitude. We can assume due to the lyrics thus far by this point in the song that she doesn’t just want this person in her life, at this point she needs them to continue to persevere.

The music here helps to build up the lyrics, and readies you for the emotion the singer is about to emphasize in the next verse.

Beginning in verse four, the singer is still talking to someone but now

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she is explaining her devotion. She starts off mentioning times in the future: “When you have something precious you must protect but you can only stand rooted to the ground,” as if she knows that hard times are ahead for him. Even the moments in his life when he has sunken to his lowest point “and [he’s] about to be swallowed up in [his] despair,” she will stop at nothing to save him, taking action as shown in the animation to put her life on the line to do so. She goes so far as to say “I will become the light to shine your path; Even the king of this world cannot block me out.” If we take “king” to mean God, she is stating that even God cannot stop her from coming to his aid. Her devotion to him knows no bounds, yet she still has not once used one word of endearment toward him. The words in this stanza stand strongly on their own without music behind them, but can’t really be called poetry by some definitions--just a one-sided explanation of what she will do. The music adds strong emotion to every line however, emphasizing how the singer feels.

After the emotional rush in the previous lines, verses five and six almost sound relaxed with the line “You know in this world there are all kinds of happiness.” She seems like she wants to start talking about her feelings directly; relating happiness to the world, then that happiness to the two of them, but then she becomes emotional again, losing her place and talking about what she would do for her beloved instead. She doesn’t really care what the world thinks or what would happen if she sided against it, “Or if the whole world doesn’t even try to believe in you.” She doesn’t want him to go through the pain that she went through when she was alone (“I know of that loneliness and that pain”), but fears that he might go through it as well. She will be his friend through anything that the world may throw at him (”I can still become a friend only to you”). Though she mentions the word “friend” at this point, it seems almost an afterthought since by the end she goes right back into the chorus and states “I’m yours.” Yet again, we don’t need the music to empower these words since their meaning is straightforward. The music adds flair to the words and fills you with the emotions of the singer to enhance each word as it is sung.

(Queue mini choir and guitar solo.) If this were the musical version of the song, that’s where the pause would be before the final verse. It starts off a bit sad, since it sounds like the singer doesn’t feel that her beloved understands her, with the line “If you could know of me someday.” Though with the way she has been talking throughout the song, we can only hope that he understands her. The conclusion to the song is probably the most powerful verse since she states that in case of any eventuality, as long as

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he doesn’t forget her, she’ll be there for him: “Even if there isn’t a single fragment of hope there, or if I had to be something that’s not supposed to be, the fact that you won’t forget about me I know it better than anyone.”

She believes without a doubt that he will never forget about her, so in essence she not only dedicates herself to him, but she also believes there isn’t a way they can ever be separated. Unlike the other, longer verses, she doesn’t tell him “I’m yours,” and we know by this point in the song, she believes he knows. Without the music, these lines have meaning, but their impact is weak. The meaning is there, but the words used aren’t powerful enough to stand on their own without context or information from the animation. With the music however, we are taken through a roller coaster of sound and emotions. The music essentially allows the singer to hit every high and low that transpired in the song in this one verse.

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CONTRIBUTOR

BIOGRAPHIES Ahmed Alrajeh Joseph Banker Mel Drake Charles Esau Ashley Farmer Natalie Gasper Brittany Gifford Jessica Halberg Chris Harman Roadell Hickman James Jones Joshua McCarty Faheem Khabeer

Robert Kovatich Samantha Kukowski Sarah Lehmann Fannie Smith-McArthur Joel Mills Brittany Reid Taylor Schmidt Brian Swaney Steve Thomas Nile Vincz Bridget Kilbane Adela Redding Linda Zajac

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Ahmed Alrajeh is an international student from Saudi Arabia. He came to the United States in August of 2010 to study. With the help of Tri-C’s English as a Second Language courses his major is Mechanical Engineering.

While photography has been a hobby of Ahmed’s, he is now considering getting a second degree in the field.

Joseph Banker is a full time student at Cuyahoga Community College.

