The Bellarmine Review — Spring 2024

VOLUME 84 | SPRING 2024

THEBELLARMINEREVIEW

THE

LITERARY MAGAZINE OF FAIRFIELD COLLEGE PREPARATORY SCHOOL

THEBELLARMINEREVIEW

VOLUME 84

⸱ SPRING 2024

THE LITERARY MAGAZINE OF FAIRFIELD COLLEGE PREPARATORY SCHOOL

EDITORIALCOMMITTEE

THOMAS ADAMS ’25

JAMES CALLAGHAN ’25

DAVID HEFFERON ’25

BEN LESTER ’25

LARS MAECHLING ’25

ALEX SALAZAR ’25

COVERART

DANIEL GUZMAN ’25

FACULTYADVISOR

BRIAN HOOVER

THEBELLARMINEREVIEW

VOLUME 84 ⸱ SPRING 2024

The Bellarmine Review istheliterarymagazineofFairfieldCollegePreparatory School.Ourmissionistocelebrateourstudents’creativitybyprovidingavenue fortheirwords,theirartwork,andtheirlivedtruth.+AMDG+

COLOPHON

Thisissueof The Bellarmine Review wasdesignedandlaidoutinCanva. HeadingsaresetinInter.BodytextissetinCardo,exceptMatthewMartino’s “AJarofHoney,”portionsofwhicharesetinHalimumandLaquer,andRyan Sheppard’s“TheLetter,”portionsofwhicharesetinHomemadeApple.

BADHEMINGWAYSTORIES

ThomasAdams’25

BenLester’25

AlexSalazar’25

RyanSheppard’26

QuinnLombardo’26

FOREWORD

Oh, how we ’ ve grown! ThisthoughtringsinmymindasIreflectbackonthis issueof The Bellarmine Review aswellastheartsatFairfieldPrep.WhenIwas justasmall-fryfreshmanenteringthisforeignlandscape,Ihadnoambition tooutmyselfasawriter.Inmymind,Iwasafraidofbeinglaunchedinto somesociallimbo,trappedfortherestofmydays.

Now,IcouldnotimagineanyoneatPrepnotknowingaboutthe happeningsofourartscommunity.Music,theatre,visualart,andmost especiallywritingallholdaspecialplaceinthiscommunity.InB403, CreativeWritingClubexploresthecreativechannelsthatareembeddedin themenofPrep.Weproducethismagazine,whichismorethanjusta showcaseofourwritings.ItisthebreathofalltheartsatPrep.Here,wegive backtothePrepcommunitythefruitsofourinspiration.

Iwouldliketothankallofthecontributorsinthisissue.Ouressayscome fromstudentsinMrs.Callahan’sAPLanguageandCompositionclassand Mrs.Hoover’sAmericanFilmandDramaclass,andincludesomepersonal collegestatementsaswell.IalsoofferahugethankstoMr.Denbyfor organizingPrep’ssecondannualBadHemingwayContestforjuniors,andto themanyfacultyjudgeswhoreadentriesforthiscontestaswellasour WritingRoyaleandAprilpoetrycontests.Theirtimeanddedicationmade thisissuepossible—withoutthem,wewouldbeallbutlost!

Thisprojectmeanssomuchtome,asitrepresentsthegrowthofartsand creativitywithinthehallsofPrep.Attimes,Ihavefeltthattheworldhaslost itscreativemind,butworkssuchastheonesinthiscollectiongivemehope forafuturewithyoungmenwhoexpresstheirliveswithinthebeautiful boundlessnessofart.Thankyouagaintoallwhohaveworkedsodiligently onthisissueof The Bellarmine Review, andaspecialthankyoutoyou,who arereadingthis—youarethedrivingforcebehindtheworldofartthatweall cherish.

Sincerely, JamesCallaghan’25

POETRY

THEPEACHESINTHEBASKET|BENLESTER’25

Thepeachesinthebasket Arebundledbeneathmytree Summergiftsanonymous— Iknownotwhomtheyarefor

EscapedpatchoffEden’sleaves Unforbidden,youarenew Asweetredemptivepromise— Inolongerwishtohide

Away,feigntheinnocence! Weep…asyouwhispertome, Behindman’sguiseofpleasure Iamsearchingdeepwithin

Thepeachesinthebasket:A bountywhichfewmayeat.

THESUBTERRANEANESTATEOFMYMIND:ACOLLECTION|LARSMAECHLING’25

MEAFTER4:00P.M.

Thecarrollseighty. HeartfluttersLiketheMotor, Caffeineinmyhand.

LOSTATAFUNERAL

Theairwasheavy

Mythroatblockedbymymourning Icouldnotconsole

OVERCOMINGRAGE

Myfaceismorereddish ThanthebleaktimeIwaspunched. I’mlearningtochange

WHENIWAKEUPTHINKING

Outside the world was gone. The leaves and grass were done. A dark cacophony

Was the mimetic world. All men, lost in the trough. His breath and muse were lost.

Unbeknownst to the world: Was the pitch-dark back room. Perhaps it was death’s tomb. A boiler room. There was a hole in the wall.

I am free

I saw crystals, a path descending into the unknown. Each was a berth of a memory—pieces of knowledge. I could only see ten steps in front of me ere being consumed by the darkness. Even though I could not see ten strides in front, I saw real light. The crystals emanated colors unseen. They housed some breath of life ungiven in the face of unforgiving darkness.

Behind me was someone. Its face like a prism. It without form or shape. It did not bother me though

I kept descending into the cave.

The brightness and power of my footing helped me in seeing intelligence for what it was: color.

I had some recalescence where I remembered all of the struggles of humanity. They were all but amiss in the face of our shared experience and love.

Wakeup.

Isaidwakeup. It’sallnumbers,man.

WHYDOIDESIREATIMEPASSEDAWAY?|MATTHEWMARTINO’25

Whydowedesireatimefaraway Onlytobewishingbackthosedays

Whydowegallopforthefinishwhilethegatesopen Onlytoreminisce,broken

Whydowewanttorun,learningtowalk

Whyarewesoignorant,untaught

Thepainoflosttimeisthemostsavageofthemall foritisindiscernible,eternal

Yet,toenlightenitaspain,todignifyitasarain wouldbetoempowerit

Ishallrathernotsourthis

For,itcanonlycausedamageshouldyoubegetthis: Yououghtnotbendwithit

Asanoldbrotherusedtosay, “Inmyage,Ihavenoregrets,nofearsorpains—Irefusetohaveanyshame— Forlivingistheactofvictimizingourepoch”

“Iwillsaytoyou:grabitbytheneckandsuckthedeathout,for,scarcelythen… Andifmaybeonlyforamoment… canyousustain”

Aclockwilltickforwardnevertohalt SoIcommandyou: STOP And,ifyoumust,smashthatverywatch

THEPINNACLEOFMOTORSPORT|OLIVERMASCERA’25

Formula1.ThepinnacleofMotorsport.

Racing.Whatdoesittake?Skill?Guts?Ordoesitsimplyrequireluck?

Toraceistodrivefastandtodrivefastistodisappear. Disappearonthetrack.

Scream.

Lights.Tracklightsandsounds.Thesoundsofthescreamingengine. Thesafetycar’syellowlightsflashing.

Turn.Turnthecorner.Accelerate.Yourneckmovesandyourbodyis pushedback.

Scream.

Straightaway.Theenginescreams.Youlooktoyourleft:driver.Youlook toyourright:driver.

Focus.Focusontheengine.Focusonthesound.

Lookagain.Alone.Aloneonthetrack.It’sjustyouandthecar.

Scream.

Voices.Thepitcrewcalls.Ignore.Youmustkeepgoing.Thetireswill survive.

Turn.Losingtraction.Spinningasyouturn.Youshouldhavelistened.

Pullin.Thecrewscrambles.Youareraised.Youhearthedrillsturn.The boltsfall.Youcount.One.Two.Done.Yourtiresarenewandyouareback. Droppedontotheground.

Scream.

Backonthetrack.Looktoyourright:driver.Youlooktoyourleft:driver.

Focus.Alone.It’sjustyou.It’syouversusthetrack.

Willyousurvive?

Scream. Screamtotheend. Screamuntilit’sfinished.

Toraceistodrivefastandtodrivefastistodisappear.

Disappearonthetrack.Fadeawayfromtheworld.

Scream.

JOYOFTHEPUZZLE|ALEXSALAZAR’25

SolvingtheRubik’scubehadseemedimpossible. Ithadbeenlikeaquestionunanswerable. OnedayIlookedonlineforatutorial, Andfoundthatsolvingitwascategorical.

Solvingthepuzzle,whichhadseemedunthinkable, Atonce,withoutissue,todoIwasable. Decodingthechaosthat’dbeeninscrutable Nowseemedtooeasy,definitelydoable.

Ithadbeenaspell,nowjustaseriesofsteps, AndIwasn’tverykeentoputinmorereps. What’dbeenasourceofmagictomeinthepast InowsawthatevenIhadsurpassed.

Withthecube’smysteryhavingbeendispelledI thoughtIhaddiscoveredallthesecretsitheld, ThatuntilIlearnedaboutafastmethodspelled CFOP,thiswasthemethodIbeheld.

Igotfasteratsolving,realizedI’dbeenwrong, Actuallythatmagichadbeenthereallalong. Thespellhadnotcomefromthecube’sdifficulty. Itwasthejoyofthepuzzlethathadstruckme.

ANEXCEPTIONALLYHOTEVENING|JOSHUASALAZAR’26

It’shardtohear;Icoulddieatany Moment.It’shardtosee;Icoulddieat Anymoment.Onmybackaremany Chemicals;Icoulddiejustlikeagnat. Iamsurroundedbybubbles;Icould Dieatanymoment.Surroundedby Livingthings,Iamliable—Ishould, Realistically,forthesethings todie Atanymoment.Theymove,somehunt,some Arehunted;Icoulddieanymoment. ThedeeperIgo,todeathIbecome Closer.Youshouldinvestinatonement Becausethenyouareabletoescape Certaindeathinthiswaterylandscape.

SEAGLASS|DANIELTRISTINE’25

Iwalkedinstraightlines

Alongrowsofrockysand. Stones,shells,seaweedpassed by,Theywereuselesstome.

Myfriendstoldmeaboutthecolors: Thebluesarerare;reds,rarer. Ilooked,butnonecaughtmyeye. Doeseverybodygetthebrowns?

Thesandcrunchedundermyfeet, Asoft,irregularnoise. Sometimesabrokenshellwouldsurprise Myfeetandraisemyvoice.

Myfacewasdown, Butmyearswereatmysides. Icouldhearthesubtlesea, Butnotseeit.

Soft,crashingwaves, Carryingonthesand. Whycouldn’ttheyreachme? Thegullswouldnotcomenear. Afterwalking,Igrewtired, Icouldnotignoremyears. Ilookup,andsee Vastblues,sunsetreds.

Iforgetmyseaglass, Iadmirethesea. Itswavesshapeall: Glass,rock,andme.

THELOSTMIND|JAMESCALLAGHAN’25

WINNER OF THE SPRING 2024 POETRY CONTEST

Towhomthismayconcern,

MymindisakaleidoscopedesolateofColor. Itistrappedinalabyrinth, endlesslyplungedinthedarknessofwinter. NolongercanIbedistractedbythesimplicitiesoflife. Findbeautyintheunequivocallybeautifulworld.

ThisplaceisfilledwithColorsthatIcannotsee, IamblindtothehuesofourworldnotbecauseIdonotknowthem ButbecauseIhavelostthem.

Iamwalkinginanendlesscycle, eachday,eachweek,eachmonth,eachyearacruelcopyoftheprior. Everyactionbeingdonewiththesamefakesmile thesamemeaninglessnodsthatIgivetomyfriends.

AllIwantistofeellikeIbelong ButIdonot,andIneverhave. AsIpassbythosewhoIknow Myfaceburnsmewiththeirridiculingeyes.

HowcanIfeellikeIbelongwhenIdon’tknowifIwantto? Iamscaredtobeindifferent,butallIwanttobeisindifferent. Forpeopletopassovermeandletmelive. Butthehandsofmyownmindhavemeinachokehold, SohowcanIexpectotherpeopletoletmelivewhenIcannotdoitmyself.

IwanttofeelliketheColorsInolongerseeareworthobserving. YetthoseColorsscareme.Iamsolostinthisdarklabyrinth, somuchthatInolongerknowifIwanttofindmywayout.

Sincerely,theLostOne

ESSAYS

Growingup,Ialwaysfeltdifferentfromtheotherkidsinmyclass.I didn’tknowwhatitwasthen,butIknewthatnomatterhowhardI tried,Icouldneverbeliketheotherboys.Itwasn’tuntilmiddleschool thatIdiscoveredthewordthatdescribedmyexperience:“gay.”

Unfortunately,thewordalsocamealongwiththeconnotationsof girly, weird, sinful, and damnation. I heard these thrown around wheneverthegaycommunitywasmentioned.Afterthisself-realization, ItoldmyparentsbecauseIbelievedthatIcouldfindsolaceand acceptanceinthem.However,sincetheywereChristians,Iwasmet withresistance.

“Howcouldyoudothattousaftereverythingwegaveyou?”

“Idon’twantyoutosufferinhell,Iwanttoseeyouinheaven.”

“Ican’timaginehavingagayson.”

