the repeater
22nd Edition
VOLUME 21
the repeater
Editor’s Note “Every moment of light and dark is a miracle.” — Walt Whitman When designing this year’s edition of The Repeater, we wanted to organize it around a theme that was both original and reflective. After days of deliberation, our staff decided on the idea of light and dark, allowing the creators in our school to express in various mediums their own interpretations. Our magazine is, in and of itself, its own argument for light and dark. Crafting it was, is, and always will be about balance, hard work, struggle, and patience. Time and time again, our creative process reminded us to approach our goal with an equal mix of determination and flexibility, making us both proud and humble to see it finished. I feel that the student-produced element is what makes this edition particularly noteworthy, as young people in particular grapple with elements of light and dark more than ever before in their lives. Youth is about self-discovery, about finding that balance, about grit and reward, stress and relief. And while art is subjective, it is rooted in experience. No one exemplified our argument better than the staff itself. Each member was passionate, driven, and an utter joy to work with. I am grateful beyond measure to have had the chance to be inspired by them, and I hope that they are as pleased with their edition as I am. We are also immeasurably grateful for the help of our moderator, Mrs. Rachelle Garbarine, whose leadership, skill, and drive made all of us better, and without whom our work would be impossible. We would also like to thank Mrs. Jennifer Harrison, Mr. Jason Curtis, Mrs. Lesley Coe, Mr. Michael Rogosich, Mrs. Terri Ingraham, and Mr. Trippe Reade for all of their assistance and support. Lastly we would like to thank all of the artists, photographers, writers, and creators who contributed to this year’s edition, who told their stories and shared their vision. — THE REPEATER STAFF
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Colophon The Repeater, Volume 21, was produced by The Repeater staff at Cardinal Gibbons High School in Raleigh, NC. It was printed by Metro Productions in Raleigh, NC. The book contains 45 pages, plus covers, and was created using Adobe InDesign. Californian FB was used throughout entire book, with titles printed in 12 point type, authors’ and artists’ names printed in 9 point type, and the literary pieces printed in 11-15 point type.
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Staff List Morgan Pirozzi Olivia Parker Christopher Labaza Alexandra Ford Kate Duffy Mallory Kemple Leah Drake Lauren Shank
Cover by Kate Duffy and Alex Ford
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Watching Watching
ELIZABETH EICHEN
Elizabeth Eichen
Aloof and alone
Back to the world Cane in his hand There he stands. The only living thing with roots planted in soil this high, His feet are perched on the very edge Of the rocky cliff Like a bird of prey Scouring the earth below For its next meal. Any attempts to reach him Any words thrown his way Are overpowered by the rushing air. A view this high leaves only two things to be heard-The wind and one’s own thoughts. So here I am, left to wonder what ideas are dancing around his mind. Left to wonder what his vision is so fixated on. Perhaps he dreams of a past lover That has long left him. His evergreen coat catches my Eye time and time again. And I can’t help but be Perplexed at the idea of Him being alone. I call out again. Craving to see his face Yearning to hear his voice But my words get tangled up in the fog, And voice becomes faint, My vision obstructed as I peer Through the dense, moist air. Only time will show me That a wonderer and a wanderer Are much more alike Than I have ever thought. Because while his eyes stuck to the dark blue abyss below, My eyes are stuck on him. THE REPEATER | 5
Untitled
ALLISON BAUMGARTNER
Allison Baumgartner THE REPEATER | 6
Homeless
TOM GREENE
“Homeless” - Tom Greene
The ground is lit by the shining sun, “Oh, it’s sunny, let’s have some fun!” A child cries out in delight, As he runs out into the light. People come out of their houses and grin, And children play with their friends and kin. Dogs are walked and the birds start singing, But for some, the sun brings stinging. There once was a man, Bob was his name, He had nothing at all, no fortune or fame. His clothes were battered, ripped and torn. His only expression was a face forlorn. He begged for food, he’s not welcome in stores. Wherever he went, he was ignored. The sun stung his skin on his feet. That’s what happens when you live on the street. Holding up signs next to the road, He needed some money to lighten his load. But people didn’t stop, they didn’t offer him money. They looked away or laugh as if he’s funny. But Bob’s situation is not unique. He’s not the only one who’s future looks bleak. And look at us, with our laptops and beds. We have food and rooves over our heads. And yet most of us ignore people like Bob, Who would love a meal, or better, a job. There are people in poverty, like it or not. We need to help them, and give them a shot. THE REPEATER | 7
You Take the Sun
KRISTEN GLIELMI
You Take the Sun Kristen Gliemi
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The Great Beyond The Great Beyond Collin COLLIN Holder HOLDER
I stare into the great beyond
My life is at its end My will is strong, I feel at peace My mind will never bend. It’s older than the world itself It’s darker than the night It’s deeper than the greatest sea No hope to see the light. I’m standing at the edge of time My friends and family gone The time is here, my judgment day Will I see the shine of dawn? I’ve walked the edge of life and death The line of good and sin But as I see the face of God He smiles, and takes me in.
