Copyright © 2020 by the Student Publications and Radio Commi ee (SPARC). The Grinnell Review, Grinnell College’s semi-annual undergraduate arts and literary magazine, is a student-produced journal devoted to the publication of student writing and artwork. Creative work is solicited from the entire student body and reviewed anonymously by the corresponding Writing and Arts Commi ees. Students are involved in all aspects of production, including selection of works, layout, publicity, and distribution. By providing a forum for the publication of creative work, The Grinnell Review aims to bolster and contribute to the art and creative writing community on campus. Acknowledgments: The work and ideas published in The Grinnell Review belong to the individuals to whom such works and ideas are a ributed to and do not necessarily represent or express the opinions of SPARC or any other individuals as-sociated with the publication of this journal. © 2020 Poetry, prose, artwork and design rights return to the artists upon publication. No part of this publication may be duplicated without the permission of SPARC, individual artists or the editors. Cover & back art: meathead | Marnie Monogue All editorial and business correspondence should be addressed to: Grinnell College c/o Grinnell Review Grinnell, IA 50112 www.grinnellreview.com
LVIV | Fall 2020 ARTS SELECTION COMMITTEE Claire Boyle Chelsea Shang Kripa Bansal
EDITORS Chelsea Shang Kripa Bansal
WRITING SELECTION COMMITTEE Claire Boyle Chelsea Shang Kripa Bansal
Contents Writing Sam Rueter
Way Back
Sarah Licht Prairie Burn
Anthony Kang
Hydrogen + Helium
Katie Goodall
My Last Conversation with Grinnell
MJ Old
A Steep Brew of Mangrove Leaves
Allison Cottrell Box Woman
Steven Saada
★☆☆☆☆
2
5
7
16
20
24
Sabrina Tang A Homage to Our Unofficial Mascot
Zainab Thompson
"Mind if I Sit Here?"
27
28
33
Art Steven Saada Sunrise on Pine Lake Seabird
Aleesha Shi
starry flowers a shrine
Shabana Gupta Thread Demon Henry
George Kosinski
Hotel in Strbske Pleso
Marnie Monogue meathead
4 15
6 20
16 24
28
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Letter from the Editors Dear Reader: A li le more than a year back the world wondered about this bizarre scientific phenomena called the coronavirus that seemed to carry its name through whispers, rumours and such. Today, we stand at the brink of a pandemic. With the majority of Grinnellians studying from home, Webex classes, masks, face-shields, awkward first-years stumbling around their way around campus trying desperately to socialise and not drown in the inches of snow, Grinnell adopted its own version of the pandemic. Intellectual stimulation continued as students remained curious and devoted to their fields of study, community building thrived in club meetings on Zoom, and Art bloomed virtually in the most unexpected of ways. We request you to try and read the pieces with the theme of nostalgia in mind. The words and Art we have published yearn for a time that has not ended yet but one that has just paused. Though this edition of the Grinnell Review may remain online, we've done our best to preserve as much of its original form as possible. As such, in order to experience each work as intended, please view each work from left to right, page by page. We would like to thank the writers and artists of the Grinnell community without whom the Review would not have existed as an amalgamation of creativity and expression. Warm regards, — the editors Chelsea Shang '23 Kripa Bansal '24
“We were nostalgic for a
time that wasn't yet over.” ― Nina LaCour, We Are Okay
Way Back Sam Rueter They put us in the back. Well, they put them in the back. I
She sat there smiling gamely as I took her photo. We said the
was there too. But I wasn’t like them. I belonged in the front. I
pictures were for her – the day was for her – but they were for us.
belonged with the clicking camera phones, the cheerful smiles, the
We knew it. She must have known it too. Disguised under the
soft skin, barely freckled by the sun of summers past.
wrinkled skin and aching bones was the same beating heart of my
I watched her hands clutch the metal railing as wisps of white hair were beaten back against her weathered forehead. And
childhood. Only now it was almost gone. You don’t realize what you
as the bow cut straight through wake, I thought I began to
are losing until its almost lost. She had lost a lot. Her husband. Her
understand. The front of the boat didn’t understand – couldn’t
grandson. Her hair. Her body. So, as the boat glided along the tops
understand – but back in back we knew.