Thesewordsandthisexperiencestuckwithmeforaverylongtime, seepingintothefabricofmybeing.AtthattimeIhadbelieved“gay” meantlikingthesamegender,simpleasthat.However,mynegative experiencesinfluencedmydefinitionofbeinggay;becauseofthis,I grewupwithalotofself-hatredanddoubt.Theonethingthatgaveme asenseofidentityfeltlikeitwasstrippedawayfromme,leavingme feelingnakedandugly.Despitethatfeeling,Irolledupmysleevesand smiledlikeitwasnobigdeal,hidingfromthetruth—mytruth—that constantlystaredatmeintheface,desperatelywaitingtobeembraced.

Luckily,Igottohighschoolandmetanamazinggroupofpeople who when they heard the word “gay,” associated it instead with acceptance.Itwasduringmysophomoreyearwhenmydefinitionof beinggaychanged.Itwasnolongerassimpleaslikingsomeoneofthe samegenderorcarryinganybadconnotations.Angeliataughtmethat familymeansmorethanblood;Kytaughtmetonotcareaboutwhat othersthinkofmeandtodomyownthing;Tommytaughtmetobe

brave and embrace who I am; and Priscila taught me that having a relationshipwithGodwhilebeinggayispossible.Mynewlyfounded friendshipsallowedmetocometotermswithmysexualityandcomeoutto themandmostimportantly,myself.

THROUGH MY EXPERIENCES,

I’VE

LEARNED

THAT NOBODY SHOULD EVER HAVE TO HIDE THEIR TRUE SELVES FROM ANYONE, WHATEVER THAT TRUTH MIGHT BE.

Today,beinggay,tome,issomethinguniqueandspecialbecauseoftheway Iseetheworld.Itisaboutbreakingtheboundariesofsocietyandgoing throughauniqueexperiencethatmanyothersbeforemeandsometoday couldn’tfulfillbecauseofthesamefearIhadwhenIheard“gay.”Iwas inspiredtoeducatepeoplefurtherabouttheLGBTQ+Community:Inmy junioryear,Ibecamethepresidentofmyschool’sgay-straightalliance: R.E.I.G.N.S.(RespectEducationandInclusionofGayandNon-Binary Students).Withthisnewposition,Iplannedtoeducatenotonlymyschool butalsothoseclosetome,especiallymylittlebrother,whomayhavethose samenegativeconnotationsaboutbeinggaythatmayhinderthemfrom exploringtheirtruth.

TofurtherthismissionofloveandacceptancethatIbelievein,Iplanto represent and defend queer youth who have gone through a similar experienceasIhavethroughmycollegeyearsandevenafterthataswell. Throughmyexperiences,I’velearnedthatnobodyshouldeverhavetohide theirtrueselvesfromanyone,whateverthattruthmightbe.Ifitweren’tfor thefriendsthatIhavetoday,Iwouldhaveneverrealizedthatlove,mylove, isunconditional.AslongasIknowthis,I’llcontinuetolovewhomIlove freely,withnorestrictions—eveniftheclosestpeopletomedonotaccept me.

LIFEISLIKEWATER| JACKBOYLE’24

Itwasearlymorning,thesunjustbeginningtopeekthroughthetreesonthe horizon,whenthedayhadfinallycometotestmylimitsagainsttherapids.It wassomethingI’dbeenlookingforwardtoforawhilenow.

Mydadtoldstoriesofthefirsttimehewentwhitewaterraftingat KennebecRiverupinMaine.Nowthatstoryhasbecomearealityforme. Thethirty-minutebusrideovertotherivermadememuchmoreanxious thanIshouldhavebeen,butthenIhadnoideawhatlayaheadofme. Eventually,itwasfinallytimetosetoutontotheriver.Thesunwasbeaming now,withnotacloudinsightasmygroupandIcarriedthehugeraftabove ourheadaswetookthefinalstepstowardthegushingriver.Atthatmoment Irecalledthetourguidehadtoldusifweeverfelloutoftheboat,we’dneed tokeepourfeetuptoavoidbeingsuckedunderbytherapidsinawhirling fashion.Thepossibilitiesofwhatcouldgowrongkeptrunninginandoutof myhead:Couldtheboatflip?Whatwouldhappenifitdidflip?Howwould IgetbackonifIfellout?

Withallofthisinmind,Ieventuallyjustgotonelastlookatthenature aroundme,tookadeepbreath,andhoppedontheraftwithnoregrets.We immediatelyweregivencommandstobeginpaddling.“Rightside,leftside, allahead,allback!”ourtourguidescreamedoverthesoundsofgushing water.Iwassomehowfeelingrawexcitementandfearallatthesametimeas Ipaddledtowardtheinfamous“BigMomma”Class4rapiddirectlyinfront

ofme.WhitewatersplashedinmymouthasIwasyellingwithexcitement. Thenwewerecominguponthenine-footdropwhenourguideyelled, “Hangon.”

Igrabbedtheropeandwedgedmyfeetundertheseatsoftheboatjustas gravitybegantotakeeffectonus,violentlypullingusdownninefeetuntil wecamecrashingdownonthewaterbelowus.Afterafewmorebumps,to saytheleast,Ialsogottoexperiencethecalmingpartoftheriver.Therapids slowedtoasmooth,constantflowasIgrabbedtheinflatablebananakayak andbrokeofffromthegroup(notwanderingtoofarofcourse).Everything, fromthedistinctanimalstothetall,lean,greentrees,wasbreathtaking.Iwas enjoyingtheclear,coldwaterwhensuddenlyIsawthereflectionofabald eagle.Icockedmyheadaroundandthereitwasinallitsglory.Ihadnever seenabaldeaglebefore.Itsbrightyellowbeakcontrastedwithitsdark brownbodycoveredinfeathers.Itlookedstraightatmetoo,perchedup nexttoitsnest,staringintomysoul.PerhapsIwasitsnextmeal?IguessI’ll neverknow,becauseIdidn’tstickaroundtofindout.Thereweresomany sightstosee,deerleftandright,beavers,ospreys,evenamoose.Thesheer beautyofitallwastoomuchformyeyestohandle.

However,themostamazingpieceofnaturewasrightundermynosethe wholetime:Water.Yousee,watertrulyissomethingamazing,evenmore amazingthanAmerica’sfavoritebird.Watercanbecoldorhot.Watercan beviolentorcalm.Watercanbeclearormurky.Watercanbringforthlife orendit.Wateristhedrivingforceofallnature.Thereisnolifewithout water.NomatterwhatobstaclesIfacedontherapids,thewaterkeptme movingthroughit.Weshouldalllearntoflowlikewater,sinceifwedo,we canfindourwaythroughanyrock.

CHANGINGWITHTHESEASONS|TOMÁSGALLOZA’24

TooHispanictobeBlack,tooWhitetobeHispanic,andtooBlacktobe White.

IhavebeenHispanicforseventeenyears.Yet,allmylifeIhavebeen asked,atanyfamilyeventmypryingauntsattend,“Whycan’tyouspeak Spanish?”Unfailingly,abattleinmymindoccurs,everymoleculeinmy beingfightingoneanothertostopmefromretorting.Inevitably,myright mindwinsthisbattlefortheages.Itellmyaunt,“IcanunderstandSpanish.I justcan’tspeakit.”Itisanexchangethathappensatleastonceayear.Then, withoutfail,myextendedfamilybeginstobashmeinSpanish,somehow forgettingthatIknowwhattheyaresaying.Thebashingdoesnotstopat home,however.Itcontinuesatschool.“You’rewhite,”myfriendDericksays tomejokingly.“Youdon’tevenknowhowtospeakSpanish.”LasttimeI checked,IdidnothavetospeakSpanishtobeHispanic.Yet,thatsimply doesnotseemtobethecase.RaisedinBridgeportandaresidentforallmy life,Ihaveconstantlybeentold,“Youaren’tHispanic.You’rewhite.”Iam toldthisbythosewhoaresupposedtosupportandvalidateme.Iamtoo WhitetobeHispanic.

IhavebeenBlackforseventeenyears.But,apparently,Iamnot.“We’re notblack,”mymothertellsmeasshedrivesmehomefromschool.“We’re Dominican.”Mymother,unlikeme,isfromTheIsland.Theplacewhere heaventouchesearth,withsandlikegoldendustandwaterasblueasthesky. TheplacethatChristopherColumbuscolonized,ahubfortheAtlanticslave trade.Thesameplacewherenearlyanentireraceofpeoplewerereplacedby Africanslaves.Myfamily,descendedfromthoseveryslaves,is,accordingto mymother,notblack.“WearenotAfrican.WeareDominican,”shesays. “You’renotblack.You’reHispanic.”ThesearewordsmyfriendFarrell shoutsatmeinajokingtone.HeandIlaughthisoff,aswealwaysdo.But thislaughterdoesnothealthewoundcreatedbybeingdeniedmyidentity.I amtooHispanictobeBlack.

IhavebeenWhiteforfouryears.Itseems,though,thatIhavealways been, without even knowing it. “Oh yeah, we’re Italian. Your great grandfather emigrated from Italy to Puerto Rico.” A sentence said so nonchalantlybymyfather,asifitdidnotcauseaparadigmshiftinmy journeytofindmyself.Ihaveneverfeltwhite.IneverknewIwaspart

MY MOTHER, UNLIKE ME, IS FROM THE ISLAND. THE PLACE WHERE HEAVEN TOUCHES EARTH, WITH SAND LIKE GOLDEN DUST AND WATER AS BLUE AS THE SKY.

white.Imean,howcouldI?Iamonlyone-eighthwhite,yetaccordingto thosewhodenymemyheritage,thatiswhatIhavealwaysbeen.Goingtoa predominatelywhiteprivateschoolasaminoritykidwhohasonlyknown minoritieshiswholelifechangesyouquiteabit.Youtalkdifferently,you walkdifferently,youdressdifferently,youmakeyourselfdifferent.Allof this,tofitin.Youdoyourbesttochange,tobeaccepted.Then,whenyou getthere,yousomehowbecome“thatoneblackkid”thatpeoplehave aroundtosaytheyhaveablackfriend.IamtooBlacktobeWhite.

Iliethereonmybedstaringatmyold,beigeceilingthatcrumblesata gentletouch.AsIsinkintomysky-bluesheets,Isaytomyself,“MaybeIjust can’tfitin.”ThebiggestlieIhaveevertold.Igetpaleinwintersanddarkin summers.IamtheonlyoneIknowwhochangesracesastheseasonschange, anongoingjokeinmyfriendgroup.Yet,Itookthatandmadeitabadgeof pride.BecausetheonlyplaceIneedtofitinismyownskin.

THE

MYSTERY OF THE ROCK WALL | MATTHEW MURPHY ’24

Itstandstallandsturdylikenothingcouldevermakeitmove.Itis indestructible,almostlikeagodmadeit.Therockwallsurroundsmyhouse almostlikeacage,trappingmewithinitstoweringstructureandprotecting mefromthedangersthatawaitedmeoutsidethewall.Withitsworn, unevensurfaces,thismassiveformationhasstoodthetestoftimeduringmy formativeyears.Itlookslikeithasbeentakingthebeatingsoftheworldthat wereprojectedtobeforme.

Withinthesewallswereaplayground,asoccernet,atrampoline,anda massiveyardtorunandplayin,achild’sdreambackyard.Iremember campinginourbackyard,makings’mores,andhangingoutwithfriends, livingthelifeIhadalwaysdreamedof:myperfectworld.Thisidealworld startedtofadeasmyimaginationstartedtoexpand,andmythoughts swarmedmymind.Ibecameintriguedwiththeworldandwantedto adventureouttofindthehiddentreasuresthatwerecallingmynamefrom beyondthewall.Icontemplateddisobeyingtheonerulemyparentsmade, “tostayinsidethewall,”manytimes.Still,myobediencetofollowtherules soIwouldnotgetintroublehinderedmefromclimbingthewalland adventuringintotheunknown.

HOWFARWASIFROMHOME?WHATLURKEDINTHE SHADOWS?ANDWOULDANYONEREALIZETHATILEFT?

Myintegrityonfollowingtheruletowardsstayinginsidethewallstayed intactuntilaheavywindandthecollapseofatreebrokethebarrierand madeapathintotheforbidden.Mycuriositypulledmecloserandcloserto thewalluntilIstoodthreefeetawayfromthedarkpathway,lookingbackat myhouseofwarmthandcomfortandthinkingaboutwhattheworstcould happen.Nothingwasstoppingmyeight-year-oldselfnow,noteventhe

wall.Iwalkedforfourminutes,butitfeltlikeIhadbeenwalkingformiles, notknowingwheretogoorwhattolookforbutonlyknowingthatIhad eyesonmyback,watchingmyeverymove.Iwouldturnaround,andno onewouldbethere,asiftheydisappearedintheshadowsofthetrees.

IwasovercomewithfearanduncertaintyaboutwhereIwas.Howfar wasIfromhome?Whatlurkedintheshadows?Andwouldanyonerealize thatIleft?ImissedthesafetyofthewallandwishedthatIjustobeyedmy parents'rule.Instead,IcontinuedwalkingforacoupleofminutesuntilIgot toabodyofwaterasopenasthegreatseasgoingonandon.Theonlything thatIcouldseewasthelandacrossthewaywithaherdofdeerdrinking fromtheblue,glisteningwaterthatshinedinthesun’sradiantraysofenergy. Itfeltlikehome.Itfeltlikesafety.ThisfeelingissomethingthatInever thoughtIwouldfindbeyondthewall.Itconfusedme;Ididn’tknowhowto feel.ShouldIbehappy?Calm?Thrilled?OrshouldIbenervousaboutwhat creptintheshadowsandanxiousaboutthewalkbackhome?Itwasall unknowntome.

