The Torch by etraylor

THE TORCH a literary arts magazine / 2015

This was the year we learned what vision is, the only way you really can—in its absence. Those seasons of slowly moving westward, the sense of impending epiphany—shockstopped by this massive range of rock. We thought we were prepared: our gearboxes, the carabiners we began to carry from our belt loops like rosaries. But before we could move, some ancient storm lent this valley its terrible winds. They lingered. Fog and cold caged us against the mountain. The biting air shrunk our lungs, dulled our spirits. It’s May now, and scars of snow still mark our camp with symbolless shapes. We strain, searching the cloudcover for some glimpse of the bare heights. Waiting again on the advent of a sign to start the ascent, trusting it will come. Zack Clemmons, 2015.

DUNNOTTAR CASTLE, SCOTLAND

IN TRANSIT

GRUMP IN PUFF

UNTITLED

US-45 BYPASS

DAY AND NIGHT

SCARLET CORD

ADVICE

THE NORTHEAST REGIONAL

BE ON YOUR WAY

TOUCH

SUMMER UNDERBELLY

FEET

TANGERINE EATING

INCARNATION

PROCESS

UNTIL CHRIST IS FORMED IN YOU

THEY SAY YOU TURN INTO YOUR MOTHER

Molly Foster, pg. 2

Sarah-Anne Winchester, pg. 3

Brady Heyen, pg. 4

Katherine Murchison, pg. 5

Livvy Winters, pg. 6

Zac Pankey, pg. 11

Ragan Pendley, pg. 12

Kalee Hall, pg. 13

Kathryn Williams, pg. 14

Dylan Pelley, pg. 16

Amanda Rohde, pg. 17

Sierra Owens-Hughes, pg. 18

Hannah McIntosh, pg. 19

Livvy Winters, pg. 20

Hayley Johnson, pg. 21

Stephanie Traylor, pg. 22

Erin Sower, pg. 23

Kalee Hall, pg. 24

DUNNOTTAR CASTLE, SCOTLAND

Molly Foster The grass sighs under the fog, which traces a path up the spine of salt-worn stairs, then slips off the head of a hulking cliffside, beaten smooth by waves and brine. Dunnottar looks in all directions with glassless sockets. Its pockmarked face stands against a millennia of wind, of eyes, each imperfection the work of a man sent to smooth away marks of war but who, in a shudder perhaps of cold, perhaps of superstition, strayed his hammer and scarred the estate.

Grump in Puff

Sarah-Anne Winchester Wheel-thrown terracotta

US-45 BYPASS

Brady Heyen Heralded by the heavy hits of Roland’s 808, I roll into the penultimate pause. That same smooth route. Six lights, seven turns. I repeat the rhythms I know. Mine is a clean world, clear of clutter, each stimulus set for satisfaction: 71 degrees, wipers on the fourth fastest setting, all within the welded walls of my Jeep Patriot that mirrors its mold in the next lane. I look through the lenses of our two-ton twins and find a different world. She is sobbing. Or laughing. Definitely sobbing. I can’t look any longer. Sobbing, I think. I turn to my other neighbor. It’s a Ford Taurus. What do they know about Jeep Patriots? It steadily stares at the signal, waiting to escape us. I slouch into my seat, embarrassed. She does too. Our captor concedes to green. The ruts of rhythm catch me again, and we roll on. I assure myself: She was laughing.

Scarlet Cord

Katherine Murchison

Oil on glass 24” x 29.5”

THE NORTHEAST REGIONAL

Livvy Winters

It had been Reggie’s idea to take the train. Kelley and I both had frequent flier miles, but he still left strategically placed Amtrak pamphlets around our apartment. Leaning across the counter to where I sat checking my morning emails, he pushed a brightly colored brochure toward me, nearly sloshing his coffee on my phone. “I’ve never been on a train before,” he pointed out. “Besides, what’s more romantic than a train? Kelley will dig it, trust me.” “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I began as I dabbed the coffee with a hand-towel. “But really, we don’t trust you,” said Kelley as she walked into the kitchen wearing her fluffy houndstooth robe. She came behind me and ran her long fingers through my hair. “Remember Albuquerque, honey?” she asked, kissing my forehead. She perched her chin on the top of my head, and I felt her body shake with laughter. Reggie pushed himself away from the cabinet, and I saw he was wearing my leather house shoes again. They were too small for his huge, meaty feet, and he was riding the backs down with his heel.

