High over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I saw him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life. —F. Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby
Staff Editor:
Claire McLaughlin
Technical Editors:
Neil Sekhon Steven Underwood
Editorial and Layout Boards:
Bruin Armwald Rebecca Cray Clare Everts Megan Fischer Kate Goodwin Sarah Healy Audrey Jacobsen Angeline Juan Katie Kuecker Meghan Lancaster Marie Luebke Elizabeth Molina Cruz Morales Conor Murphy Julia Pinckney Sam Rothrock Kate Stein Clare Van Gemert Molly Winding Nicole Winkler Carrie Zellmer
Cover and Title Page Artist:
Jordan Lentz
Consultants:
Mr. Jim Ottney Mr. Mark Thering
Advisors:
Ms. Diane Mertens Ms. Teresa West-Lentz
Table of Contents Writers 5 Influx: Sarah Healy
34 Heart: A Loved Story: Charlotte Martin
6 Carousel: Carrie Zellmer
35 With the Lights Off: Natalie Mickelson
8 Simple Things: Tyler Krohn
36 Unspoken: Rebecca Gehrmann
9 To Love the Hummingbird: Charlotte Martin
40 Stapler: Rebecca Gehrmann
10 Briar Tine and the Peculiar Incident of the Talking Cat: Charlotte Martin
41 A Place to Belong: Khuaten Maaneb de Macedo
15 Schizophrenic Me: Lianna Schmidt
42 Wandering in the Garden: Molly Winding
16 Waltz Me Around Again: Rebecca Cray
46 The Oak Tree: Claire McLaughlin
20 Aunt Martha’s Cookies: Claire McLaughlin
48 Johnny: Nick Etzel
22 Hoops: Tyler Krohn
53 Reality: Natalie Mickelson
26 To Robert Burns: Kate Stein
54 The Rocket: Eric Wendorf
28 Shoes: Brianna Piddington
Graphic Artists Jennifer Bird: 35
Melissa Mutch: 5, 48, 52
Rebecca Cray: 22
Lauren Nebel: 26-27
Clare Everts: 7
Sarah Provencher: 16-17, 19, 37, 39
Paige Kelly: 41
Adam Schmidt: 54-55
Jordan Lentz: 10, 13-14, 28-31, 33,
Casey Shiring: 20-21
34, 36, 40, 50-51
Carly Snider: 15, 23
Claire McLaughlin: 46-47
Sarah Snyder: 42-43, 45
Rya Montgomery: 8
Michael Vernio: 22, 25
Conor Murphy: 53
Jules Wolnak: 9
Denotes Edgewood High School Writing Contest Winner
Influx Sarah Healy (11)
Influx The invasion begins! Slowly at first, Undetected, the Silent Change, mere wisps curling down, Down, transformed into channels before our very eyes! Channels through which the invasion Trickles, then streams, then flows as they Flex and widen, Penetrating everything, here and there, under and near, Swiftly, mightily, inescapably There is now no distinction Between what was and what is The tea is ready
5
Artwork by Melissa Mutch (11)
CAROUSEL Carrie Zellmer (10)
I
open the square box covered by a film of
from 1953 to 1955. I know he is reserved yet
dust to reveal a circular, slotted ark. I am
resourceful, inquisitive, and smart. The army
entrusted with the chore of preserving
interrupted his life plan, but he leapt at the
what is not mine. A once protective and
chance to travel. He would grab ―hops‖ at the
bouncy foam lining disintegrates beneath my
U.S. Air Force base to cities all over Europe. He
fingers. Numbered, but long forgotten, each
carried a 35mm camera and used film and
thin division holds a bit of the past. I lift the
patience to record his travels. One such ―hop‖
little square up to the light, squinting to focus
took him to Berlin. To my eyes the Berlin
on the image. I impatiently push the square
photos are the most arresting of his collection. His Berlin is rubble-strewn and damaged.
into the slide mount adapter and wait for the
Even the great shopping boulevard is marked
digitized pixels to appear.
with debris. The citizens rush about amid
The whirring noise of the scanner and Pandora Internet radio are my soundtrack. I
buildings that have been reduced to piles of
work my way through the images, impressed
bricks. Windows are still broken seven years
at the number of countries represented. Still, it
after the war. The business of life has resumed,
is boring, despite the scenery. There are
but the landscape is scarred. I am anxious to
hundreds of slides to scan, name, and save.
see more. I discover a photo of the
While numbered, they do not correspond to
Brandenburg Gate. I don‘t even recognize it, as
the typed descriptions. I see tulips in
there are cars driving beneath its arch. A red
Amsterdam, the Leaning Tower of Pisa,
flag flies overhead. It looks dingy and plain
Trafalgar Square, Notre Dame, and the canals
and lucky to have survived. I visited Berlin in 2007. There was a
of Venice. Suddenly I see something familiar but surprising. I know that dark-haired man
Starbucks and the American Embassy close to
with the army crew cut. I did not know him as
the Brandenburg Gate. The monument was
a young man, but we share the same smile and
now illuminated, grand, and sandblasted a
blue eyes. I see him and a group of his friends.
gleaming white. This symbol of peace was set
Will someone I love who is yet unborn look at
behind concrete barriers. Granddaddy‘s photos of Berlin echoed our
me sixty years in the future? Will he or she find it odd that I was once young and
steps through the city. We both snapped
adventurous and even sexy?
photos of the Air Bridge monument to the Berlin Airlift. Of course, he was there before
I want to know more. Via e-mail he tells
the rise of the Berlin Wall. I was interested in
me he was stationed in southern Germany 6
tracing the former divide between East and
We carried Euros, and he carried Scrip. What
West. His documentary-style approach
did this young man from Pennsylvania hear,
captured the small moments of life. A rosy-
think, and feel?
faced woman in a vibrant blue, cloth coat leans
I call to ask if he remembers much about
over a table piled high with apples. A man in
Berlin. He says he had high-security clearance
lederhosen astride a bike competes with traffic
and was not supposed to be there. He recalls
in front of a stone building. Women wear hats
getting ―chewed out‖ by a superior. He is glad
and gloves and heels. Men wear fedoras and
I like his photos. They were waiting for me in
suit coats. A crowd assembles to listen to an
his basement all these years.
accordion player. A Berliner Kindl beer truck pauses to let tanks pass. My Berlin is modern, urban, and gleaming,
What started as an obligation has become a quest. I want to know more. Why did I not know he traveled the world? How could these
with commerce, magnificent architecture, and
treasures be forgotten on a shelf? I close the
reunification. We hopped on the Ubahn and
square box, intent on working my way
Sbahn and zipped all over the city, with little
through the archives. There is more I want to
concern for language or cultural differences.
know and so much that I have learned already.
Artwork by Clare Everts (10)
Simple Things Tyler Krohn (12) Just give me the simple things My plaid cotton sheets, Some sweet tea to drink, My ball and my hoop I just need the simple things Never had it hard But didn‘t have it great In the back of my driveway A Huffy hoop and a Wilson ball, Trying to make it big, My dreams as a kid, MLB, NFL, hopefully NBA All my thoughts Were giant houses, Fast cars, And some shoes For every day of the week Now as I lay in my king Reflecting on things, I think about joy yet to receive I have the giant house, A few fast cars, And I just got new shoes today It all fails to compare To the joy that I had With a Huffy hoop and Wilson ball In the back of my driveway
8
Artwork by Rya Montgomery (12)
To Love the Hummingbird Tell me.
Charlotte Martin (12)
What draws a pretty little bird like you to a flower like me? Was it the wind, Little Bird? You are quite small. Very easy for you to get caught in the breeze, no?
Was it my petals, Little Bird? Perhaps you are drawn to Dark Humor Blue and Deep Insight Red. Possibly you noted the Fragile Pink. Was it my branches, Little Bird? You look so tired. Despite these thorns, maybe you just needed a place to rest. I love you, Little Bird. Is that a mistake? Without you I‘m nothing. Without me you‘ll survive. I‘m yours, Little Bird, but you‘re not mine. You‘re my counterpart, my sister, my sunshine, my soul. But you‘re not Artwork by Jules Wolnak (10)
mine to lose.
Briar Tine and the
Peculiar Incident of the Talking Cat Charlotte Martin (12)
Artwork by Jordan Lentz (12)
B
riar Tine was one of those people who
But since she was very drowsy and very
could not fall asleep unless it was
much annoyed, she did not notice the smoking
pitch black and absolutely silent. She
man and decided instead to go back to sleep.
had never slept with a night-light and had
Turning around, she stubbed her toe on the
never been afraid of the dark. In fact, it had
corner of her bed. Thock.
always had a calming effect on her. Every
―Damn it!‖ she hissed. Neurons firing, she
night before she went to bed, she would stand
went to rub away the pain in her smallest toe.
The Color Purple in front of her alarm clock,
But before she could comfort the throbbing
which otherwise would have poured its very
little appendage, she was confronted by a new
disruptive, fluorescent blue light all over her
sort of discomfort, the discomfort one feels
room. She had gotten in the habit of going to
when an unfamiliar voice speaks calmly and
bed only after her parents were sound asleep
clearly in the dead of night, in one‘s bedroom,
in order to avoid any extraneous sound they
in a house which one has locked and bolted.
may have made downstairs while they turned
―You really should turn on a light.‖ It was
off all the lights and locked all the doors. If all
a man. That was certain. His voice was deep
of these precautions were made, she would fall
and a little bit…accented. He sounded haughty
into a deep, dreamless sleep in a matter of
and perhaps even annoyed with the stupidity
seconds and not wake up until the alarm went
of Briar, who was currently trying not to spit
off at six o‘clock the next morning.
her heart out of her throat and onto the floor.
But on one particular night, for no
―Well…?‖ it said expectantly.
particular reason at all, Briar Tine woke up in
―Well,‖ Briar said, almost audibly.
the middle of the night to find that The Color
―Aren‘t you going to turn on the light?‖
Purple had fallen, and, apparently, the power
Now, when a strange, disembodied voice
had gone out at some point; the clock was
in the dark asks ―aren‘t‖ you going to do
blinking 12:00 in a rather stupefied fashion, as
something, what it really means is ―do‖ that
if it were stuttering its excuses for having lost
something. This is a universally accepted
the time. Being a rather sharp individual, Briar
human truth, and, luckily for her, Briar was
immediately crossed the room to her window
human and understood this universal truth.
and looked to see if it had rained; it wasn‘t
But cats are not human.
impossible that a thunderstorm could have
So it is especially puzzling that when Briar
caused the power to fail. But the windowpane
Tine managed to turn on the light in her room,
was not wet, and the stars were clear in the late
she found not a man but a cat sitting in the
night sky. The world was still. Eerily still. In
middle of her bed.
fact, if Briar Tine had not been so drowsy and
―See,‖ he said, ―now we can see each other.
annoyed by the fact that she was awake in the
Much better for conversation, wouldn‘t you
middle of the night, she would have noticed
agree?‖ Briar did not inhale. She did not
that her neighbor was smoking a cigarette on
exhale. She did not blink. Her heart skipped
his back porch, and the smoke hung stagnantly
several beats. The only functioning parts of her
in the air.
body at that moment were her slate-gray eyes, 11
which could not look away from the cat‘s
have already discussed, is obviously ―Yes.‖
grotesquely proportioned face.