Sincethen,Icouldnevergettheimageofthewateroutofmyheadand keptonbeingcalledbacktothatsamespotalongthesideofthenever endingreservoir.EverytimeIwentafterthat,itjustkeptgettingeasierand easiertobreakmyparents’ruleandtowalkrightthroughthatcrackinthe wall.Icametolearnthatitisnotwhatlieswithintheforestbutbeyondit. Thedarkforestwasjustthethingthatmademestronger,butitwasthe reservoirthatmademefeelsafe.

Graspingtheideaofsafetyandcomfortoutsideofthewall,whichIhad spentmywholechildhoodin,helpedmetocometorealitywiththeworld.I shouldn’thidebehindthewallsofmychildhoodbutinsteadbreakthrough themandseetheworldforwhatitis.Whichisaplacefilledwithobstacles andchallengesthattrytotearmedown,butattheendofthedark,forbidden tunnel,thereisalwayslightfilledwiththejoy,hospitality,andcomfortof ourchildhood.

Theworldwasbarrenanddark.Itwasthemiddleofthesummeraround 6:30AM,andthesunhadyettorearitsbrighthead.Therewasnolife around,nobirds,nolizards,noturtles,nocreaturesofanytype.Amelia Islandwasdeadsilent,arareoccurrence.

Istared,sitting,waiting,groggy;theonlythingkeepingmeawakewas mygirlfriendbymysidewhowasmunchingonClubcrackers.Igazed down;theclockonmyphoneread6:45AM,andthesunrisewassupposedto beat6:32AM.Isatandstaredmoreoutacrossthedarkdesolatelandscape. Therewasjustbarelyenoughvisibilitytoseethewavescrashingagainstthe shore,inandout,inandout.Itwasmesmerizinglyboring,andIfeltmy eyelidsgrowheavyagain;Ihadgonetosleepat1:00AM.Wherewasthis amazingFloridasunriseeveryonehadtalkedabout?Itwasstillcrisp,chilly (forFlorida),andgrim;nothinglikeduringtheday.Suddenly,thesun peekedovertheclouds,rearingthetopofitshead,creatinglifeintheworld promptly.Thecloudsbegantoilluminateandglow.Shimmeringgraywith orangehues,pinkhuesfollowed.Itssuddennesstookallthedoubtand silenceoutoftheworld.Itfilleditwithcoloragain.ItwastheworldIknew. Ipeeredfromlefttorightandlefttorightasthevastnessoftheskyandthe brightlightconsumedmeallatonce.Itwasasifsomeonehadthrownaflash bang;itwasblindingyeteye-opening.Isquinted,admiringitforawhile.

Aftermyeyesadjusted,Ilookedaroundatthebeautytravelingacrossthe sky,thestreaksoflighttravelingwithnoboundorend.Itwasstrikingandas iftheworldhadsuddenlybeenturnedonwithalightswitch.Aftertheshock dissipated,Iimmediatelyrecountedthestillnessoftheocean.Unchanging. Consistent.However,thisconsistencywasswiftlybrokenbyafin.

Myconditionedmindjumpedtoconclusions. Shark! Ithought,terrified atfirst.However,Inoticedacurvetothefinanditsmultiplicity.Thefins, similartothewaves,dippedinandout,inandout,atanaturalrhythm.They weresmooth,luxurious,coordinated,flowing,wavy,stable.Thedolphins wereblackincolor,calming,theirblowholesvisibleevenatthisrange.They

wereincrediblyslick,versatile,fast-moving,andinsync.Theyexistedfor onesecond,fullyapartofthebeautifulimageinfrontofme,anddisappeared thenext,divingintothevastoceanandinvisibletoanyonlookers.

I THINK IT IS APPROPRIATE TO ONLY REVEAL ONESELF WHEN ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.

Somethingwasbeautifulabout thedolphins, somethingthat was indescribable.Theiradditiontotheimagewassubtle,yetmonumental;it addedlifetothescenebutalsotookitawayeverysecond.Theywere temporaryinanuntemporaryimage.Thesun,eternal;theocean,eternal; eventheshore,eternal;thedolphins,everchanging.

Thedolphins,asfastastheywererevealed,weregoneagain.Afterthefifth dipinandoutofsight,theyceasedtoexist.Iwatchedintentlywaitingfor thefinstoperturboutofthewateragain,butIwasonlymetwithstillness, nothingness.

Ihadfoundarelationtothedolphinsandknewtheyonlyrevealed themselveswhenabsolutelynecessary.Thedolphinsappearednonexistentto thehumanworldexceptwhentheyneededabreathandthendisappeared againwhenitwasnolongernecessary.Thereissomethingcaptivatingabout this.Thesunrevealingthedolphinstoo;theywerepresent(ortemporarily present)theentiretimeevenbeforethesunarrived;however,theywere unseen.Regardless,thedolphinshadoneobjectiveandonereasontoappear; theyhadasolepurposeofarrivingatthescene.Theyweretheonly inconsistencyinthescene.Sure,thesunwouldriseagainandtheocean’s waveswouldcrash,butthedolphinswereofffulfillingtheirduty,onlydoing whatwasnecessarytokeepthemalive.

Ithinkitisappropriatetoonlyrevealoneselfwhenabsolutelynecessary. Workingunderthedarknesswithoutlightuntilallatonceyouarerevealed. Youaretheretheentiretime,butnoonenoticesyouuntilthebeautiful sceneorresultcomestofruition.Itisimportanttoworkinthesetimes withoutpraise,orpleasure,orlove,orcarebecausewhenthescenecomes together,youwillbeamajorlivingpartofit;somethingspecialandinnate.

Inthefewquiethoursofnight,themooncastsitssilverglowuponmy humble suburban neighborhood. A strange symphony begins to play amongsttherestingtreesanddewygrass.Theleavesbegintorustleandthe pitterpatterofpawsonthepavementheraldthearrivalofthenight's nocturnalbeasts.Raccoons.Iloathraccoons.Withtheirbandit-likemasks andnimblefingers,theytraversearoundmyneighborhoodliketheyownthe place.Thiswouldmakemoresenseifthisfacialpatternwasthatofacrown, butitisn’t.Itisamask,illustratingtheconartiststhattheyreallyare.They arescavengers,incapableofsurvivingwithoutthescrapsofothers.

Ihatechores.Specifically,takingoutthetrash.Doesanybodygenuinely likechores?Anybody?Idon’t.Iknowyoudon’t.Thetrashsatpatientlyon thedimlylitpatio.Theorangelightjustbarelyshimmeringoffofthe aluminumyogurtlid,asitwaitedtomakeitsjourneyacrosstheyardtobe transferred from one trash can to another. Somewhere within my procrastination,araccoonfounditswayintomytrashcanandbegantodig in.Itwasmytrash.Hedidn’tdeserveit.Irandownstairsandgrabbedmy bat,readytokill.AcoupleofswingsandtheTHUMPofmyslammingof thebackdoorscaredhimoff,thankfully.Itwasfinallytimeforchores time tomakethatjourneyacrosstheyard.Idon’tknowwherethissudden inclinationtotakethetrashcamefrom.Imeaninreality,theraccoonwas justlighteningtheload.Wasitreallythatbad?ShouldIhaveevenswungat him?

See,thehardestpartofdoingthingsistheaftermathofdoingthatthing. Allthatstripedcritterdidwaslive.Hewasmadetoliveoffofotherswith suchglorioustrashasmyown hewasmadetoscavenge.Ididnotwantto takethetrashout,yetIdidoncetheraccoonfoundinterestinmygarbage. SureitcreepedmeoutandImayhavejustscaredhimoffinfear,butIknow itwasmorethanthis.Somethingfeltwrongaboutacritterlikehimdigging throughmybelongings.Somethingfeltwrongknowinghedidnothingto workforthatemptyyogurtcontainerandthathalf-eatenappleandthe emptybagofcerealwithsugarpowderinthebottomandtheorangepeelsof

five or so different oranges and even the plethora of wrappers from Halloweencandy.Somethingwasnotright.Itwasme.Itwasgarbage! GarbagethatIwasnotgoingtoevenlookatfortherestofmylife,andthat Ihaveawholelotofleft.

HE DID NOTHING TO WORK FOR THAT EMPTY YOGURT CONTAINER AND THAT HALF-EATEN APPLE AND THE EMPTY

BAG OF CEREAL WITH SUGAR POWDER IN THE BOTTOM AND THE ORANGE PEELS OF FIVE OR SO DIFFERENT ORANGES AND EVEN THE PLETHORA OF WRAPPERS FROM HALLOWEEN CANDY.

Shouldweletscavengersscavengeandsitbackinpityoftheirmisfortune, orshouldwetakeaction?Now,Iamdefinitelynotsayingwebecomethe idioticseventeen-year-oldwithabaseballbat,readytoswing,butIdo believethereisalevelofactionnecessarytobetendedtowhenpresented withthemisfortuneofsociety.Pityismerelythefirststepoftakingaction, butitisnottheonlystepweshouldtake.Itisinfuriatingtoseeyourhard workchippedawaybythosewhodonothavesuchwork,butforthemost part,theycannotcontrolit.Raccoonswereborntosurvive.Peoplewere borntosurvive,andtheywilldowhateverittakestoprevail.Wecannot punishthoseinneed;wemustembracethem.Wearenotmeanttolivelike raccoons,butwearemeanttoprotectthosewhodo.Don’tbelikeme.Keep yourbatinyourbasement.Gooutandtalktothatraccoon;beahelping hand.

WHATTHE14THAMENDMENTMEANSTOME|SAMUELALVAREZ’24

14thAmendment,Section1:“AllpersonsbornornaturalizedintheUnited States,andsubjecttothejurisdictionthereof,arecitizensoftheUnitedStates andoftheStatewhereintheyreside.NoStateshallmakeorenforceanylaw whichshallabridgetheprivilegesorimmunitiesofcitizensoftheUnited States;norshallanyStatedepriveanypersonoflife,liberty,orproperty, withoutdueprocessoflaw;nordenytoanypersonwithinitsjurisdictionthe equalprotectionofthelaws.”

Growingup,Ihadnevergivenmuchthoughttoourcountry’s Constitution.IwastoowrappedupinwonderingwhichtoysIwantedto playwithorwhatwouldhappenonnextTuesday’s“TheFlash”episode. Despiteknowingaboutmyfamily’sbackground,Inevertookmuchinterest inlearningmoreaboutthestoriesabouttheirjourneytotheU.S.Even today,thatsurprisesme,sincemyentirefamilyemigratedheretotheU.S. decadesago,whetherthatbeillegalorlegal.

Myfathercameherelegallywhenhewasinhistwenties.Hearrivedin NewYork,leavinghisentirefamilybehindinEcuadortoliveabetterlife here.HeknewlittletonoEnglishandhadnoonetorelyonexcepthimself. Forafewyears,helivedaloneuntilhehadafamilyfriend,wholaterbecame mygodfather,whohousedhimuntilhewasabletogetonhisfeetandlook forapathtoresidencythroughmarriage.Hewaslaterabletopetitionformy olderbrothertoimmigratehereasapermanentresidentandrecentlyinthe pastthreeyears,hepetitionedmyoldersisteraswell.Today,heisaproud U.S.resident,workingpart-timeatCostcoandsuccessfullyworkinginreal estatetoprovideforhisfamily.

Mymother,luckily,hadpeopleshecouldrelyonsinceshecamehere throughherfather,mygrandpa.MygrandpalefttheDominicanRepublicto givehisfamilyabetterlifehereintheU.S.Afterreceivinghisresidency,my grandpapetitionedformygrandma,mom,aunt,anduncletoimmigrateto theU.S.aspermanentresidents.KnowinglittletonoEnglish,mymother’s sideofthefamilywasabletogothroughthisexperiencetogether,tryingto

findwaystobuildanewlifehere.Today,mymotherandtherestofher familyareproudUnitedStatescitizensandsheworksfull-timeatCostcoto provideforherfamily.

Mygodmotherhasasimilarstory,butunfortunatelywithadifferent ending.Mygodmothercamehereonatouristvisa.Aroundthetimeshehad metmyparents,shewassupposedtoleavethecountry,butwhennewscame toherthatmymomwaspregnantwithmeandtheywantedhertobemy godmother,shestayed.FormorethantwelveyearsshelivedintheUnited States,beingasecondmothertome.Sheraisedmeforthemajorityofmy life:beingahugepartofmyreligious,academic,andpersonallife.My godmotherwastheonlyotherperson,exceptformymother,whoknewme insideandout,evenmorethanmyself.That’swhyittoremeapartwhenI foundoutthatshehadtobedeportedbacktoPeruinOctober2015,missing outonmyformativeyearsandnotbeingabletoattendmyhighschool graduation.Itnevermadesensetomehowanactive,functioningmemberof AmericansocietycouldnotbeseenasanAmericancitizenandallowedto becomeone.WhileintheU.S.,sheattendedSacredHeartUniversity, receivedtwodegrees,workedatadentaloffice,andwasanactivememberof theDiocesesofBridgeport,teachingCCDclasses.Shewassomeonewho devotedherlifetogoodness,respect,freedom,justice allAmericanvalues. Sheshouldhavebeengiventhatopportunity,thatprivilegetobean American citizen because God knows she is more American than the governmentofficialsonCapitolHill.