“Hey, I refuse to take responsibility for that,” he said. “Anyway, you’re missing the point.” Kelley was still chuckling to herself as she came around the counter and poured coffee into her favorite mug, the one her dad had given her when we graduated from Columbia. It had a pun about the periodic table that I politely smiled at but didn’t really understand until Kelley explained it to me. “Chris and I have frequent flier miles.” She slid bread into the toaster, which began to tick furiously. “You say that like it’s a good thing,” Reggie said. “You know that’s just another way for big businesses to keep you tied to them.” There were few things he liked better than to tease Kelley. I saw her absently finger her necklace the way she always did before diving headlong into a debate. I breathed out a long sigh. “Now wait, I haven’t had enough coffee to listen to you bicker,” I said before she could speak. For a moment Kelley looked as if she was going to argue with me but then smiled and gave me a wink. “How did you sleep?” she asked Reggie. His shoulders twitched in a shrug.

“I mean, it’s a couch. How well can a guy sleep?” “Considering it’s a free couch, it should be pretty cozy,” I observed blandly. Reggie didn’t even bother looking at me. “Geesh, Kel,” he said, “call him off. He’s getting vicious. Besides, my situation is completely logical.” At the harsh ring of the toaster, Kelley’s toast sprang into the air. “I mean, what’s the point of looking for a new apartment when I’m about to go on vacation with you chumps?” He threw his arm around Kelley’s shoulder. Despite Reggie’s tall figure and square shoulders, he often looked like a pleading child. Kelley says he’s just a playful child in an adult body; I think he simply behaves like a juvenile. But Kelley is always making excuses for him. “You’re welcome to our couch anytime, you know that,” she said warmly, her eyes meeting mine across the kitchen. She knew how I felt about Reggie, but I could tell she wanted me to say something hospitable to him. I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I guess it’s just like our old roommate times, huh?” “Except you guys are actually married, and it’ll be more weird when you make out on the couch,” Reggie chuckled. Kelley joined in mirthlessly as her eyes met mine. She slipped from beneath Reggie’s arm. “You just need to get married and settle down,” I said. My phone vibrated on the counter, squirming until it stopped against the glass canister of macaroni

noodles. At Kelley’s questioning look I said, “It’s just an email.” Reggie shifted his weight restlessly. “So we decided to travel by rail, right?” I recognized the inflection in his voice, the tightness of his tone. Reggie was smooth, but I could always sense when he was anxious. “I don’t know,” Kelley said and sat beside me as I flicked open my phone. I suppose Reggie saw my forehead crease and then my eyes widen with disbelief because he slammed down his coffee and rushed over. “Reggie—” I began slowly, my eyes meeting his. “I can explain everything if you’ll just give me a minute.” His words tumbled out, and he clutched my arm as if trying to calm me instead of himself. I shook his frenzied fingers from my sleeve. “What is it?” Kelley asked. “I just got a confirmation email for three coach seats on the Northeast Regional,” I said in what I remember to be a perfectly collected voice but one that Kelley later informed me was positively bristling. Kelley straightened. “A train.” My eyes held Reggie’s as I said, “Care to explain?” I’d seen Reggie charm his way out of countless dilemmas, and I knew what he was about to do even before he folded his arms akimbo.

“Ok, fine,” he said. “I booked our tickets before you guys woke up this morning.” He paused for a moment, his eyes darting from Kelley to me pleadingly. “And maybe I used your debit account but, logically, we all know I’m not in any financial position to buy train tickets when I’m saving up for a deposit on my apartment.” He must have seen I was unconvinced because he hurried on. “Really, it’s for your own benefit because I know you want me off of your couch just as much as I do.” I thought it was bad timing for Kelley to start giggling like an irrational schoolgirl. My expression must have reflected this because Kelley said, “For heaven’s sake loosen up a little, Chris! This is what an adventure looks like in case you’ve forgotten.” Reggie’s face broke into a wide grin, and his eyes met mine. There was nothing left for me to say.