―I‘m Briar,‖ she mouthed.
Its eyes were enormous, like giant, green
―Speak up, dear. I can‘t hear you.‖
Christmas lights turned on their sides. In fact,
―Briar,‖ she squealed.
given that they had a somewhat glowing
―Ah. Briar. An odd name, really. But I like
quality about them, Christmas lights seemed to
it.‖ Briar stared. The cat smiled. They
be a perfect analogy. The little torpedo-shaped
continued like that for a moment, staring and
pupils were not very little at all; they were
smiling, until the cat‘s face fell and he popped
sharply outlined and deep, deep black. But
his lips to interrupt the awkward silence.
what was most perturbing about the cat‘s eyes
Pop.
were not the eyes themselves but the
Briar stared.
eyebrows. They were very dark and distinct
The cat grinned again.
against his fluffy, white coat and gave him a
―OH!‖ he suddenly exclaimed. ―How
jarringly intelligent disposition. But, horrifyingly, even this abnormality was not the strangest. It was his mouth. Traditionally, cats have very petite mouths tucked neatly away beneath a cute little nose. This cat had a cute little nose, but its mouth was by no means petite nor
Its eyes were enormous, like giant, green Christmas lights turned on their sides.
indecently rude of me! Won‘t you sit down?‖ He stood up and walked to the foot of the bed, where he sat and curled his bushy, snow-colored tail around his paws. He looked keenly at the space he had just vacated, waiting for the girl to sit. Without letting her eyes leave the cat‘s face for a moment, she slowly, cautiously made her way back to her bed. As soon as
tucked neatly away. It was broad with thin black lips held by some
her hand touched the sheets, the cat burst
invisible point at his ears in a permanent,
forth.
outlandish smile. He had two refined rows of
―You must be wondering why I‘m here,
sharply pointed teeth that gleamed hungrily
Briar. Well. To tell you the truth, I‘m not really
up at Briar‘s frozen face. When he spoke, all
sure how I got here, much less why I‘m here.
she could do was watch the thin, black lips
Although I don‘t suppose one always needs a
form perfect syllables around the little, white
reason to be here. Or somewhere, rather.
daggers.
Anywhere, really. But the fact of the matter is that I‘m not sure how I got here, and on the off
―Well?‖ he prompted. Briar said nothing. It‘s very hard to answer when it‘s a cat asking.
chance that I‘m meant to be here, I‘m not sure
He rolled his giant, green eyes with
why I‘m here, either. But I sincerely doubt I‘m
exasperation. ―Aren‘t you going to introduce
meant to be here. My God. I mean, look at this
yourself?‖ The answer to this question, as we
place—there‘s not a tree in sight! What am I 12
supposed to do all day, hm? Couldn‘t have any fun at all here….‖ He stared thoughtfully out the window for a moment while Briar continued to stare at him. Finally, she found enough courage to ask, ―How did you get here?‖ The cat snapped back to attention as if he‘d forgotten she was there at all. ―Hm?‖ he asked, raising his eyebrows. ―H-How did you get here?‖ The cat‘s eyebrows fell back down in irritation. ―Weren‘t you listening? I said I haven‘t a clue how I got here. I was following that bloody rabbit because he said he‘d found it, and the next thing I—‖ ―Found what?‖ Briar was surprised to hear her own voice. the cat continued to mutter vehemently to
―The Jabberwocky, of course.‖ The cat laughed, surprised. A thought occurred to
himself, Briar‘s temporary paralysis began to
him. He studied her warily from beneath his
loosen its hold. It started in her fingers and
furrowed brow. ―Have you seen it?‖ His eyes
toes, like bees buzzing under her skin. ―…I suppose I could ask the Queen.
narrowed at her, searching her petrified face
Although I‘d have to work on my poker
for some kind of recognition.
face…‖
―Have I seen…‖
She could feel the blood returning to her
―…the Jabberwocky! Have you seen the
arms and legs at this point…
Jabberwocky?‖ The cat was almost yelling
―…the Twins won‘t know anything.
now.
Blubbering idiots…‖
―No,‖ Briar said lamely. The cat considered
…her heart was beating in a steady rhythm
her for a moment, distrust still glowing in his
now…
freakish, green eyes. Then, almost as suddenly
―…won‘t know anything, always
as his suspicion had arisen, it disappeared, and
swimming in that foul smoke of his…‖
he looked distractedly about the room.
...and then, finally, the shock released her
―I suppose it should come as no surprise.
mind from its petrified bewilderment.
You young girls aren‘t very inclined to finding
―The Cat!‖ she shouted. The Cat looked up
him. Especially not that blonde imbecile.
at her, shaken. ―The Cheshire Cat!‖
Didn‘t even know what I was talking about. I
―Chesire?‖ He made a face. ―Please watch
mean, for God‘s sake, the Jabberwocky! It‘s one thing to not know the Hatter, but the
your mouth! We cats take the term ‗Cheshire‘
Jabberwocky? He‘s rather hard to miss…‖ As
very poorly. Honestly. Very offensive. I mean, 13
really, how would you like it if someone came
In fact, she was so abruptly tired that as
running about and called you a horrid little...ill
she turned off the bathroom light, she failed to
-mannered…eh…wench? Hm? No, you
notice the gleaming, white teeth and glowing,
wouldn‘t like it very much at all, would you?‖
green eyes staring at her from the other side of
Briar had had enough of the Cat by now.
the mirror before they disappeared….
More than ready to be done with the horrible thing, she grabbed it by its snowy hackles and marched out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. ―What are you doing?‖ the Cat protested. ―Put me down, you horrible thing!‖ ―You‘re the Cheshire Cat,‖ Briar hissed, ―which means you‘re from Looking Glass Land. In this world, looking glasses are very easy to come by. Now if you‘ll just shut up, I can get you back to your…Jabberwocky.‖ The Cat‘s ears perked up, and his frightening mouth pursed shut. His eyes darted around the hallway excitedly, searching for the looking glass he‘d been promised. When they got to the bathroom, Briar swung open the door and snapped on the light. She all but threw the Cat on the counter and began to shake her hands as if she‘d just put down a rotting squash. The Cat was too busy observing himself in the mirror to notice. ―Ah, yes!‖ he whispered. ―There she is! That horrible little blonde girl!‖ Briar looked in the mirror and saw only her brown-haired reflection staring back. The Cat grinned from ear to ear and turned to look at Briar once more over his shoulder. ―Well,‖ he said cordially, ―goodnight to you then, Briar.‖ He coiled for a moment near the sink and then sprang fluidly through the mercury surface of the mirror. She was still shaken to the core, but suddenly Briar remembered that it was the middle of the night, and she was very tired. Very tired. 14
Schizophrenic Me Lianna Schmidt (12) What were you thinking? What was he thinking? Why would he love you? Why can‘t he love me? You‘re weak. I‘m strong. Extremely Naïve. I‘m no one to mess with. He hijacked that heart. I gave it to him. And headed. And fell. Straight and Fast. Head over Heels. For disaster. In love. Get over it. He obviously has.
Artwork by Carly Snider (11)
Rebecca Cray (11)
T
he great American playwright, Eugene O’Neill, entertained audiences across the country with his 1933 comedy, Ah, Wilderness! Following the struggles of young Richard Miller in
his coming of age, O’Neill explores the workings and values of an idyllic middle class family in their quest to fulfill the American dream. Soon after the play’s success, O’Neill began work on a sequel, but it was never completed. The notes he left behind describe the same Miller family; however, the destruction of World War I has left them devastated and disjointed. The following is a possible scene from the tragic play. 16
found on the left wall between the icebox and the cabinet. On the right wall, a door opens out to the dining room and rest of the house. From the door on the right enters SID. He is fifty-nine years old and bald, with a sagging face and stomach, reminiscent of his once jolly cheeks and beer-belly. His face is crossed with deep laugh lines, yet tonight they mark the pensive and dismally reflective countenance of a man caught in the past but unsure if he really wants to be there. He is dressed in a shabby pair of gray, pilling, wool pants. Leather suspenders hold them up over his white, button-down shirt, rolled up to the elbows and showing wear around the collar. He sits down at the table and stares off into a memory.