of the water, I watched her as she watched. I watched fleeting,
This boat ride was about loving and losing, living and dying. flickering moments disappear into the vast darkness beneath us. It started on the walk down. We swarmed her. We dragged
And so, I took out my camera and I tried to capture it. I
her body down to the dock, didn’t trust ourselves to let go, even for knew what the “it” was, but I didn’t really want to admit that I a second. Ge ing into the boat was a production. She took step
knew. The it was life. Well, the it was life when life is nearing
after step on bended, shaken knee. She scooted over the top of the
closer to death. I thought maybe my observation could give me a
newly-washed leather, let her backside land firmly on the seat in
kind of closure, a kind of understanding, that the front of the boat
front of her. We congratulated her on the accomplishment.
didn’t have. They were young. I was young, too, but only on the
2
outside, I reasoned. You are old when you understand that you get old. I had been old nearly all my life. Water sprayed up into the cracks and creases of her face, only to be displaced by the beginnings of a broad smile. She talked to her sister about things that sisters talk about. And those in front, those who were young, they talked about things that those who are young talk about. They texted and joked, and, ever-so-often, looked back and smiled at their dear-old-grandmother. And she smiled back. It was a nice boat ride.
3
Sunrise on Pine Lake | Steven Saada 4
Prairie Burn Sarah Licht Soft ground quivers below my feet. I step through waves of grass soaking my ankles with earthen love, a silent kiss from stone to skin. Who am I among the brambles, the plants with names longer than my own, more plentiful, blooming colored than the skin I shed in my sleep? Can I belong where the sun collides with the earth, fla ening grass an invigorating yellow? At home, yet where is home for plants who never move, unable to choose a place to root, to forge friendships with neighboring flowers? I chose 5
to find myself among them and try not to kill their friends with clumsy footsteps. There is a quiet acceptance between us, a gentle wave of leaves through summer air spinning, marking a spot in the grass, dry, kept warm just for me, beckoning me to stay, sing the words of my language of legs and tongue while the sun cheers, plants hum along through the breeze. I may be nothing compared to roots aged a millennia, timeless, trapped in an amber memory, yet who should I be, why must I be, if, with them, I belong?
starry flowers | Aleesha Shi
6
Hydrogen + Helium Anthony Kang She was born with water on the atom. Struck with cavities
stu ering in her teacher’s voice, particularly when she said that
in her atom ever since she developed, news reporters came to the
Noble Gases are born with eight valence electrons. It was the
hospital to learn more about this mysterious baby, and biologists
first time she thought about how others viewed her.
wanted to know how it could be possible, as no element had water in the atom before.
It was troubling to keep herself from crying when she went home that night, and when her parents asked her how her
Because of water in the atom, she had two valence
day was, she didn’t bat an eye as she walked up to her room.
electrons, in spite of the fact that Noble Gases were born with
Her parents did everything in their power to try to get her to
eight. She was a bundle of joy named Helium-2. She sang with
come out. None of it made her budge. When her parents
the elegance of a canary, danced like there was no one watching,
walked into her room, her mom sat down, hugged her, and
loved everybody as if they were all her siblings, and made trial
touched her like she did when Helium was a baby. That’s when
of everything.
she lost it. There was a striking hint of intense despair as she
Even though Helium’s parents tried to hide from Helium that she was different from the other Noble Gases, she found out during fourth grade when the elements were taught the
wept. Her mom whispered that she loved her, and Helium loved them too, even if she did not love herself yet. By age thirteen, Helium had become a ractive, and the
“groups” of the Periodic World. The other elements stared at
Universe seemed to treat her more like they would another
her, and Helium could notice. There was uneasiness and
Noble Gas. She enjoyed this a ention initially, but she later
7
loathed it, because she remembered that she had two valence
There was something in the way he spoke that made
electrons, and also wondered why they only treated her
Helium question everything she was told about him. He had
differently when they found her more like the others.