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Light and Dark Chemistry
EMMA KRUGER
Emma Krueger Light and Dark Chemistry
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Bread and Butter DANIELLE LETTS Danielle Letts
The infamous quote, “you never know what you have until it’s gone,” is frequently used to express regret of taking things for granted. People also use more optimistic bits such as, “be grateful for everything you have, every day.” But these collections of words fail to encompass the truth: you do know exactly what you have when you have it, and you may even be grateful for it down to the deepest part of your being, but regardless, a gaping hole is left in its path when it leaves. I learned this the hard way. Negative eight degrees. Blizzard. Longmont, Colorado. February tenth, 2001. That was the start of it all. During the first few seconds of my life, it was my dad to hold me; the first time arms were around me, the first family I’d ever known. From then on it was always me and my dad. We were cut from the same cloth, two peas in a pod, bread and butter. Unconventionally, he was the one who stayed home from work during the first years of my life, turning the first arms around me into my first best friendship and strongest bond I’d known. Two and a half years later, my sister Reese was born. Growing up, there was always an ocean between my parents, and it was impossible to be on both sides at once. Fights broke out frequently that resulted in both broken glass and broken trust, not knowing who to side with when both claimed to be victimized. By 2008 my parents were divorced and avidly hated each other. On top of this, my dad broke his neck in an attempt to protect young Reese and me from a massive wave at the beach. This lead to his diagnosis of CRPS type 2, a disease affecting the nervous system which can remain dormant until activated by a major trauma. Subsequently, he took nearly lethal amounts of daily drugs to cope with the pain of both the injury and the disease. Soon after, my mother was arrested for a DUI. All was happening concurrently with my parents’ fight for custody, now plagued with each accusing the other of being unfit to parent due to their ‘substance abuse’ -a term I learned at a very young age. My sister and my days were filled with intolerably uncomfortable therapy appointments and unannounced child protective services interviews during school. We were shipped like cargo between houses, on a schedule chosen by a judge that never once asked what Reese or I wanted; it seemed that although we were constantly forced to talk about how we felt, no one truly ever listened. These occurrences had a direct and poignant effect on parenting, with my mother on a three month ‘business trip’ spent in jail and a revoked license and my father unable to work.
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Into the Woods
MORGAN PIROZZI
Into the Woods Morgan Pirozzi THE REPEATER | 12
These occurrences had a direct and poignant effect on parenting, with my mother on a three month ‘business trip’ spent in jail and a revoked license and my father unable to work. He started a similar trend between both his government-acquired money and his medication, spending and taking more in the beginning of the month when it was abundant, and ending the month unmedicated and living primarily off of lima beans - the cheapest food at Harris Teeter. With a disease like CRPS2, there were good and bad days, but even throughout the obliviously medicated days spent solely on the couch, Reese and I favored our dad. He was just as much a friend as he was a father, and as kids that was exactly what we wanted. He spoke to us as if we were equals. He talked truthfully of what was happening in court— deemed by my mother and counselor as inappropriate— as if I was important and smart enough to understand. He taught us about how stars form and about how when you’re able to play music, you begin to hear it differently. He showed us how to find spirituality and how to adjust the shutter speed of a camera to capture the wings of a bird. He brought a depth to parenthood that made all of the perfunctory questions asked by other adults and relatives seem trivial and superficial. But despite the profundity of our relationship, he did one thing that embarrassed me endlessly. The simple sentence: “Bread and butter.” Every time we went on opposite sides of an object he’d say it and expect me to say it back, claiming that like bread stuck together with butter, it would bring us back together. I labeled it as stupid and tacky and repeating it usually in a barely audible mumble, and refusing to say it entirely around my friends. I hated the phrase, and would avoid walking on opposite sides of poles or trees or anything that would cause him to say it, simply to avoid the cringe of having to say it back. But I didn’t have the chance to say it for long. At first we were with my dad every other week, and then a new custody hearing limited that to Thursdays and every other weekend, and then suddenly, we were lucky if we saw him one weekend a month. Eventually it stopped altogether. The first time he left he went to Arizona. My mom didn’t allow us to talk to him, so our communication was exclusive to secret phone calls when she wasn’t home. He’d ask me if I had gotten the letters or birthday gifts that he’d sent, but I never did. Whether this was because he never truly sent them, or because my mother intercepted them without my knowledge, I didn’t find out, and probably never will. He stayed in Arizona for about a year and a half, and my mother took full advantage of the distance to pin me against him, questioning adamantly how it made me feel that he left, if it made me sad that he never reached out to me, if I felt abandoned or as if I wasn’t good enough.