SID — Essie Miller‘s brother; Arthur‘s uncle ARTHUR — The Miller‘s oldest son
SCENE — Kitchen of the Miller home, about 7:30, on an evening in early November, 1920. The Miller kitchen is a small space, at one time cozy, now only cramped and uncomfortably cluttered. The room in general exudes a worn, tired, out-of-date, and dismal air, the feeling of a home without a mother, without the beating heart of a family to warm its otherwise rigid structure. The floor is covered in dingy, yellow linoleum. Once sunny and bright, its surface is now marred by hundreds of sweepings, scrubbings, and stains. The walls match the floor with a drab yellow and green floral wallpaper. The seams are peeling, especially over the sink on the back wall, where a splotchy, brown water stain proves the uselessness of the limp towel that hangs nearby. Above the sink is the sole window of the room. From behind the greasy, yellow curtains, the presence of a chilly and gloomy night, undecided between the dying of fall and the dead of winter, makes itself known. To the left of the sink on the back wall is a large, glass-doored cabinet exhibiting a collection of mismatched, chipped dishes. To the other side of the sink is the small, four-burner stove. In an attempt to match the kitchen, a cream and green model was chosen. While once fashionable, it now appears tawdry, and its paint has been blackened by continuous use and neglect. To the front of the stove, pushed against the right wall, is a small, rickety, drop-leaf table and two café chairs that no one has ever fit in comfortably. Above hangs a single, extinguished light bulb, leaving the kitchen in abandoned shadows. On the left, across from the table and chairs, is a large, metal icebox, cream in color to match the stove, pushed awkwardly against the wall. No money has been spent on an updated refrigerator, and the door always hangs slightly ajar, the latch broken. A door leading outside is Artwork by Sarah Provencher (12)
SID. After a moment, suddenly aware of his surroundings and agitated. Why is this house always so dark? Like it‘s got something to hide. It never used to be like this. He reaches up to yank on the light. Essie—Essie always liked it bright in here. Made the whole thing yellow! Said it reminded her of spring all year round and kept her calm coming in here to yell at that darn Norah girl. Boy, do I remember that day she finished with the Sears Roebuck. She tore that book half to pieces flipping through it— ended up ordering half the catalog, too. Everything was all shiny and new. She was so proud, and Nat came home and about busted his belt laughing. Said the whole thing felt like we were living in a buttercup. But she knew how to take it all in good fun. She always did. I guess she had to with me as her brother. Darkens, realizing what kind of kitchen he’s sitting in now. But, Sis, you‘re gone now. Lily‘s all alone. She‘s always leaving the lights out. She‘s always been too sensible—pinching pennies. Can‘t a man see to move around? Softens miserably. But I guess she‘s right. No money to waste in these times. She‘s always been right, too. Right never to marry a worn17
out, tossed-out old newspaperman with nothing to show for surviving fifty-nine long years on this damned planet. With added disgust. Right not to marry a drunk. A reminiscent yet unhappy smile spreads across his face. I used to ask every day, too. Never took me seriously—no one did. If I had been sober…. He trails off and the look of deep self– resentment returns. Uncle Sid—always good for a laugh. What a joker! What a caution! What else? At least they used to laugh then! He attempts to lean back in the rickety chair, uncomfortably pensive in thought. Maybe that‘s all I was—all I am and all I‘ll ever be. At least I
the useless door. Anything worth eating around here? Upon hearing the music, SID breaks from his trance somewhat. SID. Disturbed. What are you whistling that for? ARTHUR. Carelessly. What? Oh, you mean that old tune? Snorts. Can‘t believe I still have it on my tongue. Just a bit of success downtown this morning. I‘ve heard the economy‘s headed for a dive, but, gee, business around my parts is just booming! Evelyn‘s pa asked me just this morning if I still thought about trying to bring back that old paper. Can‘t say I have. While speaking,
was happy. He stands up forcefully, the chair falling out behind him. He walks over to the sink, grabbing a dirty water glass. Glass in hand, he stares hauntingly at the base of the cabinet. You know what‘s in there, and you know better. You‘re a reformed man. He told you it would kill you if you didn‘t stop. You haven‘t had a drop in three years, so how come you‘re not living? Never felt more dead. SID remains in a detached state in front of the cabinet. From outside comes the sound of ARTHUR walking to the back door. He is whistling ―Oh, Waltz Me Around Again, Willie‖ as he enters the kitchen. He is thirty -three years old and dressed in a new, fashionablytailored brown suit and polished shoes. His thick, sandy hair has been slicked down in an attempt to appear older and more important than he is. He enters with a proud, heavy, insensitive gait as if his errand of life were superior and beyond the understanding of anyone else. ARTHUR. Somewhat surprised. Oh, hello Sid. What are you doing back here in this hole? It‘s awful dark. He goes to the icebox, pushing aside
ARTHUR collects a heaping plate of cold leftovers and sits down sloppily at the table, leaving the fallen chair unnoticed. He proceeds to stuff his mouth inconsiderately. SID appears not to have heard anything but remains in front of the sink, staring out the dark window. ARTHUR. Stopped by to talk to Pa. Not that he‘d want to see me. But I thought I‘d try, you know—take the high road. Anyone around? SID. Suddenly acknowledging ARTHUR‘s presence, his nephew’s comments having just hit him. No. I‘m here alone—in this ―hole.‖ ARTHUR. Rambling on, utterly impervious to SID‘s low mood. That‘s a darn shame. Where are they all off to? Dinner can‘t have been more than half an hour ago. The food‘s still warm. It might just be that useless icebox, though. You know, they‘ve got new models. I just bought a new one for the house myself, and Evelyn can‘t get over it—raving night and day. You all should look into one, although they do cost a bit of change. He continues to eat greedily. 18
ARTHUR. Finally seems to soften, but whatever has touched his memory seems to have dissipated quickly, replaced again by indifference. I see, Sid. I guess I‘d better head out then. I can see my invitation‘s not welcome around here. Starts for the door. You tell Pa I stopped by—or, at least, I tried. Better get home and tell Evelyn the good news. ARTHUR leaves out the back door, whistling again. The sickeningly sweet tones of ―Waltz Me Around Again, Willie‖ can be heard for some time from a distance. SID fails to notice ARTHUR‘s exit and has drawn himself into a deep state of reflection, shocked at his own outburst yet still captured by his thoughts. He moves stiffly back to the table and picks up the fallen chair to sit in. Exhausted, he hunches over the table. Without lifting his head, he reaches up to extinguish the light, and the set is again enveloped in darkness.
SID. Ignoring these last comments. No, no one‘s home. Didn‘t say where they were off to, just left. No one sat down to dinner tonight, either. Not even Lily. She said she wasn‘t a bit hungry. ARTHUR. Becoming somewhat aware of SID‘s downtrodden mood but still oblivious to his own insensitivity. You know, Sid, you seem mighty lonely down here. Why don‘t you come on out with me sometime? How about next weekend? I‘ll take you back out to the Sachem Club. The boys are having a fine game of golf, and I‘ve put down a good bet. I need someone to help back it up. And don‘t worry, I‘ll keep you away from any devil chowder. Besides, the Club‘s come a long way from that old picnic, sousing you all up on the Fourth. We‘re a refined group of gentlemen. Now that I‘ve become vice-president and all the Yale boys— SID. A steady scowl has been spreading across his face; now, interrupting furiously. There was nothing ever wrong with that picnic! Just a few hard-working newspapermen trying to have a good time. Not that you‘d know anything about that. You go off and get lucky, marrying the first pretty belle that passes you by after rolling out of Yale and then landing yourself in her father‘s lap, right up next to his pocketbook! Making witty, gentleman jokes about the paper your father raised from nothing—like the rags now are any better— working hard every day to give you an easy ride through life. That picnic was one of the few days he took off. That‘s one of the few times I ever saw that good man loosen his belt, just a little. It was one of the few times we ever got to feel like we could slide through life with just a drink in our hands and the fireworks above our heads, letting the good times roll. His eyes would sparkle; he‘d come home and be all over Essie. Rambling on about that bluefish or lobster—I can hardly remember. Not that there‘s any need. He and I both know now that life doesn‘t let you through that easy, but it sure plays one heck of a good trick. Keeps you going, hoping, watching the show, buying the drinks. I haven‘t seen Nat like that since— Breaks off, and even ARTHUR‘s face suddenly softens in some recollection. 19
Artwork by Casey Shiring (11)
Aunt Martha’s Cookies Claire McLaughlin (11)
On Monday Aunt Martha made cookies to give to Uncle Boo. She whisked in all her flavorings: She wrenched her pots and measuring cups,
crushed arsenic and
clanging and banging from the cupboard
crystallized ginger,
drawers,
cinnamon and cyanide,
weeded out Mother‘s recipe
vanilla and
―For Special Occasions Only.‖
strychnine extract. for the notes from Linda you forgot in your pocket, those letters with the hearts
Dearest Boo, I made you these cookies for all the love we have shared,
scrawled all over the seal, She lined up her ingredients, knotted her crisp apron strings,
She stirred in her dry
cranked her oven to 350 degrees.
rolled her dough into
ingredients, perfect balls,
baked until brown and crispy— ten to twelve minutes.
for the roses you left in my locker, for the kisses that tickled my lips,
for the lipstick hidden behind your ear, for the scent of perfume left on my pillow,
She tore up handfuls of belladonna, whacked away at her foxglove, chopped up her hemlock and
She swaddled her cookies in plastic wrap,
tossed in the flour,
tucked them in Uncle Boo‘s lunch pail,
sifted and set them aside.
kissed him goodbye on the cheek. for all the love we have shared,
for the ring you slid down my finger, for the house you built over my head,
I made you these cookies.
She creamed her shortening
On Monday Aunt Martha made cookies
and poured in her sugar,
to give to Uncle Boo.
whipped until light and fluffy, beat in two rotten eggs,
And when we had heard the dreadful news,
sprinkled in the shells for extra crunch.
we pulled on our black socks and stockings, gathered white crocuses from our garden, sent her a casserole stuffed
for Sarah, for Matthew, for Leah, for your hand always in mine,
with spinach and our deepest regrets.
21
Hoops
Tyler Krohn (12)
W
hen my dad was growin‘ up, he
a girl, friends, drugs, drink, money, anything. I
was always out at the park. He
don‘t even really need school. If I could play
ran the courts. Everyone had his
ball and just say screw it all to this school, I
respect. He‘d shoot the outside J, drive and
would. I can‘t, though, until I graduate from
kick it out to the open dude, or slam it on your
this meaningless hell-hole. I mean, I guess I
dome and let you know about it after. That‘s
ain‘t needa have such a bad attitude towards
how he made it to the League. Played fifteen
school. My pops did play in the NBA, so all
years all over, with the Raptors, Sonics, and
my teachers would do anything just to get one
won a championship with the Los Angeles
of his freakin‘ game socks—it‘s bananas. I just
Lakers. If you was gonna try to guard him, you
have to sit back, and they pass me. I ain‘t gotta
better be ready to lock down. He would take it
do squat. Really, it‘s all just a waste of time to
to anybody, anytime, anywhere.
me. I ain‘t needa know any of this stuff, I just
He always told me, ―It don‘t matter if you
have to know how to ball. That‘s all I do know.
in the driveway, at the park, or playin‘ all the
To be real with you, I don‘t know jack in any
way over in Japan, you better bring it hard
of my classes. I don‘t even sweat it, though. I
every time you play, no matter what.‖
just have to show up and play ball till I
So I guess this game is in my blood. Like
graduate, then I can blow it up in the League.
lights for a Christmas tree or a pencil for
I‘ve had scouts coming to watch me play
writing, it‘s what I was meant for. Six feet,
since eighth grade, man. Since birth I‘ve had
four inches tall, about 195 pounds, and quicker
hype around me all the time. I deal with it
than your typical college guard, I was bred to
well. You could say it‘s gotten to my head, but
have a basketball in my hands. I love it, too. I
until someone can stop me, I‘m gonna keep
don‘t need anything else but a basketball. Not
doin‘ it. ESPN and rivals.com have me goin‘ as 22
Artwork by Rebecca Cray (11)
a lottery pick in the next draft. That‘s pretty
―I asked you to do it, Trey. Now you either
much why I don‘t try at school. People ask me
get up and do it, or I‘ll send you to the office.‖
what I‘m gonna do after high school, and I just
He was clearly getting pissed off, which
laugh. Ha, are you serious? I think to myself. Do you not know who I am? I just say I‘m playin‘
was just makin‘ me laugh. ―Oh yeah? Ha, you gonna send me to the
ball and smile, leavin‘ it at that. Cuz it‘s as
office? You know what, don‘t even worry
simple as that—I‘m gonna play ball. That‘s all I
‗bout it man, I know how to get there.‖
know, that‘s all I need, that‘s all I want. That‘s
So I started to get up and leave the room.