this delicate voice, which seemed reminiscent of angels from the
Thankfully, she excelled at forge ing about the way others
Quantum World, the holy place where all elements want to go
perceived her. She received excellent grades, made Varsity
when they pass away. He had a pleasant smile with authentic
Soccer as a freshman, and received offers from many
warmth and a special birthmark on his face: a blue-shaded plus
universities.
right above the middle of his eyes, all of which she noticed in a
Helium had no idea how her life would change her junior year of high school. Except for her condition, her life was
split second. All he said was one word, hi, and yet it stuck with her all
ordinary for the most part. In stories Helium loved to read since
day. She kept questioning why she hadn’t responded and how
she was a child, the characters’ lives were changed for many
she noticed all of those pleasant things about him in a ma er of a
reasons. They could be selected for an important journey to
second.
destroy an all powerful ring. They could set out on an
What she found even crazier was how she went back to
adventure to go find their long lost father and mother, they
the path the next day, hoping for him to be there, even though it
could be bit by a spider, or they could practice magic to defeat
wasn’t how she went home after soccer practice. She thought to
dark evil forces lurking throughout the world. While all of these
herself that maybe she would get a chance to say it back
character transformations required large scale events, Helium’s
profoundly, but to her dismay, he never showed up.
transformation both required and didn’t require them. She met a boy.
She searched for him throughout school, as he had to go to her school. She could not see the blue-shaded plus on anyone’s forehead nor could she hear the angelic voice. After a week, she
8
was about to give up until there he was in the library: the boy who everybody called Hydro.
“I don’t know... I tend to write whatever comes to my mind.”
Helium studied him, feeling crazy, because she didn’t
“Do you like to write?”
understand why she was motivated to do anything. He was just a boy. Yet, she was so terrified at the aspect of speaking to him
“Yeah, it’s what I do when I’m not creating music in my basement.”
that she nearly walked out of the library, but after giving him
“You’re a musician?”
another look, she walked over to Hydro, took the seat across
“I’m not any good, but I love music. Learned the piano
from him, and shyly said, “Hi.”
with my father and it just stuck with me. How about you?”
Hydro looked up, his eyes darting quickly back between
Helium blinked a few times, having to ask again what
the notebook and Helium. “Hi.”
Hydro had last said to her. “Sorry?”
The two sat happily in silence, but Helium didn’t want
“Do you like music?”
them to be silent, so she said, “I know you said hi to me last week. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back.” Hydro chuckled. “It’s okay.”
Helium smiled, almost flustered without breath, and suddenly relieved that someone other than her family and Neon, her best friend, had asked about herself.
“Thanks, I appreciated you saying that. It’s uncommon,”
“I guess so.”
Helium continued.
“You guess so?”
Hydro nodded his head. “I’m happy to hear that.”
“Well, I can’t play an instrument.”
“What are you writing?”
“I wouldn’t worry about not being able to play an
“You want to know what I’m writing about?”
instrument. You should see me draw. I can’t draw to save my
“Uh-huh.”
life.”
“It’s nothing, really.” “I’m sure it’s interesting.”
Thankfully for them, the conversation never went stale: Hydro about his passion for music, and Helium about 9
soccer. They shared memories of their families, from their love
more conversations, five more days, five more hellos, and five
of their parents to Hydro’s pet quark. They wished that time
more goodbyes with him.
would stop so they could talk endlessly, but they were not Physics. Before the two parted, Helium said, “Have a nice day, Hydro.”
They surprised each other with the similarities they shared, for Helium could understand Hydrogen’s struggle with lacking a neutron and always never fi ing in with the other outcasts yet being considered an outcast by everyone else. In
Hydro nodded. “Thanks. You too, Helium.”
exchange, Hydrogen understood her too, for he knew
As the two walked away from each other, Hydro lightly
forlornness, desperation for love, and being chastised by society
tapped her shoulder.
for his physical and personal differences. They shared their
“Helium?”
darkest secrets to each other and were comfortable around each
“Yeah?”
other in a way they could not be with anybody else. They
“You can call me Hydrogen by the way. That’s my real
couldn’t go moments without thinking of each other, and the
name.” Helium could feel her face blush all red, having to look down to avoid Hydrogen from seeing her face. “Okay.” They promised to meet again in the library, and they did, for they came back every school day.