“Oh, so I’m the manipulative one now?” I said witheringly as Reggie stepped out the door and moved down the steps, lugging an enormous suitcase behind him. Kelley pressed a kiss to my cheek murmuring, “Just try and be pleasant and we’ll all enjoy ourselves.” She strode to the passenger side and climbed into the car. “Why do you carry such a huge suitcase when you only ever wear the same t-shirt and jeans?” I asked Reggie as he slid his luggage into the car with difficulty. “Kelley’s and my bags could fit in there and still bounce around,” I said pointedly, watching him rearrange the contents of the trunk to accommodate his luggage. “Yes, well you and Kelley are both engineers who specialize in spatial relations,” Reggie said, pulling his beanie down over his ears. “Some of us aren’t equally gifted.”

—— “Clearly.” I moved to the front of the car. I was still annoyed with Reggie two weeks later when I tossed my satchel in the trunk of the car beside Kelley’s red carry-on. Kelley hurried down the apartment steps as she tucked her scarf into her coat. “You all set?” “Yeah, where’s the freeloader?” I kicked the car tire, pretending to check for pressure. “Chris, you’re acting like a spoiled child,” she said, wrapping her arms around my waist.

During the short drive to the station, Kelley maintained a steady stream of conversation to prevent me from saying any of the cutting things I was thinking and to suspend the silent tension I could feel reverberating from me. Kelley’s role as self-appointed mediator extended as we boarded the train, when she positioned herself between Reggie and me as if expecting me to come to blows with him. She should have known that after sharing a dormitory with him for three years, I considered myself immune to Reggie’s childishness. But it wasn’t until we located our seats that I realized the extent to which Kelley intended to keep Reggie

away from me. Two of our seats were located near the front while the third was isolated in the rear of the train car. Carrying my satchel and Kelley’s bag, I moved toward the front, but Kelley laid her hand on my sleeve. “Why don’t you let me and Reggie take these, Chris.” Her tone wasn’t a suggestion. “What? Let him take the back and you and I can sit together.” Kelley gave me an exasperated look. “We can’t do that—he’d feel terribly shunned.” “Let him. He’s the one who hijacked our vacation.” “For once in your life try and understand,” Kelley said, reaching to take her bag. Her hand was like glass. “Where are you going?” Reggie asked as I passed him in the aisle. “Back here.” I exchanged tickets with him. Reggie examined his ticket closely, then exclaimed, “Hey, that means I get a window seat!” I took my seat beside a fierce looking old man with an enormous shock of thick white hair, who promptly leaned as far from me as possible. As if I cared. I stowed my bag beneath my seat and looked up to see Kelley’s auburn head leaning in to listen to Reggie’s animated chattering. Pulling my earbuds out of my jacket pocket, I jerked impatiently on the cords in an effort to untangle them, but it only served to

tighten the knots. I stuffed them back in my pocket in frustration. If I hadn’t been so angry, I would have enjoyed the train. We gathered speed, and soon we were swaying rhythmically as the landscape slid by and I saw Kelley and Reggie lean together to look out the window. I jerked my eyes away from them and tried to focus on the magazine that was stuffed in the net-like pouch on the back of the seat. But poisonous thoughts seeped into my consciousness. What makes him think he has any right to be here? Then I remembered that it had been Kelley who invited him to visit her parents with us in the first place. The thought rankled in my mind. It was bad enough that Reggie enjoyed free room and board without invading our personal time together. But Kelley was eager to include him in every part of our lives as if we were back at Columbia where we had all been inseparable. In those days Reggie had been the third wheel, since Kelley and I had started dating sophomore year. Now I was the only one who found Reggie’s company irksome. Honestly, I couldn’t understand what Kelley saw in him now. In college he’d been immature but everyone liked him. He’s a man-child, I told myself. A manipulative, mooching man-child. “Chris?” My eyes snapped from where I’d been staring at the back of the gray vinyl seat in front of me to where Kelley stood above me. “Yeah,” I said.