Thisinitiatedmetodosomeresearchandtrytofindasolutionformy godmother since I thought this country wouldn’t defend her right to opportunity.IwasexposedtoourConstitutionanditsamendmentsforthe firsttimeandIreadthatdocumentGodknowshowmanytimes.Ihadn’t realizedthenbut,havingthoughtofitinthepastweek,theConstitutionhad defendedmygodmother,inarathersimplemanner.The14thAmendment giveseveryperson,regardlessoflegalstatus,therighttodueprocessand equalprotectionofthoselaws.Irealizedthatshewasgiventheopportunity tostay. Shewasabletogethercaseappealedinfrontofajudgemanytimes

THE 14TH AMENDMENT GIVES EVERY PERSON, REGARDLESS OF LEGAL STATUS, THE RIGHT TO DUE PROCESS AND EQUAL PROTECTION OF THOSE LAWS.

as any other citizen of the United States would. This amendment is rather very foundational to American society for the main reason thatitwillprotectallpersons nomattertheirlegalstatusand will protect people like my godmotheragainstotherswho believe that illegal persons residing in the U.S. should havenosuchrights,rendering usasnota“person”asthe14th Amendmentsays.

Today,sheiscurrently living in Peru, unemployed due to medical conditions, workinghardwithmyfamily andattorneystotrytoreturn here to the United States, throughlegalmeans.

BECOMINGAMERICAN| TOMÁSGALLOZA’24

I,TomasBradleyGallozaIII,wasbornat2:59PMinMilford,Connecticut, U.S.A. I live on Hancock Ave on the northwest side of Bridgeport, Connecticut.Ihavelivedtheremyentirelife.IwasborninAmerica; therefore,IwasbornanAmerican,thusgivingmetherightsthatevery othercitizeninAmericahas.Onmymother’ssideIamDominican,andon myfather’ssideIamPuertoRicanandItalian.Iamnotacitizenofany countrythatisnottheU.S.

MymotherwasbornandraisedintheDominicanRepublic.Ourfamily haslivedintheCaribbeansincepeoplehaveresidedthere.Yet,Iamhere,in America,thankstothebraveryofmymother.Shetraveledtoanewcountry withthehelpofmygrandmother,whowasanassistanttoafairlyrich familywholivesinConnecticut.

Withtheirhelp,mymotherwasabletocometoAmericaandstartanew lifehere,which,lookingatmymother’sactions,musthavebeenterrifying. Shelefteverythingbehind,Imean,sheliterallylefteverythingbehind.She leftherfriends,herfamily,herjob(whichissoconfusingtome).My motherhaditgoodinherhome,andwhileitmaynothavebeensunshine andrainbows,shewasalawyer;shegotoneof,ifnotthe,besteducations

theDominicanRepublichadtooffer,butshewantedbetterforherchildren. So,shedidthemostselflessactIhaveeverseensomeonedo,andleft everythingbehind,formeandmysisters.

MyfatherwasborninAmerica.HewasborninConnecticut,thanksto mygrandparents,whocameherefromPuertoRico.Heandhisbrothers werethefirstgenerationofGallozastobebornnaturalcitizensofAmerica. Thoughthestoryofhowmyfatherandmyunclesgotheremightbelame,I assureyouthattherestofthisisnot.

The14thAmendmentstatesthat“Allpersonsbornornaturalizedinthe UnitedStates,andsubjecttothejurisdictionthereof,arecitizensofthe UnitedStatesandoftheStatewhereintheyreside.”Thisamendmentwas ratifiedonJuly9,1868.Thisamendmenthasbeeninplacefor155years,and yet,myfamilyhasonlybeenhereforaroundthirtyofthoseyears.Which meansthattheamendmentworked,formeatleast.

Therehavebeenanungodlyamountofcaseswherethe14thAmendment hasn’treallyworked.Instead,ithasseparatedfamiliesviaorganizationssuch asI.C.E.,familiesthatweresimplytryingtodothesameasmymother:have abetterlife,ifnotforthemselves,fortheirchildren.Thesefamilieshadhope becauseofthe14thAmendment.Thepromiseofabetterlifeisonethatthe 14thAmendmentseemstoguarantee,butthankstothingssuchasantiimmigrationlaws,thiswonderfulamendment(onpaper)isusedasatrapto lurepeopleinandkickthemstraightoutofAmerica.

Myfamilyisoneoftheluckyfewwhohavenotneededtofearbeing kickedout.Onthecontrary,myentirefamilyiscomposedofU.Scitizens. Evenmymother,whowasnaturalizedthroughmarriagewithmyfather.Is thatnotamazing?NowI’mnottalkingabouthowwonderfulthe14th amendmentis,I’mtalkingabouthowawesomemyfamilyis,especiallymy mom.Shewasattheverytopofsocialhierarchywhenshewasinthe DominicanRepublic.Shehadanamazingeducation,shewasalawyer,she wasbuildingalifethatwasabsolutelywonderful.Thenshecamehereand wentfromthetopofsocietytothebottom,awomanofcolor.Which,for someonesoawesome,thatseemssuperunfair.

Butthatiswhathappensforalotofpeoplewhentheyfirstcomeinto America.Theygofromthetopofsocietytothebottom.Allbecausethe constitutionneverspecifieswhatthehellitmeanstobeacitizenorhowto becomeone.Isthatnotabsurd?Allofthesespecificrules,alltheseformsof checksandbalances,butneveroncedoestheconstitutionstatehowto becomeacitizen,orwhoevenreallycountsasone?

Nowwehavemoreofa“definition”andwaytobecomenaturalized.But, Iwanttospendonesecondonnaturalization.Itisthemostcomplicated, annoying,andtediousprocessIhaveeverseen.Tobealegalimmigrantisa twelve-stepprocessthathastobedoneeverysixtotenmonthsofwhichyou needSOMEONEELSEFOR.Inordertogetyourgreencard,whichtakes threeyearsofbeingacitizen,youthenhavetodoanotherprocesswhichon paperseemssimplebutwillactuallytakemonthsifnotyearstodo.Itisa terriblesystem,butoneweneedtohavebecauseofthelackofdefinitionin theConstitution.

ButthislackofdefinitionmakesthefactthatIamstandinghereamongst youalltodayevenmoreamazing.Itiswhatallowsforsomeonelikemy mom,animmigrantfromtheCaribbean,tobecomeacitizen,andwhat allowsformetobebornacitizen.Thatiswhatmakesthisamendmentso importanttome,becauseIwouldnotbeheretodaywithoutit.Iwouldnot evenexistifnotforit,soIwouldsaythatisreasonenoughtomake AmendmentFourteenimportanttome.

BAD HEMINGWAY STORIES

AJAROFHONEY|MATTHEWMARTINO’25

HEMINGWAY CONTEST RUNNER-UP

255 DAYS BACK

Withonehandheliftedthecombandpoureditintoajar.Hetookgladly tosuppressingthebeeswithsmoke.Hedidn’tlikethem.Theydidn’tlike him.Thetreesstartedtorustleinthedistance,grazinghisfaceforasecond. Anostalgicwarmthtookholdofhim,leavingasquicklyasitentered.He snappedback,fightingtheearthforitwithhisright.Ittooktohisclothes instead.

365 DAYS PAST

Itcameinthemail.

Timothy

Lawrence 11 Madison Street, San Jose

Major, it’ s me Timmy Can you believe it — the war is over, or has been Well, anyway I just moved to this small town called San Jose, and, well, I heard it's near you It’ s been so long I want to start a farm, maybe even come vi

Hewasinterruptedbyatearstaringhimback.Usuallyitsnothingness wouldhaveangeredhim,buthewaspleasantlysurprised.

9 MONTHS AFTER

“Hey,Peter.”

“Uh-huh.”Hisvoicewasinterruptedbythebreadtheyhadfound.

“Youthink…I’llseehimagain?Youthinkhe’sOK?”

Outsidethebarnalargecloudwasapproachingoverthevasthills.Plenty ofhaylayaround.Infact,heknewitwouldbeperfectforsleeping.The woodfloorswerenevercomfortable nonethelessdry.

“Well.”Therailingbowedbeneathhisweight.

“Let’sjustsay,that’snotsomethingyouneedtoworryabout...Imean you.”Helookedouttotheincomingclouds.

“Look,kid,youhavealifeaheadofyou.Gotoschool…Heck,oncewe getoutofhere,getmarried.”

“It’sjust…Ineedtoknow,afterwhathappened.Hecouldbedead!”

Hesnappedup,methiseyesagain,andtookupadeepstare.

“Hey,don’tthinklikethat.He’sfine.Imean,yousawthemedicsget him.”Hewasn’tsure,buthedidn’thavetobe.Majorwouldwantthemto continue.Tofinish.

13 MONTHS AFTER

Hetriedtosteer,buthealwayswrotewithhisrighthand.Dirtintheair, hemetthedayheadonandchestout.Hissleeveflappingintheair.Twojars ofhoneysatnexttohimalongwithhispocketknife.Hehadthoughtabout bringinghisgun therehadalwaysbeenrumorsofoutlaws buthecouldn’t useitanyway.

Eggs and Almonds here

“OldLisa...Nothingcanstopthatoldwoman.”

Theroadsplit.Theoneupnorthledpastsomealmondandfruitfarmsto thearmoryupinthecity.Thiswaswherehehadturnedlasttime.Thistime, hewentwest.

5 MONTHS BEFORE

“Youalwayseatthat?”

Therewasapower,butsubtlegentlenesstohisvoice.Thevoiceofalarge man—mostdefinitelyaconfidentone.

“Yes,sir.”Heshuffledtoattention.Hislipsstillheldsomeofthehoney thathehadspread.

“Say,what’syournameagain,son?”

“Timothy…Timmy.”

2 MONTHS BEFORE

Theyhadtakencoverinsomefoliagejustwestofthetown.Hehadshot someonebutwasn’tsureifhehadreallykickedthebucket.Smallraindrops begantorolloffthepointedleaves,takingtohishead.Nexttothemlooked tobethenakedframeofahousethathadbeentakenoverbylargerose bushes.Theairwasheavy,and,foramomentonly,thesafesoundsofa worldbeforecouldbeheard.Forasecond,hefeltathorndigintohisarm.

“Dammit.Yougotabandage,Major?”

“Shhh,we’rehiding,Timmy.”Heturnedtowardhim;hewantedtobe compassionate.Ontheedgeofsomeslimpinetreesatwhatlookedliketwo emeralds.Aperfectlyroundedrockflewby,andMajorhoppedonit.He lookedsurprised.

13 MONTHS

Thedoorwasadullredandcracksofpaintlayathisfeet.Thebroken facadestoodasatestamentofawinningbattletodustandrocksthatlittered thecrackedconcrete.Acouplewildflowersstoodtallagainsttherosebushes. Acouplevineslayunderneathhisfeet.Ayoungwomanrevealedherselffrom thedoor.Shewassoonjoinedbyatallslendermanwhosehandseemedto havelosttotheroses.Helookedconflictedatfirstbutthenrantohimonly grimacingslightlyathissleeve.

“Careful…Waittillyouseewhat’sinthebox.”

CHANCEANDCHOICE|DANIELTRISTINE’25

BAD HEMINGWAY CONTEST RUNNER-UP

Smokedriftedwitharosysmell.Pachelbel’s Canon in D beganbeyondthe door.Oldlimestonecolumnsroseoneachside.Sheturnedtowardtheolder man.

“WhatifIwon’tbehappy?”

“Youwill,trustme.”

“Howdoyouknow?”

“Iwas.”

Shegrewsilentforamoment,andlookedbeyondthedoor.Comingback fromhertrance,sheturnedtothemanagain.

“Whatifheisn’ttheone?”

“Hm?”

“Howcouldeverythinghaveperfectlyledmehere,withhim,ofall others?”

“WhoamItoknow?Lifejustseemstoworkitselfout.You’llseeitmore whenyougetolder.”

Hereyebrowsfurrowed,mouthopenedslightly,thenclosed.Shelooked tothegroundandsawtilepatternsinmanyshapes:rhombi,triangles,and swirlsallconnectedandorganizedinlines.Drawinghergazecloser,afloral patterncoveredherlacedress,whichlayonthepatternedtile.Afaintsmile creptonherface.

Shewalkedthroughthedoor,withthemrightbehindher.Shelooked backoften,consistentlymetwithpressinglooks.Rosyperfumeandstrong colognemixedintheair.BillHaleyplayedoverhead.Bumpedandshovedto thefront,shecameintocontactwithhim.Hisjacketwaspressed,hishairin wavycurls.

“Well,areyoujustgoingtostandthere?”Sheturnedherhead,butthose familiarfaceshadalreadypassed.Wishingtoleave,sheforcedherselftostay.

“I’mnotsure,amI?”

“Hey,youcameuptome.”

Hereyessquinted,butsoonloosenedasshesilentlydrewbreath.

“Well,Ididn’tmeanto.”

“Fateworksinstrangeways.”

Herjawloosenedbutfiststightened.Hernailslackedanypolish;her wrists,jewelry.

“Iassumeyouarehereforsomeone?What’shername?”

“Thatdepends,what’syours?”