more they revealed themselves, the more challenging it was for them to see each other how society wanted them to. Helium could not even comprehend the idea of groups. Hydrogen was different, yes, but he was one of the sweetest elements she ever met. As more time went on, Hydrogen and Helium were
Helium began to like her time with Hydrogen so much, she begged every day to be Monday so that she could have five
irresistible to each other. At night, they dreamed of going on explorations, contemplating the meaning of everything, falling in love, and ge ing married the old-fashioned way. 10
The day before Winter Break, when Helium walked into the library, she was shocked to find Hydrogen absent. She turned around everywhere, desperately, frightened that Hydrogen was not here, until she noticed that there was a le er
Hydrogen. That… that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever wri en me.” Hydrogen blushed redder, for he loved her. “Helium, it’s all true. What I wrote to you is true. Please believe me on that.”
on the desk, addressed specifically for her. She nearly gasped at
“I do,” Helium whispered back.
the beauty of the writing on the le er, for she had never read
And just for a moment, the two let go of each other. As
something so passionate, so raw, and so beautiful. She never
they stared into the other’s eyes, they realized they both looked
had anyone come close to saying what Hydrogen had said to
different from when they first met. Helium lacked the
her, for the words moved her as much as gravity moved the
glominess, and Hydrogen’s eyes lacked fragility. Neither of
Earth. Then, there was a light tap on her shoulder, for when she
them realized, though, that no ma er their fear, they could not
turned around, there he was, standing with a mixtape, and as
change the way they felt about each other. It was far too late for
Helium whispered out, “Hydro…” he said, “You can call me
that. Hydrogen asked as his hairs raised up chillingly, if he
Hydrogen. That’s my real name.”
could kiss her, and Helium instantly pulled his lips close to hers,
Helium had to stifle a laugh in order to keep herself from
both of their minds fading away into a trance for a few moments.
crying, and even though she was always reserved, she leaped
These moments were the shortest and longest moments of their
into Hydrogen’s arms, embracing him tightly, as they both
lives, for the passion they had completely stored over dreams
blushed and giggled like two kids ge ing presents on Christmas,
and conversations had all compiled into one unstoppable force, a
receiving the best present of them all: each other.
true force to be reckoned with.
Helium moved her face towards Hydrogen’s ear as she passionately whispered into his ear, “Thank you so much,
When they parted, they were oblivious to the stares they received from everybody else.
11
When she got home, though, she could not avoid being
“We did,” her mom said coldly. “We asked you who it is.”
pestered by her parents, for they had her sit down, and explain herself. They were fuming and could not even grasp why Helium had go en close to a Hydrogen.
While they continued to spend time in school together, they couldn’t deny how much other elements were chastising
“Mom! Dad!” Helium screamed. “I like him so much!”
their relationship, and when summer came along, they could not
“No, you only think you do,” her mother said. “I thought I
see each other, and it emotionally strained both of them. They
did too, but they were infatuations. Now, I’m with your dad.” Helium said, “He’s my world.” “How can a Hydro be your world? He doesn’t have a neutron for Force’s sake!” her father shouted. “I don’t have six of my valence electrons, do I?” Helium
missed each other terribly. Helium was put in an unfortunate position near the end of the summer. Her parents desperately wanted her to get over Hydrogen and told her to introduce herself to someone they thought she would like, Oxygen. His father was the Governor of
snapped, which promptly made her parents quiet for a few brief
the state, and his family was very rich and popular. Oxygen was
moments, but didn’t end the conversation.
destined to become a future politician. She had no interest but
“That’s different. You’re a Noble Gas. You can be with
had no choice but to go see him.
anybody, Helium. Do you know how many boys in our community love you?” her father said. “There’s nobody else I would want except him,” Helium
Fifteen years would pass, and Helium had told Hydrogen to never contact her again as they were forbidden by their
asserted, “ and if you can’t accept that, then I don’t want to be
parents from seeing each other. She married Oxygen and had a
part of this family anymore.”
child, Heliox, whom they both loved. She dreamed of Hydrogen
“No,” her mom said. “You’re not going to see this boy.”
every night and fantasized a life with him and Heliox.