“Uh, sure. I’ll go with you,” I said. Kelley was silent as she pressed the faded red button that opened the double doors at the rear of the car. The space between the two cars thundered with the movement of the train, and the wind sent an updraft between us as we stood unsteadily on the ribbed metal floor. “We need to talk,” Kelley said, raising her voice above the racket of the train. “You know you’ve offended Reggie, right?” I knew she had more to say, but I was too busy thinking of Kelley discussing me with Reggie. I wondered what she had said about me. That I was unreasonable? Or worse, that I was tedious? I felt something begin to boil within me. “He says he’ll get off at the next stop if you want him to.” Her eyes met mine evenly over the jostling of the train. This would solve all of our problems, I realized dully. An answer immediately rose to my lips but I couldn’t form the words. Looking at Kelley, I realized she wanted him to stay, and that if I spoke those words, things would never quite be the same between us. “What did you say about me to Reggie?” I asked instead, studying the warning signs that were plastered all around us on the train. Watch your step, one read, while another screamed in garish red, In case of emergency, pull lever. “That you were perfectly reasonable to want time without an old college friend hanging around.”

I knew she was lying. My stomach felt cold, and I could feel the drafty air sweeping beneath my coat hem. Numbly, I shook my head. “I don’t mind if he stays,” I said. Kelley looked at me for a moment before nodding. My head suddenly began to throb, and I averted my gaze. If Kelley looked directly into my eyes, she would know I didn’t trust her anymore. “I’m going to sit back down again,” I said, my hand groping for the red button that was my escape. Kelley pushed her hair behind her ear. “What about the Coke?” she asked. The train shook over the tracks, and I touched the wall for balance. “I’m not really thirsty.”

Touch

Zac Pankey

Reclaimed yellow pine table

Feet

Ragan Pendley Charcoal 22” x 30”

INCARNATION

Kalee Hall

In my high school anatomy class, I watched a video of a human being born. The mother was screaming, and I thought I heard her say, “This is my body. Take and eat.” Now I can begin to say it. My eyes flicked across the screen in the theater as the white on black letters scrolled. I sat quietly till the last logo faded out. I stood outside the bathroom waiting for my friend and overheard a stout woman, shaking her head, say to a tall, bald man: That’s the thing about psychosis—you never see it coming. My friend came out of the bathroom, and I looked at the drop of water the sink had thrown onto her forearm. I thought about how wrong Descartes was. This drop of water magnifying her dark arm hair. The Christmas tree scar on my left hand’s pinky finger. The creases my pillow leaves on my cheek at night. Let’s get out of here, my friend said. My soul is not a hot air balloon, I said. Marrow and kneecaps and optic nerves and tendons don’t strain towards ethereality, do you see what I mean? She patted my arm, and we walked to the car. Some part will wrench itself away, I told her, but my bones will still be packed earth. My lungs will still be formed from dust.

Until Christ is Formed in You Kathryn Williams

Hand-printed black-and-white film photographs with gold leaf 3 panels 5” x 7”

IN TRANSIT

Dylan Pelley

I’m sorry I missed your birthday. I know it meant a lot to you, so I wrote you a letter and got you a gift. Then I waited on a bench at the station for your train. I hoped it would come before that wretched warm rain began to fall, but it didn’t. So I left the letter and gift waiting on that bench just before the last train was due. I’m sure they still wait for your gentle hands. What a shame. It was a beautiful letter. It explained all the mistakes I made and how gracious you were in forgiving them. I hope that train took you far from all the doubts you had. It’s an awful thing to be plagued by doubt. It’s even worse to be that letter, bleeding out in the rain, your name slowly fading.

Untitled

Amanda Rohde

Digital composite photograph

Day and Night

Sierra Owens-Hughes

Wheel-thrown stoneware, carved

ADVICE

Hannah McIntosh

I was six when my father taught me how to reel in. We jabbed the pink worms, and I curled them over my hooks, trying to make them pretty. I bit my lip, and wondered how much it hurt them, being poked like that. Once my worm slipped from my fingers and fell to the dock, and I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t keep my eyes from blurring. It just lay there, leaking and still. I nudged it off the edge with my rubber boot and prayed it would float out of my view. My carefully coiled bait on its plain silver hook was not enough to catch the big boys, my father warned. Said we needed a lure. He pulled one from his tackle box and set it in my palm. I fingered its squirrel-hair skirt and shimmery, dangling beads, thinking of the ladies on TV who dance with naked bellies. Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve gotta excite them to catch them. He kept saying that.