Theysurroundedherasdeepbreathsweredrawnthroughhersmile.One claimeditwastheirarm;theother,theirshoulder.Noeyes,howeverfamiliar, weremet.Shelookedforward,intothedistance.

Beyondthecolorfulglasspanelhestood,andfromitshestared.Hereyes tracedtheshapesonthefloor,etchingalinefromherselfallthewaytohim. Betweenthem,therewerepeople.Lotsofthem.Somecried.Somesmiled. Firmexpressionsandlightheartedones.Shestooduponhertoes.Itwas difficultwithhigh-heels,balancing.Still,shehadabetterlookofhispressed jacketandwavyhair.

“WhydidIacceptit?”sheasked,walkingtotheolderman.

“Becauseyouknew.”

“HowdidIknow?Wasitreallytrulyone-hundredpercentme?”

Theoldermanchuckled,butthenstraightenedhisface.“Whenyousaid yes,howwereyoufeeling?”

“Idon’tremember.Excitedprobably?Everyonesaysthatthough.”

“But why?Wereyouexcitedbecauseyoukneweveryoneelsewouldseeit assomethingexcitingorbecauseyoutrulyfoundittobeso,becauseit matteredtoyou?Whatwereyouthinkingofwhenyouagreed?”

“Ourfuture.Him.Thewayhesmiles,thewayhecares,thewayhecries. Somethinglikethat.”

“Doyoutrusthim?”

“Ishould,yes,butI’mstillsosososcared.”

“Doyoutrustyourself?”

Shedrewaquickbreath.Herexhalewassilentandslow.

“IfIcan.Ijust—howcanItrustmythoughts?Ithinkonethingsomeday andthensomethingelseanotherday.”

“Yourthoughtswillchange,butyourheartwillnot.”Theoldman paused.“Whatdidyourheartsaywhenheasked?”

Shelistened.Overhead,thesongplayeditsfinalversesandsilencefilled theroom.Shelookedback.

“Itsaidyes.”

“Youareready,Eleanor.Letusgo.”

Eleanorandthedearoldmancenteredthemselvesonthepath.Theushers openedthedoors.Alineinthetilestracedstraighttowherehestoodup ahead,butEleanordidnotlookatit.Instead,shelookedathim,thenher foot,lifteditup,andtookastepforward.

SUNSETHARBOR|BRYANMARIN’25

WINNER OF THE 2024 BAD HEMINGWAY CONTEST

Thehospitalwitnessedasceneofsolitude,thequietinteractionbetweentwo soulslivinginutterdarkness.Monitorsbeeped,arepetitivereminderofthe fragilityintime.Theroombrimmedinill-litshadows,grippingontothe denseweightofuntoldstoriesandtears.

“Istheresomeoneontheothersideoftheroom?”thekidquietlyasked.

“No,thedoctorsjustlikeplacingtwobedsinoneroom,”replieda scratchyoldvoice.

“Ican’tseeyou.Seethecurtain?”

“Idon’t.”

“Well,Idon’twanttobotheryoubutnoticedsomethingaboutthisplace?”

“ForChrissakes,no,kid.Don’tstart.”

“Look,it’saghosttowninourroom.”

“Guesspeoplereallydon’tenjoyhospitals.Perhapstoomuchbadnews.”

“Howabouttheotherroomswithallthesevisitors?They’recomingin andout.”

“Quitthiscrying,kid.”

“Howabouthowthesunsetlooks?Don’tyouwishyoucouldseeitfrom here?”

“Sunsetsareforthosewithwindows.”

“No,they’renot.”

“Lookaround.Whatwallhereisevergoingtogiveusaglimpseofthe damnhorizon?”

“Let’sjustshutoureyesandimagine.”

“Imaginingsunsetsinaghosttown,huh?”

“It’sinthemind.”

“Hey,let’simaginesomevisitorswhilewe’re—”

“God,Ican’tdothisbeingaloneshit!”

“I'vebeenaloneallmylifebeforethisbed.”

“Myfamily…losttheminastorm.Boatsdevouredbythesea,”saidthe

kid.

“Fella,stormsareunforgiving,”answeredtheoldman.

“SometimesyouknowIfeellikeIcould’vedonesomethingmyself. Changedthecourseofthatstorm.Changedsomethingwithinthosedark clouds.”

“Knowwhat…let’sjustsharetherain.See,Itookabulletforakidwho hasn’tmadeanappearanceinthisdamnplace.”

“Well,Iguessmymomwasright.Jobnevergoteasyanswers.”

Forhoursthecoldhospitalroomnowinadeepsilence:anequilibrium beneaththetwo.Themonitors’notes,onceconflictingintheoddsymphony ofloneliness,nowbeattogetherinunisonasasharedrhythmnow.The echoesoftheirnewconversationmergedwiththesteadyreverberatingbeat oftheircombinedmonitors.

Thekidclearedhismindandsetitbacktothelandscapewithan approachingsunsetashesqueezedhiseyesshut.

“Rememberyourcliffdivesinthepast?”askedthekid.

“Thegooddays.”

“Man,it’sthatonefeeling,sortabeingsuspendedintheairforasecond.”

“Son.Youknowthoseweretheplaceswhereyoureallylearnedtoface yourtoughestfears.Thesehighspotsaroundus,nowdareusforthatone dive.”

“MyGod,theclearandcalmbluewater.Man,Ican’twait.”

“Timestoppedforamoment,rightbeforejustonedive.”

“Iseeit,thesun,Icanseeit!It’sfightingthedarkness,”criedthekid.

“Listenhere…weallgotourbattles,son,”theoldmansaid.“Somejust fighttheminsilence.”

Ashiswordsremainedhighintheair,aprofoundquietspreadaroundthe entireroom.Themonitorsnowseemedtocryinsilentsympathy.The revolvingshadowsaroundshiftedanddeepenedfurthertothesterilewalls amidstthissilence.

“Thesunsetisstrangenow…it’snotdippingcompletelyintothe horizonlikeitshould!”

Butnowtherewasnoresponse.Theroomcompletelyembracedastillness quicklytranscendingtwobarriers:lifeanddeath.Thefadingheartbeatonthe monitorresonatedwiththesilentloss.

“Hello?"thekidcalledout.

“Where…areyou?Christ!Whyme?” Therewasnoresponsetobeheard.

Thekid’smonitorrefusedtostop,continuingitsrelentlessbeatlikea dedicateddrummer.Hisbreathingpacesteeredoutofcontrol.Hispulse racedthroughthemonitors.Hewasleftalonenow;lefttojourneythrough theroughmeaningoftheoldman’sfadingwordsinaroomwithadifferent kindofsilence.Astheairhungheavyintheemptyceilingdoctorsrolledout abedfromtheroomandtheyreturnedtotheroomagain.

“Iseverythingallright,hon?”adoctorasked.

WRITING ROYALE

TheWritingRoyaleisFairfieldPrep’sannualshort-storycontest,opento originalworksoffifteenhundredwordsorfewer.Thisyear’scompetition welcomedanevendozensubmissionsrepresentingmembersofthefreshman, sophomore,andjuniorclasses.Thesewerereadanonymouslybyapanelof facultyjudgeswhonominatedfivefinalists,whosestorieswereforwardedto thisyear’sguestjudge,thewriterandteacherMichaelBrelsford’07.

MichaelBrelsfordishonoredandthrilledtopartnerwith The Bellarmine Review thisyear.Hisownshortfictionhasappearedin Post Road Magazine, Peatsmoke, and The Bookends Review. Hisstory“IndependentAlice”received theNicholasJ.RinaldiAwardinfiction,andhisfirstnovel, The Breadwinner’s Fireworks, isforthcoming.AmemberofFairfieldPrep’sClassof2007, MichaelholdsanMFAinwritingfromSarahLawrenceCollegeandteaches atFairfieldUniversity.

Mr.Brelsfordhadthispraiseforthefinalists:

RUNNER-UP:THOMASADAMS’25,“IJUSTWANTSOMESUSHI”

In“IJustWantSomeSushi,”NickmeetsfriendsforaSaturdaydinnerin Portsmouth,NewHampshire.Thesneakers,thepufferjacket,theSubaru Crosstrek,AppleMaps,Spotify,thewealthytownitself allspeaktothe narrator’scomfortablelife.Recallingthetreacherousworldofhisrecentread, Dante’sInferno,NickseemshauntedbythisRockinghamCountyexistence, agonizingoverparkingspacesandrestaurantchoices.Theeveningseems constantlyonthebrinkof‘“somethingbadhappening,”butnothinghorrible evermaterializes.Ordoesit?Isthisworldofluxuryandprivilege,aworld wherewejustwantoursushi,infactakindofinferno,acertainhell?

RUNNER-UP:BENLESTER’25,“SOLDIERSOFASEPARATEWAR”

“SoldiersofaSeparateWar”exploresaprofoundmomentofregret.Atatable inGabriel’sBistro,Michaelencountershisestrangedfriend,Elias.Though EliasadmiredMichaelforhisintelligenceandbecamehisprotectoragainst bullies,theyeventuallyfellapartduetomutualjealousies.Michaelwasthe academic,Eliastheathlete.WhenEliasgotacceptedintohisdreamcollege, Michaelwascaughtoffguard.Thisstoryembracesitsrealistgenreby focusingonwhatanexperienceoflossislikeratherthanhowlifeshouldbe thehallmarkofatalentedandwisewriter.

RUNNER-UP:ALEXSALAZAR’25,“ANTLERSOFICE”

Saldigsgraves,burieshisneighbors,andwondersifhisfatherwillever returnfromthefrozen,mountainousworldin“AntlersofIce.”Thenarrative centersaroundSal’spursuitofastagthroughthetreacherouswinter,riflein hand,defyinghismother’sinsistencethatthereisnothingtohunt.Ashe chasesthisgorgeousanimalwithicicleshangingfromitsantlers—acrystalclearimageeffortlesslypaintedbyawriterwhoknowsbeautycomeswith restraint—Salbecomesevenmorefatiguedthanhisprey.Thestoryteachesus thatredemptionwillcomewhenwedon’tgiveuphope.

RUNNER-UP:RYANSHEPPARD’26,“THELETTER”

Estelleisalreadyexhaustedfromgriefwhenshefinds“TheLetter”fromher deceasedfather.Welearnfromthefirstlinethattheatticinwhichshefinds theletterisakindoflivingpresence,welcomingherwith“itsmusty embrace.”ItisfilledwiththingsfromEstelle’srelationshipwithherfather, mostnotablyachesssetwherethekinghastoppledover.Inonlyafewshort pages,thisstoryteachesushowtolove,howtomourn,andhowtomoveon. Itisnotintheavoidanceofpainthatwefindpeace.Theattentiontodetailis remarkable,showeringthereaderwithasenseofplace.Thiswriterknows thatashortstoryexistsonitsownterms,playsbyitsownrules.Thetitle makesusassumethatwewillreadthisletter,thatperhapsthewholestory willbeepistolary butthiswriteristootalentedtobepredictable.

WINNER:QUINNLOMBARDO’26,“GREENHELL”

“GreenHell”readslikethefinaljournalentryofasoldierentrenchedin junglewarfare.Thewarisnotspecificallynamed,expandingitssignificance almostintotherealmofallegory.Analso-namelessnarratorseemstoknow hewilldieinbattleandallbuthopesforit.Hisgirlhavingmovedonto anotherman,thereisnothingforoursoldierathome.Thisprosethrobswith aconsistentvoice,pacing,intensity,honesty;thewriterdemonstratesthe abilitytocraftanendingthatresolveswhilepointingtothefuture.Thetitle helpsustowardsatheme:soldiersoftenknowauniqueexistencethatisat onceliving—green—anddead:hell.“GreenHell”comesfromtheheartand displaysastaggeringtalent.

IJUSTWANTSOMESUSHI|THOMASADAMS’25 WRITING ROYALE RUNNER-UP

Whenthemessagelitupmyhomescreen,IthoughtIwasinforaSaturday nightofgoodsushiandgoodconversation.Now,inhindsight,Ishould’ve knownthesituationIwasgettingmyselfinto.Ibuckledmybelt,slippedon mysneakers,anddonnedmypufferjacket,theonlymeansofprotection againsttheNewEnglandwinter.Itwasoneofthoseoutfitswhichcouldbe casualorformaldependingonthecrowd,anditwasmybestoptionatthe time.WithnothingbuttheguidanceofAppleMaps,mySpotify“Rock Classics”playlist,andthedependabilityofaSubaruCrosstrek,Imadethe perilous,seventeen-minutejourneytoPortsmouth.Thedarktreeswhich linedmypath,ormaybethesimplesolitude,gavemytravelafarmoreeerie ambience,asiftherewassomethingnefariouslurking.Foramoment,I thoughtIwaslostinthethickforest,butthesingle,solitarystopsignshowed metheway.Imadeitthrough.

IrememberreadingInferno;Icameacrosstheline“Abandoneveryhope, whoenterhere.”IthoughtaboutthedespairDantefeltatthosegates,the completeabsenceofhope,theoverwhelmingadversity.Inmymind,Icould knowhowDantefelt,butIcouldnotfeelthoseemotionsashedid.Outside therealmoffiction,arethereanyinstanceswhereoneisgenuinelyhopeless? Ididn’tthinkso,untilIneededtoparkmycarinPortsmouth.Evenin recallingthismemoryIrenewmyfear.Itmust’vebeenten,no,fifteen

minutesofaimlesswandering,K-turns,anddysfunctionalmapsuntilIfinally foundanopenlot.BythenShawnhadcalledmeseveraltimes,andwas tryingtoagain,repeatingthatsamemessage:

“Shawn,pleasejusthavesomepatience.I’mtryingtopark!”