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In Arizona, my dad was staying with his high school friend who was diagnosed with breast cancer, and her daughter. After the year and a half, he asked her to marry him. She said no. Soon after, he came home, only to leave again just three months later. This time to Rhode Island, claiming he was just going to visit his parents; but Reese and I later found out he was there with a new girl, this time with two daughters, the same ages apart as Reese and me. He was there for three years, the entirety of my time in middle school, with no communication at all. He asked her to marry him too, and she too, said no. I realized the connection between both of these different yet similar times: these women had families. Families with daughters. Families that were whole, as opposed to our broken one. He was looking for a replacement of our family. Sometime during all of this I got a notification on Instagram, that ‘waiting4u3’ had requested to follow me. Waiting for you three. Assuming that Reese and I were the two, and that there was no possible way that the third was my mother, we realized the third must’ve been one of these women, someone he needed so badly enough that he left his own daughters. He came home one last time, the last time that I saw him: Father’s Day 2015. It was ridiculously uncomfortable with both the father-daughter relationship deteriorated as well as the friend relationship. At the end of our brief interaction, he gave both Reese and me a printed letter saying that that was probably the last time we’d see him until we were eighteen, that he ‘missed us’ overwhelmingly. I wondered if it was valid to miss something you chose to leave. On that last day that I saw him, we went on a walk and sometime during, we happened to go on opposite sides of a tree. But this time was different; this time he didn’t smile at me and say “bread and butter,” yet I heard it in my head nonetheless. I heard it and I missed for it, and I yearned to make true what the words claimed, to stick things back together. “You never know what you have until it’s gone.” Words that to this day fail to encompass the truth: I knew exactly what I had and I adored it, for the exception of a single, stupid phrase. A stupid phrase that I infallibly continue to hear in my head every single time I walk on the opposite side of something as someone I love. Words despised turned words longed for, and although I knew exactly what I had, I never would’ve expected how much I’d miss those words.
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Emma Philips
Untitled
EMMA PHILLIPS
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Sleep
AVERY ALLEN Avery Allen - Sleep
Drifting off to sleep at night, Falling into endless darkness, Reality begins to slip through my fingers, Paralyzed and helpless to the forces of sleep. What is real and what is not? Am I still awake right now? How can I tell if I am dreaming?
When will I regain control? Through the darkness comes a light, Soft and warm, it pulls me close, Fills me with love and happiness. I want to stay with it forever! But then the light begins to fade, I reach for it but all in vain. The light is gone and I’m alone, In the darkness of the world.
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(Excerpt) Intro to Freedom - Mallory Kemple (Excerpt) Intro to Freedom MALLORY KEMPLE
some things are cigarettes you’ve gotta stop smoking.
look at the higher level my new life is promoting. now the air’s back in my lungs and I’ve got dance in my feet. God’s don’t got me where I wished to be, He’s got me where I need to be. and that’s quite a lot if you ask me. there’s life outside this school, there’s life outside your mind. let yourself free and happiness you will find. there’s a way you deserve to be loved throw everything else above your head, with some patience what you really need will come. you could choose to be boring and always accepted but that and wild and free aren’t connected. sometimes the overshadow of your magic is a sign to shout it out got my royal fans with me, that’s what it’s really about. with all the darkness in this world, don’t let yourself stand in it. places of negativity are only where the devil hits. God’s waiting for you in the light, come and join with me, you’ve got your permit. one day you’ll beat the fight, make your dreams come true left and right. life is so much bigger than the thing it seems to revolve around. look at all the joy I’ve found. I’m smiling, walking with nothing but the best now. you can’t catch me looking back, this is my rebound.