He enjoys a wide array of hobbies from camping and fishing to baseball games and golfing. He also attends and photographs many concerts in small clubs as well as large venues. Joseph enjoys working with black and white and split tone images.

Photography is a second career for Lakewood photographer Mary Breiner.

Originally employed in the airline industry for 18 years, Mary went back to school (at Tri-C as a matter of fact) to pursue her love of photography. She mainly shoots portraits of newborns, families, and some events, but her true love is travel and street photography.

Mel Drake, Charles Esau, James Jones, Joshua McCarty, and Joel Mills were the winners of the Metro Campus Freshman Essay Contest, held in Spring 2013.

Ashley Farmer is a full time student at Cuyahoga Community College majoring in Photography and also studying Graphic Design. She waits tables on nights and weekends to pay for school. She enjoys taking portraits of her friends and family and exploring nature with the camera. She prefers to work in color but loves a bold black and white with high contrast.

Natalie Gasper has had a love of writing since she was young and has been writing poems and short stories for many years. In her spare time, she enjoys reading works of fiction, listening to all kinds of music, and riding her horse Icon.

Cleveland native, Brittany Gifford, has been creating images since her first darkroom photography class 11 years ago. She uses her passion for travel to focus on the beautiful and unique qualities of the world and people around her. Brittany is honored to be chosen for the cover of this year’s Breakwall.

Jessica Halberg never saw herself as a photographer then one day she decided to take a class about photography. Since that class she has been traveling down a road toward her new career choice. She enjoys photographing the people and environment around her and creating beauty out of the mundane.

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Chris Harman describes the peace he feels behind a camera lens as finding a place where he feels like nothing else is happening in the world other than what he is doing at that moment.

Roadell Hickman is a freelance photographer outside of his studies at Cuyahoga County College. Hickman currently is pursuing an Associates of Applied Business Media Arts and Studies. He’s had his images featured in a host of publications and wire services, such as People, Ebony, Plain Dealer and Zuma.

Bridget Kilbane is a college junior. This is the writer's first piece that has been published. Bridget is majoring in English and Psychology. She began writing in high school, and she hopes to make a positive career in writing, or teaching. She plans to attend Baldwin-Wallace, Spring 2014.

Robert Kovatich combines both a scientific and an art background to produce his photographic work. Robert’s photographic experience spans both film/wet darkroom technology and digital photography/digital workflow background. His focus has been mainly on nature landscape photography, night photography, and cityscape photography.

Samantha Kukowski, a third child of six, is currently a photography student. Art is always at the forefront with Sami. She uses drawing, painting, dancing, and music to inspire her photography. She likes to take detailed pictures of many aspects of nature. She often works with her family and friends when creating a project.

Sarah Lehmann started exploring photography in a black and white film class during high school and now works in the digital photography field as well. One of her biggest influences as a photographer has always been Ansel Adams. Sarah strives to capture the true essence of nature throughout her work.

Alice Merkel is an Honors student at Cuyahoga Community College.

Marvin Perry is a Tri-C Metro Student Ambassador and often participates in the Open Mic Spoken Poetry events.

Adela Redding has been a full time student at Tri-C since 2009 and has only been in the United States for seven years. She is still becoming acclimated to the language and culture. Love, friends, work, and knowledge are part of her precious saviors.

Brittany Reid is a Cuyahoga Community College student residing in the Cleveland, Ohio, area. Upon graduation, she aspires to have a photo-

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graphic career with the intent of some day running her own studio. Her life-long love of photography has been inspired by the work and encouragement of her grandfather.

Taylor Schmidt is an award winning Cleveland based photographer who focuses on fashion and portraiture. She hopes her work evokes optimism, real emotion and is inspired by the small day-to-day details we often overlook.

Fannie Smith-McArthur was born in Cleveland, Ohio and graduated from John Hay High School in 1973. She attended Cuyahoga Community College, where she received her Associates Degree. She has worked for the United States Postal Service and a managing cosmetologist for the State of Ohio. She is now residing in Shaker Heights and enjoys signing, songwriting, and reciting poetry.

Brian Swaney was raised in Solon, Ohio. It was there, at a young age, that he and his cousins would have drawing and coloring competitions just for fun. For Brian, this was the starting point for his passion for the visual arts.