what makes me mad, though, when people try
―Trey! You know what? You have to be the
to get on me for not goin‘ to college. Shoot, a
dumbest, cockiest, most ignorant person I‘ve
college education, yeah right. I barely have a
ever had to deal with. You think you‘re God‘s
middle school education, and I‘m gonna be
gift to Earth because you‘re good at one thing.
makin‘ millions my first year out of high
Well, that one thing can be taken away in an
school. Fool, I‘ll be makin‘ more in a month
instant, and what are you going to do then,
than you with your fancy college degree and
Trey? What are you going to do then?‖
your daddy will make in three years. Anyways, right now we are undefeated my
I was so shocked he just went off like that, I didn‘t even know how to respond. Ain‘t
senior season. We‘re 13-0. Today we play a big
nobody ever snapped on me like that before. I
game against our cross-town rivals to decide
just sat there in silence till the bell rang, so I
who‘s number one in the conference. I go into
could go get ready for the game.
every game the same way. I sleep in until 9:30
When game time came, I was more ready
and drive the long way to school. I go from
than ever, but that garbage my math teacher
class to class just sittin‘, thinkin‘ ‗bout what
threw at me was still in the back of my head.
I‘m gonna do tonight on the court. I play out
This game was crazy. There were more people
every situation I can in my head. And every
in the stands than I had ever seen. I guess they
time I score. Prolly because that‘s what‘s ‗bout
had to close the gym doors
to happen—I‘m gonna score. Today in my last
at 5:00 because it was
class, though, when I was spacin‘ off, thinkin‘
way more people
‗bout the game, my math teacher snapped on
than they
me.
could fit ―Trey, can you solve this problem on the
board for the class? Trey…Trey!‖ he said. ―Yeah? What‘s up?‖ I said back.
into the gym. Fans were
―Can you solve this problem on the board, please?‖ ―Nah, bro, have Sarah do it. You know she just itchin‘ to do that nonsense like it‘s her job.‖ The class got a laugh out of it.
Artwork by Carly Snider (11)
goin‘ crazy, and both teams were ready to get
half. In high school ball, there‘s no shot clock,
at it. We won the tip-off. Our point guard
so they decided to stall for the last shot to get
brought the ball down the court. I moved to
back some confidence goin‘ into the second
the wing where I was wide open. He dished
half. They passed the ball around, keepin‘ it
me the ball, so I stepped up to the three-point
away from our pressure. The clock ticked
line and knocked it down. We were flowin‘
down: 5…4…3…. Their top shooter pulled up
and got the momentum early. At the end of the
and released right as the horn sounded. It was
first quarter, we were up thirteen points. The
like it happened in slow motion. There wasn‘t
other team, though, wasn‘t havin‘ it. They
nothing‘ we could do once the ball was in the
came out hard the second quarter and cut our
air. We just watched it go up and fall down,
lead down to two points. Our coach was mad
bouncing hard off the back of the rim.
as hell. He called a time-out after they nailed a
So we had the lead at half. I was doin‘ my
three and just cursed us out. And you know
thing. I was shootin‘ and makin‘ shots, drivin‘
he‘s pissed when he
and kickin‘ it out for threes,
starts cursin‘.
and makin‘ plays on D.
―Trey, are you serious? This is ridiculous! You‘re going to let these kids come into your gym and let them
Everything was goin‘ right for me and my team. There
…
take it to you like this? Are you playing with me
was no way we were going to lose this game. When we came out to start playing
…
again, our coach said to get
…
right now?‖ The first horn rang. ―Trey get your ass out there and make
the ball to me. There was no way they were ‗bout to stop me, so I was just gonna put the team on my back and carry us to a sweet, sweet
something happen.‖
win. I came down, three possessions in a row
We inbounded the ball, and I brought it up
getting buckets. I was really feeling it. I never
the court. I called a 1–4 isolation. I gave my
felt this good, everything was just fallin‘ for
man a crossover. He stayed with me, so I gave
me. So I called an isolation for myself. I played
him a quick hesitation move. It froze him like a
with my man a little bit, getting a step on him,
popsicle, so I pulled up and nailed a three
then letting him recover. I did this a few times,
right in his eye, nothing but net. We put on a
then one time the weak side defense started to
full court press after that. We played man-to-
fade off, so I decided to take it to the rack.
man, not givin‘ them any room. We were on
Crossed my man and made him fall. All I was
them like flies on a rotten apple. We were just
thinking was, Finish hard, send a message, let
all in their faces. We got three steals and got
everyone in this gym know that I am the best and
points off every one. So their coach called a
no one can touch me. I took one dribble to the
time-out. There was just one minute left in the
hoop. I picked it up, took two steps to flush it 24
down hard with two hands. I had the intent to break the backboard. Like my pops said, ―You better bring it hard every time you play, no matter what.‖ I was soaring. It felt like I was in the air forever. I could already see in my head the crowd, my bench, everyone just goin‘ bananas after this dunk. But suddenly the hoop started to look farther and farther away. Someone had taken out my legs. I was starting to turn upside-down. My head slammed onto the floor, and my shoulder was jammed into my body with the force of a mack truck. I didn‘t know what was happening after that. I just laid there, looking at the ceiling. But I didn‘t feel any pain. I just laid there, painless, motionless. And in an instant…screwed.
Artwork by Michael Vernio (9)
To Robert Burns Kate Stein (10)
Sir: Your luve is like a red, red rose, But let me say it plain: My luve is like a thistle, wither‘d And rotting in the rain. If it would please you, o good sir, To leave my heart alone, Then much the happier we would both be Free to wander, glad to roam. For I fear, my gentle man, That I cannot say true That this which beats within my chest Will e‘er belong to you. So let us part our merry ways, And stay us both apart, For, good sir, kind sir, I am loath To bequeath to you my heart.
Artwork by Lauren Nebel (11)
26
SHOES Brianna Piddington (12)
SCENE —The stage is dark, and the set looks like a
CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN THE PUMP.
large closet. There are three shelves of different
Welcoming. Hello there, and welcome to the
kinds of shoes forming a semi-circle. Also on stage are racks of women’s clothing. The actors should be hidden by a screen or wear black and use actual shoes as puppets.
Closet. I am Christian Louboutin the Pump, but you can just call me CL. Ignore Gucci over there; she's just upset because Ms. Smith hasn't worn her in a couple months. Whispers. I think
MS. SMITH, a woman in her early 20s, enters
she's afraid she's become ―last season.‖
the stage with a shopping bag. She pulls out a
GUCCI. Annoyed. I heard that! And I am not
shoebox and sets a pair of loafers among the rest of her shoes. Then she exits with the shopping bag and
―last season.‖ Ms. Smith doesn't wear me that
shoebox. A light appears on the racks of shoes.
dirty. After all, we all know what the streets of
much because she doesn't want to get me Manhattan do to us. The rest of the shoes agree, saying things like ―Yup,‖ ―Oh, yes,‖ etc. Well, except maybe you, Newbie. I would be surprised if she ever wears you in public. I mean, look at your— CL. Gucci! Be nice! I apologize. My! I don't
GUCCI THE BOOT. Well, look what the
think I've asked what your name is.
human dragged in. Artwork by Jordan Lentz (12)
KATE SPADE THE LOAFER. Extremely timid. 28
M-My name is Kate. Kate Spade the Loafer.
in Los Angeles, I had to spend hours in a
GUCCI snickers. A pair of shoes next to KATE
cramped suitcase on an airplane with no one to
turns to her.
talk to. But I never complained. Finally, my big
TORY BURCH THE FLAT. Nice to meet you,
night came. From the moment I touched the
Kate. I'm Tory Burch the Flat.
red carpet at the Oscars, everyone was saying
KATE. Is Gucci always that mean?
how much they loved me and asking who
TORY. Yes, and she also has quite the temper.
designed me! I felt so honored. It was the best
You should have seen the tantrum she threw
night of my life!
last week.
KATE. That's really cool, CL. Do you think
KATE. Really? What happened?
that will ever happen to me? It's always been
TORY. Well, CL was being her usual arrogant
my dream to be on the red carpet.
self and was bragging about this movie
CL. I'm afraid you're not the red carpet type,
premiere Ms. Smith wore her to. Then she
dear.
made some comment about how Gucci hasn't
GUCCI. Ha! I doubt she'll even wear you out
been worn since the Emmys. That's when
of the apartment.
Gucci just completely lost it.
CL. See, it's because you don't have much of a
KATE. Naïve yet intrigued. She takes a few steps
heel—just like Tory.
closer to TORY. Wow. But CL doesn't seem
TORY. Irritated, starts moving towards CL. Hey!
stuck up. She seems really nice.
I don't care if I'll never be worn on the red
TORY. Just wait. You'll see. Anyway, we all
carpet. I'm happy just the way I am.
think that something happened at one of Ms.
CL. Here comes Ms. Smith. Let's see who she
Smith's premiers a few months ago that caused
chooses today. MS. SMITH enters. She is
Ms. Smith not to wear Gucci since.
casually dressed in jeans and a blouse. All the shoes
KATE. Like what?
are shouting, ―Pick me‖, ―I'll make you look the
TORY. We all think that Gucci got criticized.
best‖, etc. She looks around her closet and decides
And I've heard stories from other shoes that if
on TORY. She puts her on and then exits.
Ms. Smith gets a bad review on her shoes, she
CL. Tory again? That's the second time this
will never wear them again.
week! I would have looked much better with
CL. Hey Kate! Want to hear about the time Ms.
those skinny Sevens and Marc Jacob's top.
Smith wore me to the Oscars?
Ugh! The lights go out on stage. A few hours
GUCCI. Here we go again.
later MS. SMITH returns and puts
CL. For last year‘s Oscars, Ms. Smith was
TORY back on the shelf. The light
nominated for Best Actress. Of course, she
on the racks comes back on.
needed the perfect shoes because, well, they
KATE. Welcome
are the most important part of an ensemble. So
back, Tory.
she called my dad, Mr. Louboutin, to see if he
Where
could give her his best shoe, and he gave little ol' me to her! I could not believe it. I mean, I was only, like, a week old! Since the Oscars are 29
Where did you go?