BE ON YOUR WAY

Livvy Winters

You said you couldn’t come, but here you are. It’s just as well, I suppose. I’ve grown taller since you shot that man in that place for that reason you told me I don’t know how many years ago. I’ll introduce you but then you’ll be on your way again, never too long in one place. I know that now. A wildfire springing up, tearing through the underbrush. I’m told it’s very good for the trees.

SUMMER UNDERBELLY

Hayley Johnson

diesel exhaust weighted tool-rack secondhand smoke gritty engine draining oil frothy-smooth brew charcoal ash sizzling grease lemonade cavities sucker punch burnt rubber bullets echo-ricochet copper water all hail the sirens sunset blood extra cash donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ask heritage here helping, hoping sway-clap-sing hallelujah

TANGERINE EATING Stephanie Traylor

This afternoon, I stab a thumbnail into pockmarked skin and citrus spray mists my blouse. The two halves part unwillingly and sticky pith fills the gap between nail and flesh. A section pulls freeâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;one sliver of July simplicity, a rush of fresh sweetness tinged with the sharpness of seasonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s end. I brush my fingers past my nose and inhale the scent of you by the river, peeling summer and handing me pieces.

Process

Erin Sower

94 coil-built stoneware spheres, pit-fired

THEY SAY YOU TURN INTO YOUR MOTHER

Kalee Hall

The mother could see that Maggie was not going to eat her peas. Her daughter’s stony eyes gazed into hers. Only the sounds of Ella playing with her dolls in the living room broke the silence until the mother finally blinked rapidly, turned her head, and heaved a sigh. “Fine, Maggie.” Unsuccessfully hiding a grin, the ten-year-old slid off her chair and ran, a stray limb spinning her plate from the table as she bounded to the other room. Her mother shook her head as the paper plate showered the floor with peas. Hand on her back, the mother knelt to the floor with a groan. She pushed her gray-streaked hair behind her ears and gathered the wandering greens that Maggie wouldn’t touch since a few years ago, when she had realized they weren’t actually the main course at fairy feasts. Tossing the plate and rejected peas into the trash can under the sink, the mother leaned against the counter, her eyes drawn toward the pile of papers peeking out from under last night’s pizza box. The way they were all turned in different directions made them look jagged, and she imagined they might be shark’s teeth, waiting with their white points to cut her open and send her insides down to be digested. She walked over and moved the pizza box carefully, trying not to get crumbs on the floor. Sinking into the kitchen chair to go through the stack,

she could feel the chair’s straw beginning to push an imprint on the backs of her thighs. When she finally got up to put the girls to bed, later than it should’ve been, she still hadn’t been able to tell exactly what the loan officer’s letter had meant. —— “Ma! You’re hurting me!” Maggie squealed and squirmed under her mother’s firm hands as they combed, wet, and flattened her tousled hair. “Hush—your head’ll be tough soon enough, Maggie.” The mother gave one last tug and pat to the girl’s ponytail, then turned her around, smoothed out her plain green shirt, and handed her a jacket. Maggie grabbed the jacket and fidgeted out of arm’s reach, grimacing and shaking her head around to loosen the pull on her scalp. “Your head’ll be tough soon enough, Maggie,” she mimicked quietly. “Well what if it isn’t?” She gave her mother the evil eye, but her attention was already elsewhere. “Ada!” the mother yelled, “The bus will be here soon!” Ada flew down the stairs, past her mother, and had almost reached the door when she was pulled back by

her mother’s firm voice and hand. Just as the mother had suspected, the thirteen-year-old had gotten into her blue eye shadow. She shook her head. “Take it off, Ada.” Ada’s eyes rolled back in her head. “Mom, it’s not even a big deal, okay? Seriously, everyone in my class wears makeup now!” “Everyone in your class isn’t part of our family, are they? Get upstairs and wash it off now, before you’re late.” Her own fourteen-year-old eyelids thick with eyeliner for the first time came unbidden to her mind; her own mother’s tight voice telling her she looked like a hussy. “Get upstairs and wash it off now,” she had said. The mother wondered what Ada had just heard in her own voice. When Ada slumped down the stairs after washing her face, the mother told her to wait and grabbed her arm for a moment, opening her mouth as if to say something. Suddenly, she changed her mind, shooing a confused Ada out the door. She had to get ready for work. —— Licking her finger to fix a flyaway, the mother tilted her head to better see her reflection in the computer screen in front of her. Behind the irritating flyaway hairs, she could see the dingy yellow wallpaper of the little lobby and one of the inspirational quotes in cheap frames that decorated each wall. “Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart,” read the caption over a picture of an anonymous faded forest. One of the owners’ wives had picked it out twenty-