His passion eventually led him to Cuyahoga Community College, where he continues to grow as a photographer.

Steve Thomas is a media design professional seeking a position in my career field. Over six years of experience working with newspaper & literary organizations. Known for the ability to take on deadlines & create above average content. Studied photography & graphic design as well as worked freelance.

A native Clevelander, Nile Vincz is a sincere and dedicated young photographer. Well equipped with natural talent and his arsenal of cameras, his eclectic eye captures original, profound, inspirational, and professional photographs for his personal portfolio and clients. Having already bridged connections with famous photographers in New York City and across the country, there is no doubt Nile's work will honor many galleries with their presence in the near future.

Linda Zajac is a Woman in Transition member this semester. She has an 18-year career in real estate and is embarking on two new careers in retail and the food industry. This past summer, she has been working towards a certificate in baking. A resident of South Euclid, she enjoys writing and photography.

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Breakwall is Cuyahoga Community College’s creative and literary arts publication. This publication is a high quality, easily accessible creative outlet for students to showcase their talents in the arts (poetry, fiction, drama, essays, feature articles, photography, graphic art). All Tri-C students, current and former, are encouraged to submit.

Each contributor may submit up to three pieces, in any combination of genres: Prose/Drama/Feature Articles: 3,000 words maximum per piece; one-act plays are appropriate for the size constraints of the publication.

Please double-space submissions.

Poetry: 1,000 words maximum per piece; please submit in the page layout you intend.

Artwork and Photography: Only black and white submissions will be accepted. Please save as .jpg file (quality of 8) with a resolution of 300 pixel per inch. The image size must be 11� as its highest or widest dimension.

All pieces must be submitted in electronic and paper format: turn in both the electronic files and the print copies of your work(s). Save all text files as .rtf documents and all visual images as .jpg files on a flash drive or CD-ROM. The drive/CD must contain all submissions plus a 50word biography of the contributor, written in third-person point of view.

Submissions will not be accepted through e-mail.

Only submissions that are complete and follow all guidelines will be forwarded to the selection committee. Selected works reflect the aesthetic judgment of the selection committee and no work is guaranteed publication.

Please double-check for grammatical and typographical errors prior to submitting your work. The editors are not responsible for publishing errors contained in submitted items.

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The editors use a blind submissions process. Therefore, do not include your name on the submitted entries-include it only on the Submission Form where you list the title(s) of your work(s) and your contact information. In early spring 2015, selected contributors will be notified of the intent to publish their work(s). Anticipated publication date is late spring 2015.

SUBMISSION DEADLINE: FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 2014 You may submit your hard copies and drive/CD in one of two ways: Mail: Breakwall, c/o Lindsay Milam MLA 223-S 2900 Community College Avenue Cleveland, OH 44115 In Person: Lindsay Milam MLA 223-S Metropolitan Campus (216) 987-4544

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Please answer all questions on this form. To submit your work, follow the directions on the Call for Submissions.

SUBMISSION FORM Contact Information: Name Mailing Address Phone Number City, State, ZIP Email Address Which Tri-C campus do you attend?

Metro West East Westshore/CCW

Submission Information: List the title(s) and genre(s) of your submission(s). Please be sure that only the titles of your submissions appear on the copies you are submitting to the editorial committee. There is a maximum of 3 total submissions per contributor, regardless of genre. Genres include prose, poetry, drama, feature articles, art, or photography.

Title of Submission Item (if submitting artwork, indicate the medium used, such as digital photography, acrylic paint, etc.)

Genre

Submission #1 Submission #2 Submission #3

Biography: Please include a 50-word biography with your submission. If your work(s) are accepted, this biography will be featured on the Contributor list. If you do not include a biography and your work(s) are accepted, your name will not be listed on the Contributor list. Use third-person point of view when composing your biography.

Statement of original work: I hereby state that all works submitted are my own and previously unpublished. I grant the editorial committee permission to use my works for publication and promotion of Breakwall, which may include publication on the future Breakwall website.

Contributor Signature

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Date