CL. After I finally got inside, I realized we
TORY. I went to an audition and then to
were at a fashion show. I've never been to one
lunch.
before. I was so excited!
KATE. You're so lucky. I can't wait to be worn!
KATE. Wow! A fashion show! That sounds
TORY. Don't worry. Your day will come.
amazing.
CL. Did you get any compliments?
CL. Oh, it was, my dear! I had so much fun just
TORY. No, but I don't mind.
watching the dresses go by and knowing that I
CL. Arrogant. When I am worn, I always get
would look fantastic with each one of them. It
compliments.
was such a self-esteem booster!
KATE. Look, here comes Ms. Smith again.
GUCCI. As if you need any more self-esteem.
This time MS. SMITH is wearing a cocktail dress.
CL. Well, I was getting worried I was going to
The shoes again start shouting, ―Pick me,‖ ―I'll
become like you, Gucci.
make you look the best,‖ etc. She chooses CL.
GUCCI. What are you saying?
GUCCI. WHY AM I NEVER CHOSEN?! It's
CL. You know what I mean.
always CL or some other pump. I would have
GUCCI. Infuriated. Are you saying that I'm
complimented her outfit much better. Now
outdated? Because I am NOT outdated!
when she gets back, we'll have to listen to her
CL. Sure, Gucci. Keep telling yourself that.
talk about her night for hours. I hope Ms.
Anyway, after the fashion show we went to
Smith steps in gum or something hideous. The
the party for the designer. There, everyone was
other shoes go, ―Eww‖ or ―Oh my, that would
telling Ms. Smith how much they loved me. It
be so bad.‖ That'll shut up CL and maybe even
was such an eventful night. Sighs, then lies
get her thrown away. The lights go out on stage.
down. I need some rest. The lights go out. A few
A few hours later MS. SMITH returns and puts
hours later the light comes back on.
CL back on the shelf. The light on the rack comes back on. CL. Oh, what a night! I don't think I've received that many compliments since the Oscars! KATE. Can you tell me about your night, CL? I bet it was really exciting. CL. Yes, it was! Where do I start? Well, I got in the limo and rode a bit. Then we stopped. The driver opened the door, and as soon as Ms. Smith stuck me out of the car, the paparazzi started flashing their cameras at me. It was blinding! Haha! I could barely see in front of me to get Ms. Smith to the door safely! GUCCI. Sarcastically to herself. Yeah, I'm sure they were taking pictures of just you. 30
CL. Good morning, everyone. I am all rested
puts KATE on, then exits.
and ready to be worn again.
TORY. Oh! I am so proud of her.
KATE. Good morning, CL. I hope today is my
GUCCI. Exasperated. Is she serious? Ms. Smith
lucky day, and Ms. Smith will wear me.
is actually going to wear those ―things‖ out in
TORY. I hope she picks you, too. I'm sure you
public?
will love it. But don't worry if she doesn't wear
CL. I know. I bet Ms. Smith is going to get such
you for a couple weeks. That's what happened
bad reviews tomorrow that she will throw
to me, but now she wears me almost once a
Kate out first thing in the morning. The lights
week!
go out. A few hours later the lights come back on.
CL. Or you could end up like Gucci over there,
MS. SMITH returns and puts KATE back, then
who was worn once or twice and hasn't been
exits.
touched in months.
TORY. Kate! How was your first day on the
GUCCI. Ms. Smith is just waiting for the
job?
perfect opportunity to flaunt me again. At least
KATE. It was unbelievable! I went to a charity
I have a heel to accentuate Ms. Smith's legs.
event at the Tavern on the Green.
KATE. Look! Here she comes. MS. SMITH enters wearing a floral print, knee-length skirt and a pastel, collared shirt. She does not look around her
CL. Inquisitive. Did you get any compliments
closet for which shoe to wear but goes straight for
GUCCI. Did anyone say anything about you?
KATE. All the shoes except CL and GUCCI cheer
KATE. I—I don't think so.
her on, saying things like, ―Yeah Kate!‖, ―Good
CL. Did anyone take your picture?
Luck,‖ etc. TORY is the loudest.
KATE. Umm….
KATE. See you later, everyone! MS. SMITH
CL. Thought so. Ha! I would not be surprised
like me? KATE. Well…no.
if Ms. Smith came in here tomorrow and— TORY. Hey! Stop interrogating her. It was her first day out. Just give her some rest. KATE. Thanks, Tory. I thought they would never stop. TORY. No problem. I know what it‘s like to be in your shoes. No pun intended. Lights fade out. A few hours later, the lights come back on. GUCCI. Good morning, everyone! CL. Why are you so chipper today? GUCCI. Oh, I don't know. I just have a feeling that today is going to be my day, and Ms. Smith will come to her senses. KATE. Well, I guess we will see because here she comes. MS. SMITH enters in her silk pajamas with a cardboard box labeled ―CHARITY.‖ She tosses a few pairs of shoes in the box, then grabs 31
GUCCI. MS. SMITH looks at her for a bit.
and quiet around here now that Gucci is gone.
GUCCI. Noooo! Not me! I promise I can
MS. SMITH enters wearing dress pants and a
change to fit your needs! Just please don't put me in the box of suicide! MS. SMITH throws her
blouse. She looks around for the perfect shoes to go with her outfit.
in the box with the rest of the shoes. Then she
KATE. Oh! I do hope that Ms. Smith will wear
continues to put shoes in the box.
me again today!
GUCCI. You are making a huge mistake! No
CL. Doubtful. That rarely happens, and the last
human can ever appreciate me as much as you
time it did, Ms. Smith was bashed in the
did! Remember all of our special nights
tabloids. They were claiming that she must not
together? You can't do this to me! Noooo! MS.
be getting enough acting jobs for her to buy
SMITH exits with the box.
more than one pair of shoes.
CL. Finally, she‘s gone! I was starting to worry
KATE. Oh. MS. SMITH picks up CL and looks at
that she was bringing down the overall classiness of the Closet. Haha! I actually kind of feel sorry for her. I mean, I cannot imagine what it would be like to be underappreciated by some charity case. TORY. Better watch what you say, CL, because one day it might be you. CL. Ah! Never! How can you say such a thing? KATE. Wait, where do you guys think she is going?
Is she serious? Ms. Smith is actually going to wear those “things” out in public?
her, then sets her back down. MS. SMITH continues to look around. CL. What?! KATE. I think someone just got rejected. MS. SMITH picks up KATE and smiles at her, then exits. CL. Her? Again? Oh, what has this world come to when some loafers get chosen over pumps? Does Ms. Smith know what this decision will do to her career? The lights go out. A few hours later the lights come
TORY. She will probably end up sitting on a rack in Filene's Basement
back on. MS. SMITH enters, skipping, with KATE
on 14th Street.
in her hand. She kisses KATE before she sets her
CL. If she is lucky, some poor little girl from
down and exits.
Brooklyn will probably buy her eventually.
TORY. Wow! I don't think I have ever seen
KATE. Well, at least she will be worn again.
Ms. Smith that happy before! What happened
CL. But chances are she will never be bought
today?
because she is so out-of-style, and no one
KATE. Excited. Well, I went in this elevator,
would dare to be seen with her.
which I thought would never stop going up.
KATE. Wow. Boy am I glad I'm not Gucci. Long pause.
Then Ms. Smith sat at a huge table with lots of
CL. I must say, I will appreciate some peace
was trying to hear what they were talking
other people. They sat there for hours while I about, which is so hard when you are stuck 32
under a table! Anyway, I found out that the people were producers, writers, and other important people. They kept talking about things like contracts, actors, and location. When they were finally done, Ms. Smith signed some papers. Then she stood up, shook some guy's hand, and she said, quote, ―I am honored that you are allowing me to direct this movie. It has always been my dream to become a director.‖ All the shoes gasp and say, ―No way,‖ ―That's so cool,‖ etc. KATE. Wait. That's not even the best part! When we got back to the apartment, she was so overjoyed, she took me off, then hugged me and called me her lucky pair of shoes! More gasps from the shoes. CL. In a complaining tone. What? She never called me anything! KATE. Well, I guess she just doesn't like you as much. TORY. Kate, I think you should watch your attitude. You are starting to sound like CL. Lights fade out. A few hours later the lights come back on. KATE. Tory, I thought about what you said last night, and I want to apologize. You were right. I was kind of starting to become like CL. TORY. It's OK. You were caught up in your amazing day, and I don't blame you for getting a little snotty. KATE. Thanks. Just let me know if I start acting like that again. I really want to be a nice shoe and not arrogant like CL. TORY. I've got your back, Kate. Blackout.
33
Heart: A LOVED STORY
Charlotte Martin (12) Here, Tin Man, take it. It‘s been keeping me up at night. Tick tock tick tock tickticktick— It‘s wound a little tight. But before I hand it over, a few things you should know: it‘s been to Hell and back and Somewhere, Over the Rainbow. It‘s been down streets it shouldn‘t have: Lovers‘ Lane, Yellow Brick Road. It takes wrong turns and it gets lost but eventually comes home. It suffered some shards in a city of glass. It‘s tinted green with jealousy. But it‘s not so bad, I promise. It found courage in the apple trees. It‘s never been broken, but it‘s a little bit bruised. It‘s been loved, it‘s been captured, but God knows it‘s been used. It doesn‘t really work in color— It‘s best in sepia tones. It fell for the boy behind the curtain with the magic microphone. I was planning on giving it to a knight in shining armor, but, Tin Man, you‘re close enough. And I don‘t want it anymore. Artwork by Jordan Lentz (12)
With the Lights Off Natalie Mickelson (10)
My dreams of you Crawled out the window— Sprouted wings And Flew off— Into the sun Where They turned to ashes Drifted Into your open hands Waiting to be wished upon Like the dying stars they are And you sang Of tomorrow‘s tragedies And I listened Waiting for you To realize Tomorrow Was another day…. And you breathed Two sweet syllables to me: ―Broken‖ That‘s how it was meant to be You and I didn't need to fix Anything.