something years ago when the business started. The mother never noticed it anymore. The first client of the day opened the door, and the bell that hung over it jangled frantically. She forced a smile to match the bright white smile of the customer. As she took down his information and brought it back to Jack, one of the burly owners of Adena, Ohio’s Security Services, she wished for the thousandth time that she could trade places with her husband. Though his days and nights were long, at least he got to see the country while carting salt and sand between here and Florida. She’d give anything to see her Louisiana swamps again. She was jolted out of her reverie by another clanging at the door. Rearranging her smile, the mother looked up to greet the next customer and met her brother’s familiar dark brown eyes. Her pen clattered onto her desk and she stood up. “Derek? What are you—” He was behind her desk in four strides, lifting her up in a smothering hug. As a rule, they’d never hugged unless one of them was crying, so her hands were stiff and awkward with disuse when they patted his back. As she was just about to ask what was going on, she heard him whisper, “It’s Mama.” Though his voice was right next to her ear, everything he spoke after those words sounded as far away as the swamp cicadas outside her window in Louisiana. —— The mother scratched the back of her right thigh. These damn straw chairs. Her head dropped back into her hands and she listened to the silence that was only broken by Derek’s slow breathing as he napped off his late-night drive on the couch. She was quietly glad

he had gone out of his way to come tell her in person. Even though she was grateful Jack had given her the rest of the day off to figure out what to do, she knew she’d have to be back in the office tomorrow. The late morning sunlight streamed through the window, lighting up the dust that hung in the cool air. She closed her eyes against the bank statement on the table in front of her. There was no way she could go. —— That night the mother shot up in bed, chest heaving, quilt haphazard on the floor. She crossed her legs and put her head in her hands, caught between sleep and wakefulness. Her undone hair fell around her face in a wave that was not quite as thick as it used to be, and she found herself thinking of off-brand hairspray filling her nostrils as she watched it float down onto her mother’s ancient gold curling iron. It had been almost entirely covered with specks of hairspray residue for as long as she could remember. Her young eyes had turned upward, watching her own mother carefully combing and placing her hairs over the spot on the top of her head where her scalp was growing bare. “Momma, are you gonna be bald soon?” she had asked. Her mother had examined her face for a moment with a gaze underscored by dark circles. Without a word, she turned back to the mirror and continued her precise placement. Through the darkness of the bedroom, the mother leaned off the bed to grab the quilt from the thin carpet so she could attempt to go back to sleep. Pausing as she hauled it up onto the bed, her fingers

traced the thread’s pattern she knew so well. When she was nine, she had asked for a My Buddy doll and his Kid Sister companion for Christmas, because they reminded her of Derek and her. As she tore off the wrapping paper of her present on Christmas Day, her heart had pounded. The box was big enough. She just knew her mom had listened. Her little hands pulled open the box and instead of two dolls, or even one, inside the box was a large quilt. She stared for a minute, her eyes following the quilt’s winding pattern. She blinked back tears, then looked at her mom. Her mother gazed back at her, then got up and went to the kitchen to finish fixing their Christmas dinner pasta. Wrapped in the quilt, the mother turned over in bed and tried to go back to sleep. —— Ella woke her mother up about an hour later by crawling into her bed. Though she rolled over to make room for Ella to lie on the father’s side, the mother faced outward and pretended to still be sleeping. Her daughters all had a phase of wanting to sleep with their mother while their father was away during the weeks, but Ella’s was lasting longer than Ada or Maggie’s ever did. When she heard Ella’s breathing even out, she turned to face her. Through the darkness she could see that her curls were damp and stuck to her forehead, and her mouth hung slightly open. The mother reached out. Her hand hovered over Ella’s cheek for a long moment. Finally, she took her arm away and turned again to face the wall, trying to fall into a dream for the couple hours she had left before the alarm. ——