Muchtomychagrin,Shawndidnothavepatience.And,asatertiary elementtomystress,IhadSantoswaitingformeaswell.IknewIcouldnot stay here; my friends needed me. Either to spite my unfortunate circumstancesortopreventanyfurtherdelaytoourdinnerplans,Isprinted tothesushibar anincrediblephysicalfeat.There,outsidethedoor,I abandonedallhope.TherewasacertainlookonShawn’sandSantos’sfaces,a lookwhichwe’veallseenbefore,andwhenShawnshookhisheaditbecame superfluousforhimtosay,“Look,man,it’snothappening.”

“Whatdoyoumean?Doyouhaveanyideahowdifficultitwastodrive here?” “It’s packed,” said Santos, breaking in, “and we didn’t get a reservation.”

“Sowhatarewegonnado?”Iwasbeyondfrustrated.Ithadbeenweeks sinceI’dhadanyJapanesefood,andnowmyonechancewasbeingstolen away.Myhopeswerecrippled.Asfarasstagesofgriefgo,Ihadalready madeittobargaining.

“Allright,let’sjustscrapthiswholeideaandgotothatdinerdownthe street.It’snowherenearascrowded.”

“Eh,Idon’tknowaboutthat.Itwon’texactlyliveuptoOrem’s.PlusIbet it’semptyforareason.”

“Damn.HowaboutwedrivetoMcDonald’s?”

AndthenShawnsaidsomethingawesome.I’veheardthatduringsolar eclipsesorothercelestialeventsanimalsmaybehaveoddly.Crepuscular

animals frogs,forinstance maymistakethesuddendarknessfortwilight, andbehaveasynchronoustotheirbiologicalclock.Lookingbackonthis night,Iwonderifsomeotherstrangemisalignmentinthestarsprompted ShawntobrazenlysuggestVidaCantina.

“Shawn,you’retryingtogetusintoaMexicanbar?Ithoughtwewere justgettingsushi,”Isaidsarcastically.

“What?No,that'snotwhatImeant.I ”

“DoyoudothiseverySaturdaynight?Nowonderwhyyou’resotired onMondays.”“Nick,there’sarestaurantintheback.”

“Youknow,Shawn,”Santosadded,“thisexplainswhyyou’reneverfree tohangoutonweekends.”

“Dude,shutup.”

“Allright,allright,Igetit,man.Let’sgoinside.”

“DidyoubringthefakeIDs?”

“Santos!”

OfcourseShawndidn’twishtogotoabar.AndneitherwasVida Cantinaanactualbar.ButitwasfunnytoseeShawntakingagencyoverour night’splans.Shawn,thesameShawnwho’dalwaysbecaughtatBarnes& Noble,mysteriousasnight—itwasspectacular.Yetmuchtomysurprise, therewewere,atwenty-first-centurytriumvirate,seatedinourownbooth, decidingonourentrees.Theneonlightingandtheexcessofdecoration werelikethevisionsofabaddream.And,itwasahotbuilding.Ireluctantly orderedsomechickenquesadillas,acoward’sdecision.IfeltasthoughIwas lettingmyselfdown.I’mprettysureShawngotsomefajitas,buttobehonest Idon’tremember.SothereIsat,amongthegluttonousandvain,andI struckupconversation.

“Shawn,doyouspeakSpanish?”

“No,meandSantostakeFrenchtogether.”

“Neat,andareyoustillinterestedinlearningGerman?” “Yeah,kindof,weneedto einsperren,Nick.”

“Youtalkingabout einsperren or aussperren?”

“What’s aussperren?”

“Eh,I’lltellyouatlunch.”

AlthoughthatlastphraseseemedEnglish,Iwasactuallyjusttalking nonsense.TheparticulardialectIwasspeakingisknownasrubbish,andit’s indigenoustomyhomelandofNewHampshire.

“Santos,youspeakSpanish,right?”

“Yeah,that’sright.”

“That’sprettycool.I’vebeentryingtolearnitforawhile.Shawn,doyou hearthissong?”

“Yeah.”

“ThisispeakSpanishmusic,andI’mgonnateachyousomeofit.”

“Pleasedon’t.”

“Canyousay, ‘Si quieres dinero, lo siento, no tengo’?” Santoswasstartingtocrackup.

“Santos,what'ssofunny?What’dyoujustsay,Nick?”

“Nothing,man,justsaythesentence.”

“Si quiere...couldyourepeatthat?”

“Si quieres dinero, lo siento, no tengo. Santos,didshetakeyour dinero?”

“Nick,whatthehellareyousaying?”Santoschuckled.

“I’mjusttryingtoeducatemygoodfriendontheSpanishlanguage.You see,Shawn, ‘si quieres dinero, lo siento, no tengo’ translatesinto‘Ifyouwant money,I’msorry,Idon’thaveany.’WhenIaskedSantosifshetookhis dinero,Iwasreferringtothestorywhichthesongrecounts.Whatatfirst seemstobeanarbitrarydisputeoverwealthisactuallyanuancedexploration intotherolemoneyplaysinrelationships.Thespeakerisconfrontinghis friend,who,askingformoney,isdenied,because‘she’tookhis dinero. ”

“You’renotperformingaliteraryanalysis!Thisisn’tEnglishclass,man!” Santosyelledquietly.

“Ikindofam,though.Maybeyoujustdon’tappreciatepoetrythewayI do.”Ifthefoodhadn’tarrivedanysooner,thissadexcuseforaconversation mayhavecontinued.Andatthispoint,Iwasgettingintoit.Infact,Iwas justabouttobringupBorgeswhenIwasinterruptedbytheserendipitous chickenquesadillas.Serendipitous,thatis,ifmyexpectationsfortheevening hadn’tbeensushi.

“Nick,youthinkyou’rereadyfortheEnglishtestMonday?”

“Yeah,Ithinkso,I’mgoingtousethestudyguideDantemade.He ”

Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!

“Whatthehellisthat?”

Weglancedaround.Whatwasthissong?Ilookedtomysideandsawthe five waiters awkwardly singing “Happy Birthday” to a confused and bewilderedmiddle-schoolboyandhistwofriends.Happybirthday?Please.I wantedtoaskforthecheck,butIwastrapped.MyfriendsandIwereboxed inthebooth,withnothingbutthecomfortofdisdainfulchickenquesadillas aswewaitedforthecheck.Andhowawfulitwasthatwecouldn’tsplitthe bill!Incoherentlyandwithgreatineptitudedidwescrambletogethertwenty dollarseachtopaythecheck.Weonlyneededtoshareaglancetosay,“Let’s leave.”

Andsowewalked,andwewalkedfar.OutsideofthatMalebolgewe weregreetedbyinterminablesidewalksandstreetlights,thepinnacleof liminalspace.Wewanderedthroughthelabyrinthofconcreteandbricks untilwecouldfindthatelusiveparkinglot.Shawnasked,“What’sthatsound inthedistance?”AndItoldhimthatwe’dseeforourselvessoonenough. Thisgiantriverwasinthedistance,andsowasthesilhouetteofsomeferry boat.Fewcarspopulatedthatasphaltbasin,andtheonlyconversationtobe heardwaschunksoficebreakingintherivertorrent.Beforeenteringour cars,weexchangedafewwordsinourdialect.

“Youknow,thiswasprettychill.Wegottadothisagainsometime.”

“Sure,butnexttimelet’sgetsomesushi.”

“Isnextweekgood?”

“Yeah,itshouldworkforme.Seeyouthen.”

Iwasabitdistractedbyalltheconstellations,butIbeganthemountainous journeyhome.

SOLDIERSOFASEPARATEWAR|BENLESTER’25 WRITING

ROYALE RUNNER-UP

In“Gabriel’sBistro”,Isatcomfortablyalone,attentivetotheevening’s clientele.Withinthecafé,customersvaried:thereweresocialitesandloners, seatednexttoloversandfriends.Eachcustomer,itseemed,contributedtoa sharedatmosphere,ofwhichanyoneandeveryonewaswelcome.

ThismuchInoticed,secludedatacornerreserved,presumably,forthe introvert.Iwassurroundedbydustybookshelves,thelikesofwhichcould onlybefoundinacoffeeshop,thoughareneverthelessnostalgic.Itwashere, finally,thatIenjoyedmydessert,awaitingEliasBernhardt.

EliasandIhadgrownuptogether.We,despiteanoticeablelackofshared interests,hadbecomefastfriendsingradeschool.Therewasaprotective elementtoourfriendship;initially,he thearchetypalathlete wasdrawnto me.EliasBernhardt,tomyeternalconfusion,wasintrigued,evidently,by mysolitary,bookishlifestyle.Thismuchwasclearfromthestart:youngElias defendedmeregularly,shieldingyourstrulyfrombulliesandthelike. Naturally,ourrespectforeachotherwasmutual.Throughoutgradeschool, andintoourteenageyears,wekeptourbond.

Yet,gradually,EliasandIbecameestranged.Thefallingoutoccurred sometimeinsenioryear,inwhich,foronereasonoranother,wegrew jealous—Iofhimandheofme.Elias,ofcourse,wasaprospectivesuperstar, ontracktobecomeasuccessfulcollegeplayerofvirtuallyanysport.I, meanwhile,hadaburgeoningcareerinacademia,receivingmyfairshareof accolades. Apparently, neither Elias nor I felt secure in our own accomplishments,feelingthreatened,rather,bythepersonalsuccessesofthe other.Hence,comegraduation,EliasandIlosttouch.Intheensuingweeks, Ithoughtofthemanverylittle,ifatall.

Imagine,then,mysurprisetoseeMr.Bernhardtthisevening,entering “Gabriel’sBistro”.Inaword,Iwasshocked.Itwaslatesummernow;Ihad notseenEliassincethecommencementceremony.However,herehewas, and,bythelooksofit,he,too,wasalone.

Akeenextrovert,Eliasidentifiedmeatonce.He,beingprivytosocial walkedovertomycorner,gesturingtosayhello.

“Michael!,”heexclaimed,surprised.“Youknowthisplace?”

“I’maregular,”Iteased,smilinghesitantly.“Iseeyou’vefoundmylittle nook.”

“Yes,itsuitsyou.”

Eliasgesturedtowardsmytable.

“DoyoumindifIsit?”

“Ofcoursenot.Actually,Iwouldlovethecompany.”

(Thisexchangeofours,banalandclearlytransactional,seemedneverending.Obviously,Ifeltwewereavoidingabig issue.)

“Whatareyoureading?,”Eliasasked.

Hewaspointingtoanovel—oneIhadtakenfromthecafé’sdustyshelves.

“Steinbeck,”Ianswered.“The Grapes of Wrath. ”

“Oh,sure,”hedrawled.“Irememberfromschool.”

“Yeah,”Iresponded,suddenlyuncomfortable.“Well,howhaveyoubeen anyway?”

“Fantastic,”Eliasanswered.“Infact,ShelleyandIjustreturnedfrom Europe.”

(AtriptoEuropedidnotsurpriseme.IknewEliascamefrommoney.)

“Youandherarestilltogether,then?”

“Yes!,”heasserted,smiling.“Asamatteroffact,Ialmostproposedin Paris.”

“You?,”Iexclaimed.“Elias,you’reonly18!”

“Ridiculous, I know,” he admitted. “I was drunk, though, and, unashamedlyaffectionate.God,Iprobablysanglikeatroubadour!” Ilaughed.

“Well,”headdedconclusively.“Itdidn’tworkout.” (Immediately,Iassumedtheworst.)

“Areyougoingtobreakupwithher?”

“No,”Eliasassuredme.“Nothinglikethat.”

“Then,whatisit?”

Eliasconsideredthequestion.

“Michael,”heresponded,deepinthought.“IthinkIhateweddings.” Myjawdroppedindisbelief.

“Obviously,inParis,”heexplained,“IadoredShelley,andnoless,”he insisted,“thanIdorightnow.Still,thatthought—thisideaofawedding— mademe…apprehensive.”

(Admittedly,Eliashadpiquedmyinterest.Thethoughtofhimbeinga marriedmanwasalmosttoomuch toomuchinandofitself.Howcoulda bestfriend,Iwondered,becomeastrangerinamatterofmonths?)

“Elias,”Isaidatlast.“You’lldoitforme.”

(Mycandor,apparently,wasunexpected.)

“What?”Eliasasked,confused.

“Elias,”Irepeated.“IwantyoutomarryShelley.Ifyoulovethegirl,”I added,“then,you’llmarrythegirl.”

Eliaschuckled.(Inoticedhisvoicewastingedwithmelancholy.)

“Youknow,it’sfunny,”hesaid.“Whenwewerekids,Ihadyoupinned asbestman.”

Andthereitwas:thebigreveal.Again,Iwasremindedofthedistance thisinsufferabledistance—betweenEliasandI.

“Iseverythingalright?,”Iinquired.

“Yes,Michael,everything’sfine,”herepliedcurtly.

Bythispoint,thecaféhademptiedoutsignificantly.Gone,itseemed,was thevibrancy—thecolorandthesound—oftheprevioushour.Meanwhile,I thoughtdesperatelyofwhattosay.

“Iwanttobeyourfriend,”Ifinallyimplored. Suddenly,Elias’faceturnedsour.