Artwork by Jennifer Bird (9)
35
p s
k o
n U
Artwork by Jordan Lentz (12)
n e
Rebecca Gehrmann (12)
T
he silence of the school hallway
butterflies in her stomach returned many
pressed on Anna as she led her equally
memories of her own first day at school. It was
-silent daughter towards the
like that for mothers. Through their children,
principal‘s office. To anyone not used to it, the
they relived every emotion of their own
silence would have been calming. Anna had
perpetually technicolor childhoods. Butterflies
talked to multiple mothers in her subdivision
on the first day of school had always been an
who chatted about how painful it was to hear
occurrence.
crowing children running around all day, still
―Shhh, it‘ll be okay,‖ Anna whispered in
not using their ―inside voices‖ and squawking
her daughter‘s ear as she knocked on the door
with their awkward, grammar-mistakes-
to Principal Jenkins's office, though Jessica
ridden language. Anna had never had that
would not understand or hear the comforting
problem at all. Her daughter, Jessica, never
words. In a motherly gesture, Anna quickly
spoke.
smoothed down a stray piece of Jessica‘s angel
Silence became a burden on Anna, an
hair, almost matching the hue of a Barbie doll‘s
everyday occurrence. To this day, with Jessica
hair exactly. The heavy, oak door that reached
just having passed her sixth birthday, Anna
up to the ceiling opened, and an elderly man
expected to wake up and hear words come out
with whiskers like a rabbit‘s and owl
of those tiny lips, stained firecracker red from
spectacles greeted them.
a popsicle or purple from a handful of
―Well, you must be Ms. Anders and
blueberries. Anna expected her hands to
Jessica! Welcome!‖ His hands preformed
somehow grow brain organelles and perform
somersaults and other aerobatic feats, signing
the sign language perfectly, instead of tripping
at the speed of a racecar as he spoke. Both
over simple letters as if she were a girl
Anna and Jessica blinked and blindly followed
tumbling down after missing a leap in jump
the man into the homey office, which, instead
rope. She expected her husband to take the
of feeling sterile like the many doctors‘ offices
2:45 P.M. plane home from New York, making
Anna had entered with her daughter, had
it to Chicago in time to greet Anna and Jessica
massive, mix-matched armchairs set in front of
in the middle of their Kraft mac-and-cheese
a desk which various toys and contraptions
dinner. He would say to Anna how sorry he
colorfully decorated. Anna watched her
was and then to Jessica, using his flawless sign
daughter fidget in the oversized arm chair that
language, and she would miraculously
threatened to swallow her. There they were,
understand the words the hands sculpted in
those puppy-like whimpers that Jessica made
the air.
whenever she felt uncomfortable or in a new
And somehow, she had expected St.
situation. Embarrassed, Ms. Anders excused
James‘s School for the Mute and Deaf not to be
herself and picked up Jessica, plopping her
so…quiet.
into her lap and continuously smoothing
Jessica‘s tiny hand, locked inside her
Jessica‘s hair to give her fingers something to
mother‘s, was sticky and sweaty. Anna didn‘t
do.
realize that her hand was sweaty, too, and the
―Thank you very much, Mr. Jenkins. We‘re 37
Artwork by Sarah Provencher (12)
both so excited to be here.‖
A cry punctured the brief silence between
―Well, we‘re excited to have you! Did it
the conversation, that of a student by the
shock you at all? Pardon me, the school, I
sound of it. Jessica began to squirm in her
mean. St. James‘s school atmosphere usually
mother‘s lap, but Anna ignored it and
surprises people upon first glance.‖
continued on. ―Jessica‘s been this way since
Anna knew her white face would‘ve given
her birth. She‘s deaf and mute. I‘ve taken her
her away. She admitted, ―It‘s very quiet, that‘s
to numerous specialists, and they all
for sure. Not that I‘m not used to it at home.‖
recommended getting her into a school
She thought of the children she had seen on
setting.‖
the playground when first walking into the school. They screamed and hollered like most other kids in the middle of tag, girls against boys from the looks of the game. However, no words came out, and if they did, they were indistinguishable. How could it have shocked Anna? What had she been expecting? That Jessica would have gone to a normal school, been a normal child?
The principal smiled into Jessica‘s eyes.
Anna had never had that problem at all. Her daughter, Jessica, never spoke.
Years ago, her husband had
―I‘m sure she‘ll love it. Almost all of our students learn sign language and other life skills such as reading and writing by the time they finish up here. Some even go on to regular middle schools and high schools. One of our first students here just went to college.‖ He picked up a framed picture of a little boy with blonde hair like Jessica‘s and a
shot down that idea right away. When Anna
grin that seemed to stretch from both edges of
had mentioned getting Jessica together with
the frame. ―But I digress. Ms. Anders, what
the neighbor‘s children for a playdate, her
about you? How are you feeling at the
husband had taken a swig of beer, pounded
moment, coping with your daughter‘s
the bottle resolutely on the table and said,
disabilities—or ‗challenges‘, as we call them
―Honey, she‘s just gonna scare them.‖
here?‖
―Of course, but it‘s still a shock,‖ the
Anna was taken aback. Throughout the
principal continued, reigning Anna in from the
past year, she had been brought over
path she had started on, where images of her
casseroles that looked like they had been
husband flashed past her and hit her squarely
sitting in a freezer for two years, Jello molds in
on the face like a frying pan in a cartoon. ―We
which she found pieces of frozen hair, and
have around one hundred students here at our
rock hard cookies—all because of the
elementary school. I‘d say that half of them are
―situation‖ she was having with her husband,
deaf and mute, while the other half are only
a situation she suspected was the most
deaf. Almost all of them have suffered from
gossiped-about story of the year. No one ever
their disabilities since birth. Somehow, they all
seemed to remember Jessica in all of this.
still communicate and have fun.‖
―Well, to be honest, it‘s been hard. Not 38
No words were spoken. It was like they
being able to talk to her, not knowing what‘s going on in her head. When people meet her,
were all deaf themselves. They basked in the
she seems normal. She plays with her Barbie
silence like it was the summer sun. If this is
dolls, loves chocolate and candy, cries when
what Anna and Jessica‘s lives were going to be,
she falls down. But when she doesn‘t speak…
it couldn‘t be that bad. The silence did seem a little calming.
that‘s when they sense something‘s wrong.‖
Anna tugged her daughter out of the
―Yes, many parents here would understand,‖ the principal said, nodding. He
principal‘s office to her classroom after hearing
briefly reached under his desk and brought out
a bell ring. She laughed to herself at that—why
a cherry-colored flyer, and, as if Anna couldn‘t
would a bell ever have to ring in a school for
read herself, explained, ―It‘s a coalition of
the deaf? She watched Jessica‘s free hand glide
other parents who have children at this school. They meet every Monday night. I‘m sure you
across the ice-like surface of the lockers until
would love to meet some of them and talk over
they hit wooden cubbies in which an
everything. We also have free sign-language
arrangement of cartoon-character backpacks
classes on Tuesdays, unless you‘re fluent
sat, waiting to be picked up again at day‘s end. Anna helped Jessica place her purple
already?‖ Anna smiled at his hopefulness but had to give a small shake of her head. She
backpack inside an empty cubbie. Peering
coughed up the words fluidly, unmasking
inside the window, she watched a group of
memories she wouldn‘t normally share with a
children Jessica‘s age playing a board game on
stranger.
the floor, laughing with no sound coming out. It looked like a comfortable scenario, yet
―Ever since my husband left, I don‘t think I‘ve…really had the will to continue my sign
Anna was still nervous, and she knew Jessica was, too. Bending down to Jessica‘s level,
-language classes. He knew it perfectly,
she repeated the only sign language
of course—that‘s just the way he did
symbol she could still correctly
things, always getting them right
remember. I love you. Jessica
the first time—and I always
repeated the simple gesture.
thought that he would be the one to teach Jessica and get
Anna knew she didn‘t
her to understand it. I
understand what the finger
thought…this would go
miming meant. She knew
away. But I see that it‘s not,
Jessica was simply copying
and I have to fight it.‖
what her mother did, like all
Mr. Jenkins didn‘t know
young children. Yet…
where to place his hands on
It was a start. The beginning of the battle.
Anna‘s shoulder, her arm, and finally settled on her wrist. He gently pressed down on Jessica‘s nose, making the girl giggle quietly and relax in Anna‘s arms. 39 Artwork by Sarah Provencher (12)
STAPLER Rebecca Gehrmann (12) Dad put a stapler
For metal rusts, not wavers
In my Christmas stocking
And rust will only cover reality
Not lipgloss or a toy
Even further.
But a present with purpose
Metal is cold, sterile
Meant to bind,
A stethoscope first pressed
Connect,
Against bare skin
Not papers, but people.
Tiny metal links cannot bind,
Him to us.
Connect,
Click of the stapler
Or lasso a plane home.
Metal roots at his feet
A stapler in my stocking
Connecting him to
Not strong enough.
Foundations of our
We need chains
Home and hearts.
As Dad‘s roots
Metal staples linking us to
Instead.
The family tree In lieu of branches‌.
Artwork by Jordan Lentz (12)
A Place to Belong Words from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Arranged by Khuaten Maaneb de Macedo (10) I knew I had to have a house, a real house. One I could point to. Only a house as quiet as snow. Clean as paper before the poem. A home in the heart. But At the end of the block, Our house stands with its feet tucked under. Windows so small. Bricks crumbling in places. Four skinny trees out front. Butterflies are few and so are flowers. ―You live there?‖ We take what we can and make the best of it. A home in the heart…Mango Street. A house made of heart. Mango Street. She does not hold me anymore. I have gone away. Only to come back. For the ones I left behind, For the ones who cannot out.
41 Artwork by Paige Kelly (10)
Molly Winding (11)
and the humming turns to singing as Penelope—a tall, thin young woman of twenty-seven, beautiful with long, dark hair, deep brown eyes, and flushed cheeks, wearing dark green rain boots and men’s overalls—walks around from behind the right side of the house and into the garden. A pair of oversized gray gardening gloves on her hands, she begins pulling weeds, intent on wrenching a large hydrangea out of the ground. Whimpering can vaguely be heard nearby, and Penelope looks around, alert. From the right, hobbling towards the house comes Richard, a young man of thirty-one, though he looks much older in his face, weathered from his years of fighting in Germany. Bandages wrap his left leg, and crutches support him as he stumbles into the garden.