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InInOut OutInIn
KATEDuffy DUFFY Kate
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Eye Kayla Pham Eye KAYLA PHAM
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Arizona
JOSEPHINE VINCITORIO
Arizona Josephine Vincitorio
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BOATS Boats
CHRISTOPHER LABAZA
Christopher Labaza
I sat on a wall overlooking the water. It was one of those walls about six or seven bricks deep and high enough to meet a roof, but this wall never quite found one. Of course, it found me, but I’m not much of a roof at all. I was far too concerned about scratching up the seat of my pants to do any roofing business. Anyway, it was a pleasant day. The winds were steady but calm, and the blue sky reflected the inlet water. About a thousand people agreed with me, for the coast was packed with empty trailers, and the bay was filled with sailors. It was like a carnival had unfolded right on top of the water. All sorts of brightly colored triangles glided here and there through the waves. There were patterned green ones and polka dotted pink ones, tall ones and wide ones, yellow ones that could have been cheese, and quite the variety more that got lost in the crowd. I wasn’t up at dawn, but I can imagine that at least a few boats had ventured out before the sun to taste the salt while it was fresh. (In this town, boaters are mad.) By the time I found my perch, the bay had been teeming with triangles, so whatever freshness there once was lost in the frenzy. They called to each other as they passed. “Hello”s and “Nice boat”s mostly. Sometimes question fragments, like, “How do you do, —” (without a question mark) or, “Beautiful day, isn’t it —?” These would go largely unanswered. Others would slow their boat right beside another and strike up a conversation. Sometimes there would even be three or four in one big clump. It was a real party if a fifth boat joined the huddle. Around noon, a little man in a blue apron wheeled a hot dog stand down the dock and began calling something like, “Fresh hot hotdogs! Three dollars!”
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Suddenly there was much interest in eating. The crowds of boats untangled and many flocked to the dock and formed a nice, orderly line, wallets in hand. The hotdog man would lean over the water and hand the boaters their dogs, collect the money owed, and ask, “Would you like pickles with that?� all at the same time. I thought it was most impressive. He was in for a raise.
Do hot dog men get raises? Not all the boats left the bay. These were the bigger boats, large enough for families. They all had opened up picnic baskets that had been packed at home. The mothers were passing out the sandwiches while the fathers kept an eye on the water. Some children were laughing. One little boy, in an orange-triangle boat at the near end of the bay, was throwing his crust to a duck and her ducklings. All seemed well on the water during the lunch hour. The scene made me think of my own rumbling belly, but the feeling soon passed. The wind picked up to a strong gust. In a fury, the boaters packed up their lunches and jumped to the riggings, eager to catch the breeze while it lasted. Hulls clanked and sailors shouted, but after some time, there was peace as they cut and eased along, woes blown away. With the sun sparkling white on the blue pool, the day carried on. I stayed there till sunset. Till the wind died down to a sigh, and the last bow was hoisted from the shore onto a trailer and driven home.
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The Face in the Mirror
The Face SOCKO in the Mirror Socko
I walked in the blue room
Sat down in the seat, unsure of what will happen next The doctor came in He was a giant and I but a mouse He spoke in strange tongues Next thing I know I couldn’t see in one eye It was covered by something, I wanted to take it off My mom said if I did I would go blind I started to cry, looking in the mirror Not recognizing who was on the other side That moment I knew I would always be different My mom assured me of that too She told me everything will be alright I looked back at her, but couldn’t see the light I hugged so tight not wanting it to end All I wanted to do was fall asleep in her arms
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Light
MADIGAN STAPLETON
Light Madigan Stapleton
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Untitled
DREW DUNPHY
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Listen to the Screams EMILY DUCHARME
Listen to the Screams - Emily DuCharme
What food to order
The question I thought mattered But then Gun shots fill the air like fireworks Screams surround me Just 100 feet away 1 dead Several others injured Yet gunshots continue I run away Yet all I can think is goodbye to the beautiful world, I live in because death seems to have found me I start to pray for my friends since I never said goodbye tears fill my eyes stream down my face I just want to wake up From the nightmare I was living in but I was there Champs-ÉlysÊes, 2017
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In the Passing
ALEXANDRA FORD
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White Lies White Lies
ELIZABETH EICHEN Elizabeth Eichen
I wonder if others lie as much as I do,
If false stories and untrue excuses Come to them as easily As they come to me. I wonder if Bus drivers and businessmen, Priests and politicians, All lie as often as me. I’d like to think they do, A shared burden is one That lays lighter On our collective backs. I’d like to think Bus drivers lie to their riders, “We’ll be there in a jiffy” Businessmen lie to their boards, “Our projections for this quarter are incredible” Priests lie to their congregations, “Repent and be saved!” And politicians lie to their constituents, “I will do all I can to help the American people.” There’s comfort and security In lying, but we all pretend We don’t do it. That’s the biggest lie of all.