“At least give him a chance… please,” Helium begged. 12
Helium had become one of the most famous celebrities in
speech, Hydrogen sang everybody a song, a song about two
seconds, after Oxygen was elected Senator, and his father King.
elements who thought they were very different, who eventually
Helium was upset by the executive order which Oxygen’s father
realized that they were more similar than they ever thought they
placed the day of his inauguration. As non Halogen and Noble
could be.
Gases were consistently targeted by the upper class, Physics
Helium sat in her room, watching someone playing his
religion argued that these elements were inferior to the Halogens
guitar and singing, but she noticed a blue plus on his forehead.
and Noble Gases. About a month later, intergroup marriage
Suddenly, her dreams talked out loud, because it was him.
between the upper class and the lower class was forbidden. Two months later, the military was caught hiding investigations of crimes against non-Halogens and Noble Gases in the cities,
Oxygen had come into the room and shouted, “Helium! We have to go!” When Oxygen, Helium, and Heliox ran through the
particularly on Alkali Metals. Worst of all, the lower class could
streets, the country had gone to chaos, in which elements beat
not receive a jury, were stripped of the right to vote, and were
one another like savages.
not allowed to voice disagreement with the government. Many were furious, and soon, almost 25 million lower
Hydrogen saw the mess of the world, and he regre ed forming these groups, regre ed giving his speech. To his luck,
class elements marched in the streets of the capital, asserting
his father was a genius, the creator of a time-machine: a time
equal rights.
machine which required the element to age. Hydrogen his
Hydrogen was a founder of one of the secret societies. He
whole life had always argued that time-machines were
led his community to the very front door of the King’s House.
dangerous, but he was so scared that his fear had come true:
He began with a speech, making the country silent for the first
that he had hurt this world, the very thing he loved.
time since before the existence of elements, where he asserted peacefully but proudly about equality. Near the end of his
Hydrogen drove to his parents’ home as quickly as he could and slipped on the time machine to time-travel, but when 13
he reversed his life, he noticed something particularly intriguing.
use, though, for the more times she said it, the more times she
To him, it was watching the broken mending itself again. His
couldn’t anymore.
broken heart mended back into one, as if it never broke before. He watched blood spurt travel back into elements’ bodies. He
Because Hydrogen had erased himself from time, every
watched broken buildings and broke homes mending itself back
picture of Hydrogen was now a picture of absolutely nothing.
together like it never needed to be mended, the broken cars now
He never said the millions of hellos and have a nice days he
driving cars again, the fallen flag now flying again, the broken
would have, nor did he ever say, “I love you,” to Helium, or to
minds becoming indivisible, the irreplaceable being replaced.
his parents. He never founded a rights movement. No one ever
He could see elements walking backwards and the Universe
said his name. In this literary universe, he never was the
moving opposite. He could see millions, billions, trillions of
protagonist of his story, never was the love interest of Helium, or
elements composed of those who once cried collecting their
made cameos in other elements’ stories.
tears, fixing broken relationships, regre able words being taken
Helium never found love, but she always dreamed of a life
back, some forge ing that they had relationships at all and
where she met someone she loved, and one day, she woke up
others have more fulfilling ones as they begin to remember why
from her bed, sweating after an intense dream, a dream in which
they fell in love in the first place.
her life would be changed forever, like those characters in those
As he aged and erased himself from time, he whispered to the black void. He whispered his regrets, his desires, and his
myths and stories she read as a child. She met a boy.
wish to replace the irreplaceable. The world could feel itself forge ing Hydrogen, and Helium began to panic. “negordyH?” she shouted. It was no
14
Seabird | Steven Saada
15
My Last Conversation With Grinnell
Katie Goodall
Thread Demon | Shabana Gupta
16
She could not be clearer in her message. Grinnell says it is time to
where it is sucked up by the trees and held until next fall, when
leave.
the leaves will bleed extra bright.