In 1933, Eugene O’Neill pleasantly surprised America with Ah, Wilderness!, a comedy about the Miller family on the Fourth of July. While offering insights about life in the early 1900s, the play focuses on 17-year-old Richard as he grows from a boy to a man. After writing the nation-wide hit, O’Neill began making notes for a sequel in which the lives of the Millers would no longer be so comical but rather tragic, affected by the repercussions of World War I. O’Neill was never able to write the sequel, but the following is a possible scene from the tragedy. RICHARD MILLER —A young soldier returning from WWI PENELOPE — Wife of Richard‘s brother, Arthur
PENELOPE. Rushing to assist him. Goodness, Dick! Are you all right? Holding him up by his shoulders and hastily inspecting him for injuries. What‘s happened? Have you been out all night? Oh, and with this weather! She fusses over him, licking her finger and wiping a smudge of dirt off his cheek. RICHARD. Swatting her hand away and faltering. Damn it, Penelope…gimme a break! Slurring slightly. I‘m a grown man! I can…you ought to let me take care of myself! With her help, he sits down on the front steps and leans his crutches against the banister, hanging his head wearily and motioning to the garden. Get back to work. I‘m fine. PENELOPE. Angrily, stepping back. You‘re soused! Shaking her head. Out all night…. Paces. Then limping home in the cold! She turns and points her finger at him violently. You swore to me you wouldn‘t do this…. Quietly, turning
SCENE – Front garden of the Miller home, about 10:00 in the morning on September 13, 1920. A siren can be heard in the distance, and it is an unusually cold day for autumn. The garden is overgrown and unkempt, a mass of weeds and half-dead shrubs. Lifeless sunflowers and wilting daisies have turned brown and dried out. Leaves from the trees overhead have fallen into the overgrowth, some damp and dark, some blowing in the wind. A small concrete walking path is cemented through the tangle of greenery, proceeding from the street to several steps that lead up to the front porch of the Miller home. There are two windows with green shutters on either side of the front door, and the front door is open slightly, as though someone did not shut it properly. A large, brown box sits to the left of the door at the edge of the front porch. It is light outside but cloudy as if it may rain. The peculiar chill in the air makes for a gentle breeze. Humming can be heard from behind the house, 43 Artwork by Sarah Snyder (11)
away from him. You‘re just like him. She breaks down. RICHARD. Defensively, but drunkenly. Hey…I am not! How could you say such things? What my brother did to you is completely different! Sneering. I wasn‘t in any whorehouse last night, I can say that much. I‘m sure he— PENELOPE. Cutting him off. How dare you! Shaking her head. Arthur is a fine husband and a fine father! Bitingly. More than you can say for yourself, now that you‘ve lost any chance you had with Muriel McComber! RICHARD. Humiliated and wounded. Say, I‘ll have a family someday…and I‘ll be a darned good husband! Disparagingly. And I sure won‘t leave my family for some young tart from New York…. PENELOPE. Stung but composing herself. All right now, stop that. I brought the children here on vacation because Arthur is so busy right now at the paper. Turning away and talking more to herself than to Richard. We‘ll go home soon. Yes. We‘ll go back home soon enough. Quickly changing the subject and motioning to the box on the front porch. What is that? RICHARD. Turning to see what she’s pointing at. Oh, that. Just some…some old books. Drunkenly mumbles to himself and rubs his eyes, looking back up and motioning to the garden in attempt to change the subject again. Why are you working on that dumb garden anyway? It‘s dead you know…what‘s the point? PENELOPE. Blatantly ignoring him, walks up the steps and begins to rifle through the box, irritated. Dick, these are your favorite books. Why are they sitting outside? RICHARD. Motioning to the book she has in her hand and looking away from her. Ah Christ, Penelope, who needs old Rousseau anymore? Or any of ‗em, for that matter. Homer? Dead to me. It‘s all one big— Shaking his head as if he has forgotten what he was saying, then remembering.
—one big ol‘ lie. Tipsily yet with sarcasm. ―Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story of that man skilled in all ways of contending, the wanderer, harried for years on end, after he plundered the stronghold on the proud height of Troy.‖ Irritated. I have no muse…. Coldly. My muse is dead. I could care less for any of that nonsense. Richard sits in silence, gazing out into the distance, deep in thought. His eyes well up as he slowly turns his attention to his bandaged left leg. He rubs his knee as if relentlessly rubbing out a stain on his pant leg. He rubs it harder but methodically, as though determined to rub it away. Gradually the rubbing subsides, and he looks over at Penelope with sorrow and apology in his eyes, simply staring for a long moment. Despairingly. Muriel won‘t speak to me. PENELOPE. Gaining eye contact in an attempt to solace him. Oh, Dick. Loses eye contact. Look at me. When Richard doesn’t look up, more sternly. Look at me, Dick. RICHARD. Angrily. Why did you come here, to me? You were left by your husband, and this—Motioning to the house—is where you come for consolation? Desperately. I can‘t help you! Shaking his head in his hands, then quietly repeating. I can‘t help you. PENELOPE. Upset. Dick, please. Sadly. Times aren‘t easy, and we‘re all going through a lot. Helplessly attempting to console him while trying not to fall apart; her voice breaks. And we‘re doing the best we can…. Looking back at the box on the porch. But you‘ve always loved these books. Weakly. Don‘t you remember? Her eyes fill with sadness, and she loses any trace of hope in her voice. RICHARD. Brushing her hopelessness off casually. I‘m finished with that. Sorrowful but with his fist weakly punching the air as if 44
saluting a victory, attempting to feign optimism. Gogol and Nietzsche are my men now! Tipping over slightly. Whoa…men who…who speak the truth…! Mockingly. You see, I‘m going to need more than ―a book of verses‖ and ―a jug of wine‖ to get through this…. Grinning. Although the wine might help…. PENELOPE. In utter despair. Wine! Of course, Dick! Do you really believe your incessant drinking is going to make this all disappear? Pained. Sure, Dick, wine is going to bring Arthur back! Shouting now. Is wine going to heal your leg, too, Dick? Hysterically, beginning to sob, pointing at him and sarcastically adding. Drink up, you old souse, because the fate of the rest of this family depends on you. Upset and shaking her head. She walks down the steps and back into the forlorn mess of a garden where she returns to viciously pulling weeds. Feverishly mumbling to herself. My god, this garden....Yanking at an old brown plant. Never tended to.... Pulling harder. It‘s practically dead…! Relenting and falling to the ground, looks up at Richard. What is the point? Sobs into her hands. RICHARD. Cold and emotionless, as though he has lost all feeling in his body and with an alarming calmness about him. Jesus, Penelope, I already told you that. Pausing to think for a moment. It‘s been dead for a long time. Staring off into the distance. A strong wind whistles through the trees, and Richard has given up, drunkenly fighting sleep and leaning his head against the front porch banister in exhaustion, as Penelope sits, softly crying in the rotting garden. The overgrowth envelops her, weeds sitting in her lap and giant, dead plants surrounding her. The front door of the Miller home that had been ajar is suddenly blown shut by the wind.
45 Artwork by Sarah Snyder (11)
The Oak Tree Claire McLaughlin (11)
My dear… It‘s too cold out tonight. Too cold to be out in your nightgown. The air is too frigid, the breeze is too sharp, the sounds are too silent, the sky is too black. And now look what you‘ve done, you‘ve forgotten your slippers, now your toes are all torn, and you‘ve splattered the grass. What a mess, what a red, sticky mess. My dear, my dear... Why must you wander this way? To this tree, this horrible tree with its twisted skin and its tangled arms, its bark riddled with warts, its trunk crawling in rotted mushrooms, its long, brittle fingers clawing at the curtain of the night. So ugly. So mottled. So mangled. My dear, my dear, my dear… Why must you wander this way?
46
Why must you sit on this swing? This swing that rocks and sways from this tree. This ugly tree. Why must you wrap your frail fingers around this rope, this rope that rubs red sores in your skin? Why must you lean your head back like that? Staring through the black web of branches. Staring with clouded, white eyes. Stop swinging, stop swinging. Stop this swinging that raises these bumps on your flesh, that flutters your nightgown, that tangles the tendrils of your hair. My dear, my dear… Is this not the tree where you and Violet played house, where you crafted a world of chipped teacups and limp baby dolls, where you cloistered your games beneath an umbrella of whispering summer leaves? Is this not the tree where you and Violet carved jagged hearts, where you joined your initials with Charlie Ray Robinson‘s and sealed your fate with a brush of your lips? Is this not the tree where Charlie Ray Robinson first kissed you on the mouth, where he slobbered all over your chin like an eager puppy dog? Is this not the tree where Charlie Ray Robinson strung up a swing for you on your birthday, where he stained his white slacks in the grass as he bent to one knee, where he slipped a ring down your finger? Is this not the tree where Charlie Ray Robinson told you, four months and seven days later, that Patty Sherman was having a baby, where he walked away with your ring in his pocket, where you cried and cried and cried? Is this not the tree under which you ripped red rivers in your wrists and clawed patches of auburn curls from your scalp? Where you sat down on Charlie Ray Robinson‘s swing and swung and swung and swung? My dear… It‘s too cold out tonight. Come back inside. We‘ll wash off your feet. Slide on your slippers. Comb out your hair. Wrap you like a broken bird, swaddle you in popcorn-ball afghans and quilts. Turn out the light. Whisper goodnight. And sleep soundly, sleep soundly, sleep soundly, my dear…
Artwork by Claire McLaughlin (11)
N
E ick
tz
(1 el
2)
J
ohnny is dead.
OK. It‘s about 2:00 P.M. So I‘ve been in this
He died last night. Friday, July 17, at 5:20
cave for almost a day now. Johnny and I
P.M. I guess I should be describing how I
thought it might be fun to go exploring. We
feel or some nonsense like that, but, honestly, I
thought we‘d be here for a couple hours. Then
feel nothing. I was freaking out at first, kind of.
there‘s a freaking earthquake or something,
I don‘t really remember much. Now I‘m numb.
and the walls fall in, and the tunnel that we
Maybe I‘m in shock. And I think I‘m scared.
came in through doesn‘t exist anymore. Just
Terrified. I don‘t know. Maybe I‘m so
like that. And the stalactite falls from the
distraught and overwhelmed that my brain is
ceiling and stabs Johnny right through the
blocking it out. What I do know is that it‘s 9
middle. I‘m surrounded by stone, and it‘s
A.M. on Saturday morning. Johnny has been
darker than dark, and I‘m at least fifty feet
dead for almost sixteen hours, and the smell is
underground, and nobody freaking knows
starting to get to me. I haven‘t slept at all, but
where I am. Congratulations, you‘ve found the
I‘m surprisingly clear-headed right now, so I
journal of a dead teenager.
decided to write some stuff down, because I
I threw my cell phone at the wall. It broke
need to organize my thoughts:
into a bunch of pieces, and I realized afterward that it would have been a good source of light.