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Untitled
ALEXANDRA GORMLEY
REPEATER | 30 AlexandraTHE Gormley
Spencer Whelen Reflection SPENCER WHALEN Reflection
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Spooky Chip Ralph Spooky
CHIP RALPH
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The Drive of Man TREY CASTLE
The Drive of Man - Trey Castle
The day has dawned, the time has come; Racing.
They all gather. On stand; on track; on steed. For some, a lifetime to refine. Asking, Do you shed blood, or is oil what you bleed? With all on the line, thus, the gunshot fire. Dash! Will clashes with will! Steel clashes with Steel! Some for money, glory, fame, even ire. Wondrous! From pressure alone, some yield! No matter, for what they ride. In the End, All that matters, Nike’s own blessing and What one learns. Triumph has saved no man’s soul. After the cup, enemy is now friend. The day now dusks, the time comes: Departing. But drive never ends. Remain pursuing.
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Untitled
ALINA ROVNAK
Alina Rovnak “Untitled”
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Dreams of the Concrete JungleDreams of the Concrete Jungle Ashlynn DeGeorge ASHLYNN DEGEORGE
staying up at night
to see all the lights You’ll feel the calling it’s very enthralling Waltzing through town, to your audition at three you finally dance and feel so free Ballerina by day, waitress by night I’m sure you’ll succeed, and reach a new height You’ll take a “no” And then you go But, the occasional “yes” Will bring you the best From a child passing through to a woman bumping you Sometimes you’ll bungle In your days in the jungle But don’t forget those nights When you were dreaming of the lights
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Lochlyn Casey Untitled “Untitled” LOCHLYN CASEY
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United
BAILEY UNDERWOOD
Untitled Bailey Underwood
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Lauren Pettibone Untitled
LAUREN PETTIBONE
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Untitled
MICHELLE ESCOBAR
Michelle Escobar
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Mac and Cheese
Mac and EMILY CheeseEmily Danchulis DANCHULIS
A pan of mac and cheese
Baking in the oven to please. I can’t wait for this yummy treat That will fill me with wheat. Towards the oven I walk As the timer dings on the clock. Sitting on the couch, I watch the streets of New York, And I devour the gooey pasta with my fork.
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Stoplight
BROOKE STEPHENSON
THE REPEATER | 41 Brooke Stevenson
Mallory Kemple-Fading Waters Fading Waters MALLORY KEMPLE
Closer and closer I get to you, I hear the sound of the ocean. Your hair is the silk in the billows, your lips are the creme of the brine. In my head, I fiddle with the loopholes of trying to make you mine. 9am I get the call my legs fill with rope and mesh my numb lips tremble in the reflection worrying is my new obsession. now I fiddle with this tide. bursting out questions, trying to fill the hole with answers hoping one day you’ll be my bride. dark skies, bedsheets to hold the flux we look up at the dozen stars holding hands, hearing cars. the wave sinks away even with my farthest reach, I can’t chase. life’s not a current, it’s a tsunami and anguish is a heavy chore. in my head I ingrain the offing before you’ll soon have to soar and I can’t hear the ocean anymore.
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Untitled
Isabella Salazar
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Portrait of Lawrence Volpe
BELLA VOLPE
Portrait of Lawerence Volpe Bella Volpe
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My Brother is Grateful ELLEN FIEDLER
My Brother is Grateful Ellen Fiedler
My brother is grateful that I don’t remember. He’s grateful that I don’t remember the worst year of my life. He’s grateful that I don’t remember the morning I fell when I tried to stand, my green and pink rug catching me, soft under the leg that wasn’t burning with pain. He’s grateful that I don’t remember when my dad came into the white exam room to tell me that I wouldn’t be going home for a while. He’s grateful that I don’t remember the first time I saw my dad cry. He’s grateful that I don’t remember my night in the ICU after my first surgery and my dad sitting vigilantly by my bedside that night. He’s grateful that I don’t remember the shriek I let out when I looked down at the bulging red scar running up my stomach. He’s grateful that I don’t remember the night my mom spent at home rather than in the hospital room with me, and the picture of her I held to my chest, screaming for her to come back. He’s grateful that I don’t remember the looks of sympathy, the fake smiles, the bittersweet news from the doctors. He’s grateful that I don’t remember my parents saying they were leaving to get something to eat, but really they didn’t want me to see them cry. My brother is grateful that I don’t remember.
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the repeater
22nd Edition
VOLUME 21
the repeater