When I tell Grinnell I am angry, she tells me that she is sad. She
Her anger gives me comfort, and I stop at the train tracks to watch
does not want me to leave either.
the snow fall to the ground. It falls like ashes, and I can’t help but
“I am sick,” she says. “You need to leave. Last time this happened, people died.” “I know,” I say, “but that does not make me less sad.”
think that we are holding a funeral for ourselves. Everything is just starting to bloom. Spring is supposed to be the most beautiful time at Grinnell, and here I am, leaving before I can witness it. “The flowers will be especially good this year,” Grinnell rumbles
“It does not make me less sad either,” Grinnell rumbles. She seems as I start to walk again. “There will be enough snow to water them slower than usual, as if this trauma has taken just as much from
before the rain comes. It is cold now, but when it warms up this all
her as from us.
will melt and become something beautiful.”
I tell her again that I am angry and she sighs, tells me she is angry
“Don’t lecture me with your metaphors,” I scowl. “I have been
too. “We are all angry.”
here for six months, and I know this place is beautiful. The snow
My body is too small for all of this emotion. I want to kick, scream, punch the ground with my fists. Grinnell does nothing but look at me. She cannot scream, even though her heart is much bigger than mine. Her anger runs deep, I know, under her buildings and fields until it reaches the dirt,
does not need to melt for me to see this.” I can feel Grinnell looking at me, and I scowl even harder. “Don’t tell me I’m a flower and that this is my snow, because I know that’s what you’re thinking. A pandemic forcing me out of my school is different than a late winter snow shower."
17
She chuckles, the vibrations running up my legs and chest and
Grinnell does nothing but look at me, and eventually I start to cry.
filling me with warmth. She’s sweet like that, Grinnell; always
“Where am I supposed to go from here?”
trying to make me happy when I’m feeling sad. Warm me up when I’m feeling cold. Today, it just reminds me of what I have already lost. “So what do I do now?” I ask, the warmth lingering in my body as snow stings my face. Wind blows between the trees, and I hear Grinnell sigh. “Go home,” she says, sounding tired beyond reason. “You like it there, do you not?” I do like it there, but home is not the same anymore. There are no friends and school and fun projects there, no snow or flowers or
“Go home,” Grinnell says, squirrels cha ering in her trees. She knows that doesn’t answer the question I am asking. I sit against the trees and cry, deep sobs that shake the anger out of my chest, and Grinnell lets me. She stays quiet as the trees keep me up and the squirrels circle my head, until my eyes are red and my shirt wet. I ask again where I am supposed to go, and Grinnell laughs again. It warms me, enough to breathe deeply and stand up, keep walking. “You will figure it out,” she rumbles. “I cannot leave, but you can.” “But I already told you. I don’t want to leave.”
laughs to keep me warm. I tell this to Grinnell, and she sighs
“Yet you need to leave,” she says. “Last time this happened,
again, the breath of it blowing my hair to one side. “But it is your
people died.”
home.”
This is the issue with talking to campuses. They only have so many
“This is my home too,” I say, quietly, because I have been here
words to express. Eventually, it all becomes repetition and trees
only for six months but I have already decided that I do not want
and grass and brick. I sigh, and though my breath does not turn
to leave.
into the breeze, it does make me feel be er. I look at the snow, and
18
how it covers the leaves on the ground. These are the leaves left behind—fallen from the trees, passed over by the rake, covered by the snow. Stuck in the mud that squishes under my boots. “What if I’m a leaf?” I ask. “Not a flower, to bloom by the snow, but to be covered by it and not seen again until it has melted me down to my most breakable point? What if I go home and I get stuck and I don’t do anything more than what I did when I was there before? What if I sit in my room and I watch TV and I never leave again because I am so weighed down by this snow that covers me? What if when it melts, I don’t bloom, but am so tired that there is nothing left for me to do but break? What if I leave and then don’t have the strength to come back?”
and sha er. “You will be,” she tells me. “Go back to your room, and do not cry when you leave. There is nothing left here to mourn.” Snow falls from the sky like ashes, and as I enter my building, I wonder if she is right about there not being anything left to mourn. Fall comes, and I am not in Grinnell. I drive the eleven hours to say goodbye once again, where the trees have sucked up the anger and Grinnell sleeps as I walk. The leaves bleed extra bright this year.