When the sun came up, after Ada, Maggie, and Ella were on the bus, the mother hurriedly got ready for work. This day passed like every other one—jangling bell, smile, inspirational posters, customers’ white teeth. As the late afternoon sun hit her eyes on Main Street, there was a sudden clanking in her car. The gray 1990 Buick had been used when she and her husband bought it, and it had lasted ten years—surely it wouldn’t give up now. The clanking didn’t stop the engine, so she kept driving, surrounded by the noise that sounded like metal teeth clacking together. The mother pulled into their short driveway and rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment before picking herself up and heading inside to fix the girls dinner.

moved to the living room and the mother began to panic unexpectedly, somehow feeling that this was her last chance. “Girls,” she started abruptly as her daughters moved to scatter across the house. “Girls, I . . .” They turned to look at her, confused. She turned her back to them, placed her hands on the counter, and thought of her own mother’s closed lips. “Well, I love you.” It sounded flat. She cleared her throat. She didn’t turn to look at them. Suddenly she heard Ella run up behind her, stopping just short of touching. The mother released her white-knuckled grip on the counter and turned. She reached out, tentatively placing her hand on her daughter’s cheek. Maybe tomorrow the words would sound full.

—— The mother had to call up the stairs several times before Ada came down to eat. Maggie and Ella were getting restless and Derek was looking out of place when Ada finally scooted her chair in with a screech. “Spaghetti again?” she asked, rolling her eyes. The mother met her gaze until Ada eventually looked down. “Yes,” the mother answered. “I like spasketti!” Ella chimed in, twirling noodles around each of her fingers. As the mother helped her detangle them, she gave Ada a look. “Eat,” she said in a low voice. Ada ate. As they continued dinner in silence, the mother watched her daughters discreetly. When everyone was finished, she took their plates and stuck them in the sink. Derek

Junior English minor ZACK CLEMMONS is just part of the process. Junior ceramics major

ZACH LANCASTER is kinda like a really big deal. Sophomore music and English major BETHANY MALCHUK shrugs—it’s casual. Junior English major GRACE PEPPER rides Amtrak. Freshman English major JOSHUA WELSCH thinks you are his spirit animal. LIVVY WINTERS, junior English major, has been taught prepositions are not proper to end with. Junior art major EMILY TRAYLOR dreams of driving over the Golden Gate in a convertible. MOLLY FOSTER, junior biology major, dreams of appearing on the Union Planner. Senior art major SARAH-ANNE WINCHESTER enjoys reading novels at fast food restaurants. BRADY HEYEN, senior philosophy major, accepts Twitter followers as legal tender (@BradyHeyen). Junior art major KATHERINE MURCHISON takes literal cat naps. Junior art major ZAC PANKEY was wondering if you wanted to buy a table. Sophomore art major RAGAN PENDLEY likes Converse hi-tops. KALEE HALL, senior English and French major, was born with library fines. Senior art major KATHRYN WILLIAMS believes in Jackson. DYLAN PELLEY, senior Christian studies major, had a brief stint as a Star Child but decided it wasn’t worth it. Junior art major AMANDA ROHDE is a precocious puddle stomper. Senior ceramics major SIERRA OWENS-HUGHES: sticking it to the man since 1993. HANNAH MCINTOSH, senior psychology major, hopes to one day be followed back by bald cat, @pearlmetzger, on Instagram. HAYLEY JOHNSON, junior English and psychology major, is the candle-souled scribbler and official mayor of

STEPHANIE TRAYLOR, senior English major, has zero problems drinking six tea a day. Junior ceramics major ERIN SOWER thinks being in The Torch will

Quirkville. cups of

help her with words.

EDITOR

Zack Clemmons

EDITORIAL STAFF

Zach Lancaster Bethany Malchuk Grace Pepper Joshua Welsch Livvy Winters

DESIGN

Emily Traylor

FACULTY SPONSOR

Bobby Rogers

PRINTED BY

Tennessee Industrial Printing, Inc. in Jackson, Tennesee, 2015.

Union University Jackson, Tennessee