“Michael,”hescolded.“Didyouhavetostart?” Hepaused.

“WherewereyouinMay,anyhow?”

“Wha—whatdoyoumean?”Istammered.

(Unfortunately,Iknewexactlywhathemeant.MaywasthemonthElias receivedtheacceptanceletter:hehadafullridetotheschoolofhisdreams. Regretfully,Maywasalsothebeginningoftheend,sotospeak,ofhisand myrelationship.Needlesstosay,Ihadtouchedanerve.)

“Iaccomplishedsomething,”hesaid,“whichyouknew,deepdown,Ihad earned.Iwasproudofmyself,finally.Well,why tellmewhy youcouldn’t understandthat?”

“Elias,Ialwaysunderstood,”Irepliedinearnest.“Iwantedyouto succeed.Ionlywishyouhadwantedthesameforme.”

“Youmustbejoking?,”hesneered.

“No,”Iinsisted.“I’mbeinghonestwithyou.”

Eliasscoffedincondescension.

“Ithink,Michael,”hesaid,spitefully,“thatyou’reaningrate.Somehow, youbecame…apatheticingrate.”

IglaredatElias.

“Sure,Elias,”Iconcurred.“Imustbepathetic.HowelsewouldIhavelet youandyoursaviorcomplexruinmylife?”

Thecaféturneddeathlyquiet.Meanwhile,athinFrenchman,dressedin anall-blackoutfit,approachedmytable,abruptlyinterruptingEliasandI’s meltdown. The man I recognized: he was the owner of this quaint establishment.

“Willthatbeall?,”heaskedpolitely.

Hewaspointingtomydessert theremnantsofmyespressoand cheesecake.

“Yes,”Ireplied,embarrassed.“Thankyou.”

“No!”heinsisted.“Thankyouverymuch!”

Themanleftwithmytableware.IturnedagaintoElias,whosefacemade mepracticallyill.Hislipsweretightlypursed,ashegazedaimlesslytowards theceiling.Iwasaware,ultimately,oftheweightofthesituation,fearfulof thedamagedone.Eliasturnedtofaceme.

“Iguessthatwillbeall,Mike,”hesaid.

Eliasgotup,motioningtowardsthecoatrackbythedoor.

“Elias,I…”

Icalledouttomyfriend,butitwastoolate.Mywhisperedpleawas drowned out by restored chatter, and, again, I was alone. Still, pride consumedme;plaguedwithguiltasIwas,Imuchpreferredtowallowin self-abasementthansufferanapology.Besides,Eliasdesertedme;clearly,he 64

wantedhisspace,andwhowasItodenyhimofit?Still,Ifelthorrible.

Tenminutestomidnight,everyonehadleftGabriel’sBistro,withthe exceptionofthethinFrenchman.Hekepttohimself,singingsoftlybythe caféentrance.Despitemytemper,Inoticedhim.

Hismelodieswerehaunting:eachlinehesang everynote haditsown character,dressedwithararemelancholicsorrow.IguessIwastransfixed. “Yousingabeautifulsong,”Isaid.

TheFrenchmansmiled,squintingtowardmyalcove. “Muchobliged,”heanswered.

(Suddenly,Irealizedthattheman,despitesinginginFrench,spoketome intheclearestofEnglish.)

“Whatdoitswordsmean?,”Iasked,fascinated. Hesmiledagain.

“Therefrainisbeautiful,”hereplied.“Itgoes…” TheFrenchmanbegantosing:

Man is always in a fight

To craft his life as more Though he is as much of what will be

As what once came before Man would soon find nothing if By pride he settled score

So every man ’ s a brother in me

A soldier of a separate war!

LostintheFrenchman’sserenade,Ithought,again,ofEliasBernhardt. Yes,hewasunlikeme;yes,ourambitionsweredifferent.Still,therewas onceatimeIcalledEliasfriend:then,asIrecall,hisdreamsweremyown, inseparableevenfromwhatIwishedformyself.Butnow,Iwasalone,and deservedlydesertedbythefruitsofmylabor.

“I’msorry,”IsaidinhastetotheFrenchman.“I’vemadeaterrible mistake.”

IrushedoutofGabriel’sBistro,and,inmyhurry,IspottedtheFrenchman oncemore.Closingforthenight,heflashedmeaprofound,intuitivesmile. Seeingthis,Iknew,finally,Iwasready—trulyready—toknowElias.

ANTLERSOFICE|ALEXSALAZAR’25 WRITING ROYALE RUNNER-UP

Theshovelcutintothehardearth.Itsankintothefrozensoilunderneaththe thicklayerofsnowthatblanketedtheground.Theshovelpulledupthedirt andsnowanddroppeditaside.Theshovelsankintotheearthagain.Thedirt crunchedastheshovelpiercedit.

Itwasaclearday.Thesunshinedbrightly—butnotwarmly.Thesunwas bright.Theground,stillfrozen.Theshovelerstoppeddiggingforamoment torest.Hisbreathwasvisible.Itremindedhimofthesmokefromabonfire. Helookedovertowardshishome.Athickcloudofsmokepuffedfromhis chimney.“Atleastthey’rewarm,”hesaid.

Hegotbacktodigging.Itwasslowgoing,buttheholegraduallygot deeperandwider.Afterawhile,itgottobetherightsize.Heputdownhis shovelandwalkedbackinside.“It’sdug,”hesaid.

Thedoctorwaswrappingthebodyinaburialcloth.“Thankyou,Sal.I wishIdidn’tneedyoutodothis,butwithallthemengone…”

“Don’tmentionit.”

Thebodyandthedoctorbothlookedwispyandhollow.Thedoctorleft andcalledouttoeveryoneinthevillage.ThenheandSalwalkedoutside withthebody.

Thiswasn’tthefirsttimeSalhadduganewgrave.Severalspotsaround weremarkedwithwoodencrosses.

Salandthedoctorputthebodydownnexttothenewpit.Asmallcrowd hadgatheredaround.Theylookedalmostasdeadasthedeceasedman himself.

Thedoctorspokeawhileaboutthedeadman’scontributionstosociety, butSaldidn’tlisten.Finallythedoctorstoppedtalking,andheandSal loweredthebodyintothegrave.

Afterthebodyhadbeenlowereddownintothepit,Salrefilledit.The crowdmostlydispersed.Onlythedeadman’sfamilystayed.Salfashioneda woodencrossforthisgraveanddroveitintotheground.

“I’msorryforyourloss,”hesaidwithoutinflectiontothedeadman’swife. Shesmiledathimkindly,eventhoughtherewasnotmuchkindnessleftin her.

Salwenthome.Thedoorcreakedasheopenedit.Agustofhotair greetedhimashewalkedin.Inside,theshelveswerebarren.

“Iwishyouhadcometotheburial,”Salsaid.“Mr.Alderwasagood neighbor.”

“Itwouldn’thavemadeadifference,”hismotherresponded.Shewas huddledtogetherwithSal’ssisterinfrontofthefireplace.

Salsighed.Hesatdownwithhisfamilytowarmhimselfup.Thenhegot upandtookhisfather’sgunoffthewall.

Hismotherscoffedathim.“Giveitup.Thereisn’tanygameleftaround here.”

“Ihavetotry,”Salsaid.Heslungthegunoverhisshoulder.

“Pleasedon’t,”hismotherpleaded.“Idon’twanttoloseyou,too.”

“Dad’snotdead.Hecan’tbe.Hepromisedushewouldcomeback!”Sal lookedhismotherintheeyes.“Untilhedoes,it’suptome.”

“You’vetriedforweekswithoutsuccess!Everyanimalaroundhereis eitherdeadorhidinginburrowsunderground.There’snopoint.”

“Ihavetodothis,”Salsaid.Heleftthehouseandsetoutforthemountain pass,whichwasaroundtwomilesaway.Sal’svillagewaslocatedinavalleyat thefeetofsomemountains.Themountainpasswastheonlywayoutofthe areathatdidn’trequiremountainclimbing.Ithadbeenclosedoffbyan avalanche.Salcheckediteverydayjustincaseithadopened.

Itwasstillobstructed.

Salwasnotanexperiencedhunter,havingonlystartedaccompanyinghis fatheronhuntsthatfall.Hehadn’tsuccessfullyhuntedasingleanimalsince hisfatherleft.Nevertheless,hewentintothemountainseveryday,hopingto bringbackfoodforthevillage.

Salhidinthebushes.Hewaitedforalongwhile,twiddlinghisthumbs andtoestokeepthemwarm.Theystayedcold.

“WhatamIevendoing…”hemutteredtohimself.“Mom’sright.It’s hopeless.”Heputdownthegunandgotup.

Thatwaswhenhesawit—aflashoflightfromthecornerofhissight.He looked,andsawapairofbrilliantantlers.Icicleshadformedonthem, flowingdirectlyofftheantlersasifpartofthestructure.Theanimalto whomtheantlersbelongedwasastag.Itstoodproud,asiftotallyunaffected bythefrigidweatherandlackoffood.Itwasthemostmagnificentanimal Salhadeverseen.Hestaredatitfaroffforafewseconds.Thenhe rememberedhehadajobtodoandcroucheddown.Hishandsshiveredfrom the cold. He tried to take aim, but his arms wouldn’t stop shaking. Nevertheless,fearingthattheanimalwouldleaveatanymoment,Salfired.

Thebullethitthesnowjustinfrontofthestag.Itjumpedandranaway.

Salslumpedhisshoulders.“Thatwasmyonechance!”Hewatchedasthe stagranaway.Becauseoftheshiningiciclesonitsantlers,hecouldsee exactlywhereitwas,runningthroughthewoods.Salmadeadecisionnotto returnhomewithoutthatstag.Heslunghisgunonhisshoulder.

Hepursuedthebrilliantanimalasitranthroughtheforest.Itboundedup themountain,soSalclimbedupbehindit.SoonSal’scoatwasn’tenoughto protecthimfromthebitingwinterwindatthisheight.

JustasSalpursuedthestag,exhaustionandthenumbingcoldpursued him.Hegotcolderandmoretiredeveryminute.Theanimalscaledthe treacherouscragsandcliffsofthemountaineffortlessly,butSalhadtofollow withagreatdealofeffort.Manytimes,Salconsideredgivingupthehunt. Evenifhecaughtit,thestagwouldnotbeabletofeedthewholevillage.It wouldn’tevenfeedjusthisfamilyuntiltheendofwinter.Wastherereallya pointtothis?Evenwiththestag,theywerestilldoomed.Sal’sdadandthose whohadgonewithhimwereprobablydeadinthesnowsomewhere,unable tobringbackfoodandsuppliesastheyhadpromised.

Saltrippedonarockinthesnowandcollapsed.Hewasonthevergeof givingup,butthestagstoppedahundredfeetaheadofhim.Itwasatthe peakofthemountain.Salhadaclearshotattheanimal.Hepulledthegun fromhisshoulder,aimed,andfired.Ithit.Thestagcrumpledtotheground, andtheiciclesonitsantlersshattered.

Salhurrieduptothepeak.Hefoundthestagthere.Itwasstillalive,andit lookedathim.Salsawlifeinthoseeyes.Morelifethanhehadinhimself.

“I’msorry.”Withonemoreshot,Salendedthestag’slife.Atthatmoment hisexhaustionfinallycaughtupwithhim,andheslumpeddownandfell asleep.Helookedasdeadasthestag.

Salwokeupintotaldarkness.Thestag’scorpsewasstillnexttohim.It wasfrozensolid.

Hehoistedthestagontohisback.Itwasincrediblyheavy.“ShouldIeven bother?Itookyourlifetosavemine,”hesaidtothestag.“ButIcan’tevendo that.What’sthepoint?”

Sallookedatthestagandsawaglintoflifeinitseyes,preservedeven afterdeath.Thoseeyestoldhimnottowastethelifehehadtaken.

“Ofcourse.Evenifit’sjustonemoreday…evenjustonemorehour!”Sal steeledhimselfandbeganthejourneydownthemountain.

Hiseyesadjustedandherealizedthatitwasn’tasdarkashehadthought. Themoonwasoutanditslightreflectedoffthesnow,illuminatingthe mountainwithaquietglow.

Itwashardtoavoidfallingwiththeanimalonhisback,andheslipped severaltimes.Buthemadehiswaydownanyway.

Ashenearedthevillage,hesawfire.

Hesawitcomingfromthemiddleoftown.Hishousewasinthemiddle oftown!Saldroppedthestagandrantotown.Hisfearsmountedashe enteredthevillage.Ahugefireawaitedhimathishouse.

Butitwasn’thishousethatwasburning.Itwasabonfire,setupasafe distancefromhishome.Therewasmeatroastingonthefire.Hisfatherwas there,andeveryonewhohadleftwasback.Andtheyhadbroughtfood.Sal approachedhisfatherandhuggedhim.“Ithoughtyouweredead,”Salsaid.

“IpromisedI’dcomeback,didn’tI?”

“Youdid.”

THELETTER|RYANSHEPPARD’26

WRITING ROYALE RUNNER-UP

TheatticgreetedmewithitsmustyembraceasIclimbedthenarrow staircase.Shippingboxes,dustyandbattered,formedjumbledpilesofhisold stuff,eachtellingataleofforgottentreasures.Silkenthreadsofcobwebs, hanginglowfromthewoodenceilings,createdaghostlytapestry.Itwasas creepyasitwasbeautiful.Danglingfromastring,asolitarylightwasall therewastoilluminatetheattic.Itspitifulglowwasjustenoughtoallowme tosurveythechaos.Thescentofwoodfilledmynose.Ifeltlikethelow ceilingsanddarkwallswereclosinginonme,whisperingstoriesofthepast.