My lip starts to tremble again, but Grinnell answers before I can cry. “You cannot be a leaf, unless you are one of mine. This year, the anger will make them especially bright.” “What if I’m not here to see them?” I ask, and Grinnell tuts her tongue. The echo runs deep, vibrating underneath the grass I stand on and up all of the buildings. I hear a frame fall off a wall
19
A Steep Brew of Mangrove Leaves MJ Old a shrine | Aleesha Shi 20
The mangrove swamp was a cup of tea, a cup from which the parched ocean drank and which the rainwater refilled. The
“How’s the water?” “Salty. I’ll need to move inland soon.” The seasons change,
trees dropped salt-saturated leaves into the water and they steeped the rain stops, and the sea seeps into the mangroves. there, bi er with tannins.
The manatees don’t care. The air is the same all year round.
The brown water turned gold in the sunrise. I was not “How are you?” I continued. Most of the reciprocity in our hungry, so I only lay near the surface of the water, slowly warming conversations was repetition of the questions she asked me. I can up. I had lain still for so long that I could feel tiny fish tickling
admit I was not a good conversationalist.
around my feet, unaware that I was not a rock but a thing with
“It is not so cold this winter as I had feared.”
teeth.
“That is good,” I said. “Well, have a good day.”
My head did not twitch when I felt the movement of a large creature in the water. Make that two large creatures, for I could hear their voices, Mrs. M’s and that of her calf. “Good morning,” she said to me as she approached, a gray
“And you.” Then I watched her and the calf continue on their way. A speedboat thundered across the water, and I gri ed my
and rounded mass appearing from the brown fog, kicking up mud teeth. I have eaten most of the kinds of creatures that walk or swim as she ripped up seagrass. We had known each other for long
around here, but never a human. I know some of my kind do.
enough that she stopped to talk. She was too big to fear me, and I always kept a polite distance from her calves.
They aren’t too big for us, not as big as manatees, and they wander so close to the shore. But if you kill a human, its brothers will come
“Good morning, ma’am,” I replied. My kind do not have names, personal pronouns you and I are enough for the few words exchanged during our encounters. But Mrs. M’s kind talked to
back with guns and ropes and drag you out of the water by the tail. I’ve seen it. Sometimes they dragged my kind out of the water for no
each other, and she talked to me. Her calves called her mama and I reason at all, peeled us out of our skins, and dumped the flayed called her Mrs. M., or ma’am.
corpses back in the water or stacked them, decaying, on mangrove islands just out of view of the shore. 21
I never cared. It was not in my nature to care about others, even others of my species. I did not know who was my mother or father or who was my calf, who my brothers and sisters and
stupidly in a flock, moving back and forth the same few inches for hours. Only humans moved quickly all the time. Their boats
cousins were in the same way Mrs. M did.
churned up huge wakes that sloshed through the mangrove roots.
A gaggle of white egrets stood around on a sandbar, just a few inches above the water. They all faced in the same direction.
They shot their guns and set their fires and stopped moving only when they were asleep.
“I caught a big fish today,” said one egret to another.
It was afternoon, now, and my stomach let me know it was
“No, you didn’t,” said the other one.
empty. I paddled slowly from the mangrove islands back to the
“I did! And it was big, too.” The egrets were very stupid. They spent so much time
mainland, where mud rose out of the water and turned to grass. Then I rested on the bo om a foot or so from shore.
talking that they ran out of interesting things to say. “Do you hear that?” another egret said. “No, what?” “Shut up, now I can’t hear the noise anymore!” “Maybe it was nothing.” One egret turned around, edged a few steps in the other direction, and in a moment all the other egrets followed. Their white backs blended one to another like the scales on a fish.
Dropped mangrove branches lay on the surface of the water in feeble imitation of me. They’d do be er if they learned to just sit still rather than rolling with every ripple. I could hear a rabbit, pausing every few steps to nibble on the grass, singing with its mouth full. “The sun is green and the grass is blue,” the rabbit sang. “The sky is yellow and the water too.” Another hop, the sound of grass crunching. Water lapping.