1. Johnny is dead. I‘m alone.
My flashlight battery is gonna die eventually,
2. Nobody knows I‘m here.
and Johnny‘s flashlight got crushed under the
3. The tunnel is blocked. We already tried
stalactite. So I screamed and yelled really
moving the rocks, and it was freaking
loudly for awhile, as if maybe the sound waves
impossible.
could break through stone. The echoes didn‘t
4. There might be some water in here
sound like me. They sounded crazy. I‘m a little
somewhere. There‘s always water dripping
calmer now but not because I‘ve given up. It
around in caves. I just found some. Almost
feels like I‘ve been here forever, and it‘s pitch
nothing, but it tasted good. I didn‘t realize
dark and damp and miserable. But this is it. It
how thirsty I was. There are a few drops of
doesn‘t seem real yet, but this is life or death,
water on a stalactite about ten feet away.
and I have to stay cool-headed.
Barely even drops, just moisture.
Johnny is dead. Johnny is dead and gone,
5. No bats. I looked around with the flash-
and I can cry later, but right now I can‘t. Even
light. None. So I have no food. There might
if I wanted to, I probably couldn‘t. And that‘s
be something in Johnny‘s backpack. But I
good because right now I have to think. I‘m
don‘t really want to go over there. The
not sure why I‘m so calm right now. I hope it
smell is making me sick, anyway. At least I
isn‘t because I‘ve accepted this. I‘m not
don‘t have to worry about rabies.
resigned to my fate yet. But maybe
6. I have a cell phone. No signal. Batteries
subconsciously I‘ve given up. I feel weirdly
almost dead. I tried 911, anyway. Like, ten
detached from everything. Suddenly I wish I
freaking times. Nothing.
could get out of here and go back and make everything right. With Mom and Dad and
Artwork by Melissa Mutch (11)
49
everyone else and all those kids I used to mess with. I love everyone, and I want to say I‘m sorry, and I want them to know I‘m not who they thought I was. Or who they think I am. Maybe I just changed, all of a sudden. I don‘t know. I‘m probably still a jerk. But can I be a jerk with no other people around? I feel like this little notebook is somehow listening to me, but it can only hear if I write words down. It doesn‘t have any answers.
did anything worth doing.
Well, there‘s one thing I should write
I‘ve been in this cave forever. Time goes a
down. If I don‘t make it and if someone ever
lot slower when you‘re alone. I think my worst
finds this, I want you to know some things. My
nightmare would be living forever. When I
name is Matthew James Watkins, Jr., and I
was a little kid, I wanted to, but now I realize
died in a cave. In a cave. I almost wrote a
how terrible it would be if I lived forever and
swear word right there but that wouldn‘t be
nobody else did. Oh, you should probably tell
very eloquent of me, would it? I‘m not dead,
Johnny‘s parents, too. It smells awful in here,
obviously, but if you somehow found this, it
seriously. Don‘t bother reading all the stuff
probably means that I‘m dead. Please let my
I‘ve been scribbling down. Just tell his parents
parents know. They live in San Francisco at
that he‘s dead. They don‘t know where he is,
223 Elm Street. Nightmare on Elm Street, right?
either. I mentioned going to the cave a couple
Hahaha. I never saw that movie. Now I‘m
weeks ago, but Mom and Dad said no. I don‘t
wishing I saw that movie. Dad used to talk
know why I was so interested in the freaking
about how great the old movies were. But I
cave. Probably because mom and dad said no.
never listened to dad. I should have. He told
I hate the cave. It‘s like being in my room at
me this was a bad idea. He used to complain
night with all the lights off and the shades
about how I was always going off, doing
closed, except it‘s damp and cold and it sucks
things with bad people and how he never
and there are no windows. But the worst part
knew where I was. There are a lot of good
is how quiet it is. There‘s no noise to drown
things I never did. I never helped any old
out my thoughts. I think that people spend
ladies cross the street. Apparently that‘s
most of their lives trying to get away from
something good. If I was an old lady, I don‘t
themselves. That‘s why I always used to drink
think I would want to be helped across the
and listen to really loud music and watch
street. I was never in Boy Scouts or anything.
stupid TV shows and worry about fake things,
Johnny was. He was a good kid, and he said
so I didn‘t have to worry about real things. I
his parents didn‘t want him hanging out with
can‘t wait for someone to find this. I feel like
me. I guess I was a bad influence. All we ever
Freud or something. When I stop writing, I can
did was nothing. I never did anything worth
hear my heart beating. Like a clock. I hate it.
doing. Like, for my whole freaking life, I never
It‘s 5:18 P.M. now. I must have fallen 50
be a lot better if he were still alive. Johnny‘s name is actually John. I never understood why someone would have a nickname that‘s longer than his actual name. When everything shook and the walls caved in, we were freaking out but laughing at the same time. We had our flashlights on, and we were tough guys who weren‘t scared of anything. I thought we would get out because everything always asleep with the freaking flashlight on because I
works out, doesn‘t it? In the movies. There‘s no
was rambling on and on, and now I woke up
suspense, really, because you know the hero
and the little, red light is flashing, which
will escape from the cave. But this is real life,
means the battery is low. The smell is really
and there‘s no script and one hero is dead, and
freaking awful now. I know Mom will be
the other hero has no brilliant escape plan and
proud of me when someone finds this and she
is terrified and doesn‘t know what to do and is
reads it because I‘m not swearing. Well, I‘m
halfway convinced that his notebook is
muttering a bunch of bad words and
actually listening to him. I‘m probably close to
sometimes screaming them, but I‘m not
losing it. The worst part is that I won‘t even
writing any. I used to write swear words on
know when I lose it. I think maybe
everything. I have to turn the flashlight off and
subconsciously I‘m writing to keep myself
stop writing. But I‘m scared to stop. I realized
sane. Something we learned in biology class
that I have a little light on my watch that I can
about survival mechanisms. I have a fight or
use to write. I just have to push the button,
flight response. But there‘s nothing to fight
like, every three seconds. My hand is sore, but
and there‘s nowhere to go. Woke up about thirty minutes ago. My
it makes me feel alive. I can‘t stand to sit here not doing anything. And all I can really do is
head is throbbing because last night I ran
write. I‘m in an underground prison cell with
around in circles in the dark. Hit my head on
my best friend‘s rotting corpse. Haven‘t eaten
something, which is maybe what I was trying
in over a day, but the idea of food disgusts me.
to do. I was out for nine hours. I vaguely
Every time I think about eating, I think about
remember waking up and then falling asleep.
Johnny. If I try to imagine eating something, it
Didn‘t realize how tired I was. I woke up again
tastes like decomposing flesh.
feeling really weak and tired and thirsty and almost starved to death. Have you ever woken
I cry a little bit. Mostly out of fear. It looks even darker in here than it did before. The
up feeling totally peaceful? That‘s how it was. I
room is probably about fifteen feet by twenty
didn‘t care about anything. But then I started
feet. I swear it‘s smaller now than it was at
thinking and getting scared again. The
first. I can still hear Johnny laughing. That‘s
freaking smell got worse. Found my notebook
the worst part. I made some stupid joke when
and the flashlight, which still has some juice
we got here, and he laughed. I think it would
left. I promised God that if I get out of here, I‘ll 51
Artwork by Jordan Lentz (12)
become a priest or a rabbi or whatever. It‘s
the time passed. Half the time I felt like I was
weird, when you think about it. If we get to go
somewhere else. I thought Mom was here, but
to Heaven after we die, shouldn‘t everyone be
then she wasn‘t. The flashlight is dying. Just
thrilled about dying? But nobody is. Everyone
like everything else. I‘m so hungry it hurts. I
just wants to live for one more day. I found a
don‘t hear the bats anymore, but I bet they‘re
little more moisture, and it helped. I tried
still here. Checked on Johnny to make sure
going over to Johnny to check if he has any
they didn‘t eat him yet. Getting used to the
food but got too dizzy. I can‘t even describe
dark. But I‘m hungry. That‘s the worst part.
the smell anymore. I‘m breathing through my
Worse than dying. I just don‘t want to be
shirt.
hungry anymore.
Held my breath and crawled over to
There are no freaking bats. There are no
Johnny because I can‘t stand up anymore.
freaking eyes. My stomach feels like hell. I hate
Blood got on my hands, and I almost licked it.
myself. I don‘t really need to tell you what I
I‘m that thirsty. He doesn‘t have any food. I
did. The evidence is there. If you found this,
got angry at him for not having any food.
you know. But it got my brain going again. I
Woke up again. There are bats in here. I
can think now. Nothing else is here. Just me
swear there weren‘t any bats. I‘m scared of
and what‘s left of Johnny. I thought there were
bats. They‘re fluttering around, but they stop
bats, but there aren‘t. I have a little more
when I write. I can‘t see them, but the
energy. I look around one more time. There‘s
flashlight is really dim. They probably hide. I
no way out.
realized the bats don‘t have any food, either.
My name is Matthew James Watkins, Jr.,
Scared they might eat me, but they would
and I died in a cave. In a freaking cave. The
rather eat Johnny because he‘s already dead. I
smell doesn‘t really bother me anymore.
just got really happy because the bats must have gotten in here somehow. There must be an opening. I crawled around looking, but there‘s no opening. They must have been hiding from me the first time I looked. Scared to go to sleep because of the bats. Maybe if I had more energy I could catch one. I hope I have enough strength to fight the bats. I looked around and saw some eyes. The light was off so I don‘t know how I saw them. They almost looked like cartoon eyes. I reached out to grab them, but they ran away. I might have been asleep but didn‘t feel asleep. They were bigger than bat eyes. They‘re gone now. At least the notebook is my friend. It‘s Sunday, about 6 P.M. Not sure how all 52
Reality Natalie Mickelson (10) It's funny, It's sad. You're lovely, I'm bad. So fix me up! Tie the string Turn the crank And hear me sing— This song To you Because that's all I can do Anymore. Artwork by Conor Murphy (11)
Eric Wendorf (11)
Artwork by Adam Schmidt (10)
54
(Ascent) What god rises up from the water? What hand moves the wheels of time? What voice of the void cries out from the gutter And trumpets the killing of time? The forgotten souls, who towers felled In sun-bleached deserts crumble. A rumbling in the distance and A vision torn asunder While all withers unto dust. What remains? The wind in the trees, The tambourine leaves, Like whispers out into nothing, Like bullets shot into the ocean, As rockets begin their parabolic arc Like gods rising up from the water. (Descent) (4) And there is a mask on every face When the zero hour is come, (3) With darkness etched in every face Beneath twisted autumn sun. (2) When tongues of flame tear down the sky Into oblivion, (1) We become one With the zero. (0)
Published by the students of Edgewood High School 2219 Monroe Street Madison, WI 53711 www.edgewoodhs.org
Volume XXV Spring 2010