Everypieceofjunkhadasmallmemoryattached.Ispottedbaseballgloves andaball,eachstitchtellingthetaleofalittlegirllaughing,learning,and playingcatchwithherfather.Achesssetcaughtmyeye arelicfromthe eveningshewouldspendteachingmetheintricatestrategiesofthegame. Everypiecestoodtallandunmoving,preservedforeternity,likeatestament tohismemory.Amongthestoicsoldierslaidafallenkinginsolitude.I reachedforthepiece,graspingitinmyhand.Itracedthecurvesoftheking likeIwasablindgirlreadingthebrailleofmemoriespassed,andplayedwith itabsentmindedly,losingmyselfinthememoryofthefirsttimeIbeathim. Hewasdistraughtafterlosingtothesamegirlheintroducedthegameto, andmoanedabouthow“thestudentshouldneverbeatthemaster.”I chuckledsoftlybeforedelicatelyplacingthechesspiecebackontheboard, layingitbackonitsside.

Icontinuedsiftingthroughthescatteredmementos.Eachoneseemedto openafloodgateofemotionsandstoriesoftheadventuresofalittlegirland herfather.Amidtheclutter,Ispottedalittlebrownguitar,stringswornfrom thecountlesschordshehadstrummed.Hissingingwasadmittedlynotthe greatest,notunlikeabansheescreechingatthetopofherlungs,buthewas magicalonthestrings.Mymindwanderedtoachillywinternight.The feebleflamesofthecampfireweren’tdoingtoomuchtocombatthecold,but assoonashestrummedthosechords,thefrostretreated.Eachnotewasa spell,chasingawaythechill,leavingmewrappedinafeelingofwarmthand

anunwaveringsenseofsafety.

AsIsearchedthroughhisscatteredbelongings,myeyeslandedupona singleenvelope,withmynamewrittenacrossitinperfectcursive.Itlay surroundedbytheclutteroftheatticlikeatinyislandoforderinavastseaof disarray.Thecrispedgesandpristineconditionoftheenvelopewereinstark contrasttotheabsolutemessitwashiddenin.Ihesitatedforamoment.My fingershoveredovertheenvelopewhileIcontemplatedwhetherIwantedto discoveritscontents.Thelongingandgriefurgedmetoopenitandunveil thecontentswithin,buttherewasapartofmethatfearedwhatImightfind, apartthatwasafraidoftheemotionsthatwaitedformewithinthatsealed envelope.Thatfearthreatenedtotakecontrol,tohidefromwhateverthis packagecontained.Istifledthefeelingwiththerealizationthatthismightbe thelastthingIeverreceivedfromhim.Iunceremoniouslyrippeditopen.He wouldbebesidehimselftoseealltheefforthespentmakingitlookfancygo towaste.Iemptiedthedesecratedenvelopeofitscontents.Itwasapieceof paper,expertlyfolded.Flatteningitout,Irealizedthatitwasaletter.The dimlightshoneonthefirstwords,writteninthatperfectcursive.

To my star, Estelle.

Thosewordslookedmedeadintheeye,pinningmygazeunderthe immenseweightitcarried.Thosewordswereagatewaytothepast,awayto hearfromhimonelasttime,yettheywereladenwithemotionsIcouldnot face.Twoyearshadpassedsincehisdeparture,butthewoundsofhisabsence werestillraw.Ifeltnoinclinationtodwellonthepastandripoffthe bandageovertheemotionalscar.Thewallsdrewcloser,boxingmein.The feeblelightblindedme,yetthedarknessconsumed.Thesmellofwood becameunbearable,assaultingmysensesandmakingmyheadspin.Ifeltlike aninsecttrappedinthecobwebs,justwaitingforawaveofemotionsto scurryinoneightlegsandsinkitsteethintome.Dustfloodedmylungs, suffocatingme.

Ineededtoescapetheoppressivegraspoftheattic.Icouldn’tbearanother momentinthatattic.Iturnedonmyheelandmadetoleave.Witheach creakofthedustystairs,Idescendedfurtherintomyloathing.Thesound

gratedonmynerves,andmyeyesstung.Sortingthroughtheclutterwasmy dailytorment.Eachitemwasmypainfulreminderofhisabsence.Ihatedit.I hatedtheattic.Ihatedtheboxes,filledwithclutterthatwaspriceless,yetnot worthadime.Ihatedthesmellofwoodandsawdusttakingoveryournose, andIhatedthedimlighthangingbyathreadaswellasthedarkness swallowingeverythingwhole.Ihatedtheintricatelywovencobwebs,and thosestepsthatcreakedwitheverystepmade.Mostofall,Ihatedhimfor leavingme,forcondemningmetosearchthroughthiswasteeveryday, lookingforanythingthatcouldjustmakeitfeellikehewashereagain,yet theideathatIwouldfindanythingwasterrifying.Iwasn’tdelusionalenough tothinkIhadclosure.HereIwas,searchingthroughdust-coveredpiles,just tofindasmallpieceofhimhiddenwithinthechaos.No,Ididn’thave closure,butIcouldn’tgrieveagain,either.Thewoundwasn’thealing,butit wasclosed.WhywouldItearoffthescabandexposeittothefloodof emotionsthatwouldundoubtedlycomewiththisletter?Icouldn’tputmyself throughthisagain.Iwascontenttowallowinmysadnessinsteadoffacing themusicandacceptingthathewasreallygone.Or,IthoughtIwas.

Manydaysandnightswentby.Irefusedtostepfootbackintheatticand givethememoriesanychancetoreturn.Witheachday,Iwassurethatthe once-perfectletterandenvelopewerecollectingdustlikealltheotheruseless relics sitting in boxes up there. However, I wasn’t prepared for the anniversaryofhisdeath.Wehadabigceremony,withspeechesandsobbing andthewholelot.Icouldn'ttakeanothermonologueonhis“gentlesoul”or aprofoundpoemon“hisgoodnessandcompassion.”Ilefttheceremony early,muchtothedispleasureofalltheothersgatheredthere.Ididn’tcare.I wentstraighttotheoneplaceIsworeIwasn’tgoingbackto.

Themustyembracegreetedmeoncemore,andthesmellofwoodwas ever-present. The narrow stairs creaked with every step. The ghastly tapestriesofsilkwereintheirfullglory,andthewallsseemedtoshrinkwith everystep,pressingintomefromallsides.Thekingstilllaidonitsside. Everythingwasexactlyhowitwasbefore,yetitwasn’thowitoughttobe.I traversedthepilesoncemore,reachingtheareawhereIhadrippedthe envelopeopenpreviously.Apieceofpaperwithacreaseinthemiddlewas

leftonthefloor.Itwasstillspotless.Notasinglespeckofdusttouchedit.I didn’twanttotouchit.Iwasafraid,yetagain,ofrippingoffthatbandage,of tearingoffthatscab.However,surroundedbysilkenthreads,messyboxes, andclaustrophobicwalls,Icametotherealizationthatsomewoundsneedto breathe.Icouldn’trunforever.

To my star, Estelle.

Suchbittersweetwords,onesthatfilledmewithjoyandsadness,aphrase thattranscendedspaceandtime.Ireadon,eachwordopeningthefloodgates forthememoriestocomepouringthrough.Aragingriverofemotions rushedthroughmymindandsoul,andIfoundmyselflostinthegriefofhis death.Saltytearshittheperfectletter,stainingitforever.Andinthis moment,inthisterribleattic,cryingontothelastwordsIwilleverreceive frommyfather,asenseofpeacewashedoverme.Theragingriverbecamea refreshingstream.Thewallsstoppedcreepingcloser.Thesmellbecame pleasant.Thelightgavetheroomahomeyfeel,andthedarknessfelt comforting.Inthisterribleattic,Ifoundpeace.Ihadneverseensomethingas beautifulasthosecobwebsthroughmytearyeyes.

GREENHELL|QUINNLOMBARDO’26

WINNER OF THE 2024 WRITING ROYALE

Thehotstuffyairclingstomybodylikeablanket.Thecoldsweattrickles downmymuddyfaceandintomyeyes.AllIheararepoundinggunshots, roaringjets,thunderousexplosions,anddesperatescreechesfromdyingmen. AllIsmellisnapalmanddeath.Ican’ttasteanything.Itistwenty-two hundredhours.Ican’tsleep.Ican’teversleep,evenwhenI’msleeping.Ihave nightmares. Nightmares of not waking up, nightmares of waking up, nightmaresofbeingbackhome.Iusedtowriteletterstohereveryday. Lookingback,Iwasn’twritingforher.Iwaswritingtokeepmysanity.Itlet methinkaboutsomethingotherthanthejungle.Ittookmeawayfromall theear-piercingnoisesandnoxioussmells.Thishasbeenthelongestyearof mylifeandyetsomehowithasgonebythefastest.Idonothaveanyfriends. ThepainoflosingafriendistenfoldthehappinessIwouldhavespentwith them.Ourplatoonisgoingonyetanothermissiontomorrowatsixhundred hours.Ourgoalistomovedeeperintothejungleandtakeoutasmanyof “them”aspossible.Manyofthemeninmyplatoonlettheirdarknesstake control.Theywillkillaninnocent.Theywillkillanyone;itmakesno differencetothem.I,too,havechangeddeeplyinthepastyear.Beforegoing back home, if I saw an innocent being harmed, I would have done somethingaboutit.NowIsitthereandwatch,numbedtowhatisgoingon. Iusedtobeexcitedtogoonamission.Nowitisamonotonousroutine.I amjustexisting.Igottovisithomeaboutfourmonthsago,anditiswhat changeditall.Duringthosefirsteightmonthsinthejungle,allIcouldthink aboutwasgettingbackhometoawarmcozybedandhotwater.Itiswhat

allowedmetofightwithsuchvigorandhavesuchclosebondswithmy friends.WhenIcamehome,Isawherandanotherguy.Thathurt,butwhat hurtmostofallwasthefactthatIhadandhavenothingbackathome.My lifeathomeisboring,uneventful,andsafe.AllIcouldthinkaboutinthe junglewascominghome,andallIcouldthinkaboutathomewasgoing back.Iwasobsessed.SometimesIwishIcouldjustbekilledandbedone withit.IwanttobekilledbeforeIletthedarknessconsumeme.Ithinkit alreadyhas.Iamhotandsweaty,andallIfeelisagonyandexcruciatingpain. Ihavenothingbackhome,andIhavenothinghere.Ihavenothingtolive forandneitherdotheguysnexttome.Theseguysnexttomelovethepain. Theylovethesmellofnapalminthemorning.Theyfeelasiftheyaretaking thepainforthepeoplebackhome.Theydonotknowthetruth.WhenI visitedhomenotonepersonsaidawordtomeaboutthewar.Notoneof themthankedme.Wearefightingalosingbattle,andnoonecares,and theseguysloveit.Iwantthiswartobeover,butIalsodon’twanttogoback hometonothing.I’dliketosaythedarknesshasn’tconsumedme,butithas. Darknesscancomeinmanyforms.Forme,Ihavelosttouchwithreality.I thinkitissimplybecauseIjustdonotcareenough.Careenoughaboutmy platoon,careenoughaboutmycountry,careenoughaboutthiswar,care enoughaboutme.Idon'tknowwhat’srealandwhat’sfake.AlotoftimesI wakeup,andthinkIamhome,butIamnot.Iaminthedeepdarkjungle.I couldsurviveorIwon’t.Itdoesn’tmakeadifferencetomeoranyone.I'll justbeanotherguywhodiedinapointlesswar.TheamountofsupportIfelt leavingforthiswarwasindescribable.Ifeltlikeasuperhero.NowIfeellike avillain.Avillainwithnosupport.Avillainwithnothingtogohometo.A villainwithnopurposeinagreenhell.

SPECIALTHANKS

ColleenAdams

Dr.ChristopherAltieri’95

MeganCallahan

ElaineClark

PaulDenby

BobFosse-Previs’87

JohnHanrahan

MeganHoover

SomadinaIworisha

JessicaLombardi

TorreyMacGregor

JackMiller’23

VinO’Hara’01

JaynéPenn

GriffinReidy’90

TheFairfieldUniversityPrint&DesignTeam

TheSpring2023issueof The Bellarmine Review wasawardedtherankof Superior by the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) RecognizingExcellenceinArtandLiteraryMagazines(REALM)Program. PRAISE FOR THE BELLARMINE REVIEW, VOL. 83

THE BELLARMINE REVIEW | VOLUME 84 | SPRING 2024

In this issue: ThomasAdams⸱SamuelAlvarez⸱JackBoyle⸱JamesCallaghan

ChristopherContreras⸱TomásGalloza⸱DanielGuzman⸱BenLester

QuinnLombardo⸱LarsMaechling⸱BryanMarin⸱MatthewMartino

OliverMascera⸱PeterMoreno⸱MatthewMurphy⸱AlexSalazar⸱JoshuaSalazar

RyanSheppard⸱LukeTrench⸱DanielTristine⸱CameronWillcox

ART|DANIELGUZMAN’25

Thefirststroke, thestrokeoflife. Ablankworld, readyforCreation. Avoid, readyforDevastation. Lifetakesform, andIplayGod.