I spent most of the day fermenting in the mud, drifting back My toes curled into the mud. to the surface as slowly as the spring overturn of pond water. Most “I love my ma’, I love my dad. When the sun is shining there ain’t animals were the same way. Egrets could fly quickly when they
nothing bad.”
wanted to, and they sometimes did, but most of the day they stood
22
It was my nature to be still for most of the day, but I could move fast when I wanted to. I could scrabble out of the water and snap my jaws shut before a rabbit had time to blink. The song ended. I had swallowed it whole. The sun sank
to take, but I did not move towards it. I was not hungry. Instead, still at the bo om of the river, I closed my eyes again. Mrs. M would have mourned for me if it had been me. But I couldn’t. There was nothing I could do for her calf, not even
behind gray rainclouds, wind piled up ripples on the surface, and I summon an ounce of sympathy. I was a creature of violence. drifted down. My thick skull contained nothing now but anger, simmering The voices of Mrs. M. and her calf penetrated my torpor,
beneath drowsiness. This was my nature. Bursts of speed between
and then the chainsaw roar of a boat, humans who had no use for
long stretches of inertia. But my acquaintance with Mrs. M. had
rain.
built up slowly, like the oyster-shell islands, and it dawned on me that it was important. I had to mourn her, but not like a manatee
“I know it’s almost your birthday,” Mrs. M was saying, her voice quavering through the water and my half-sleep. The boat
would. Like an alligator. Violently.
was ge ing closer. “Mama,” said the calf, and then faster, more urgent.
Humans killed fast, and constantly, but I was be er at waiting. And sooner or later, they’d wander too close to the shore.
“Mama!” Presumably the shadow of a manatee and her calf were not so visible with the water opaque and the sun hidden. A scream. Blood in the water, the smell excited me. I killed things too quickly to hear them scream, but not humans, not this knife-boat slicing through thick skin and fat. The calf screamed too as its mother’s body rolled over on the surface and spread slick blood. I could see the shadow of it against the sunlight. The calf, now unguarded, was small enough for me
23
BOX WOMAN Allison Co rell The box arrived, and I opened it to find a hand, my hand, and I waited a few weeks for the next one, because the note, in its box-le er writing, said there would be a next one, and it came, the other box, taped up tight and shut from light, with another hand,
Hotel in Strbske Pleso | George Kosinski 24
and few weeks by few weeks, I built a person, I built my person, a li le buddy, (the same size as me, but thinking of her as li le, was reassuring to my stupid, li le, brain) but my li le buddy with the brown-green eyes and the muscular thighs stands in the living room, where I built her, and as I move around to make my morning coffee,
I watch her watching me, because that is how I set her up and she can’t move, no ma er how much I fear she can, no ma er how much I learn she can’t, but I won’t move her, and I can’t return her, and sometimes at night, in the dark, and sometimes at day, in the light, I wonder if she really looks like me, or if she’s someone else,
25
because I can’t look in the mirror anymore, not when she’s here, and I wonder if I am really me or her, or if she is really me, or her, and where the line is in between, and where the boxes went, if I took them out to the recycling yet, or if they ever came, really, to begin with, or if she just, one day, appeared.
26
★☆☆☆☆ Steven Saada I gave you my heart
“Could I offer you the tenderloin instead?
On a pla er
A free dessert?”
You raised your fork and knife Napkin tucked into your collar
You went home dissatisfied And wrote a scathing review of me
Like a bib
On Yelp:
You cut off a small piece Of my left ventricle
One star. Heart was rare. Chewy. Tasteless. The waiter was rude. NOT going back.
Chewed Swallowed Licked my blood from your lip And said, “I ordered medium rare. This thing’s practically bleeding.” You sent it back to the kitchen Demanded another But we were all out of hearts to give
27
A Homage to Our Unofficial Mascot Sabrina Tang Henry | Shabana Gupta 28
It was a cold and blustery afternoon, and the clouds over Grinnell, Iowa formed a pale gray canopy overhead. Formerly blazing brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow, the leaves had begun to drop off the trees and form a crackly brown carpet on the ground. At this time of year, the campus usually bustled with
leaves drifting across the ground. She walked a li le faster, crunching the leaves under her shoes. The feeling of being watched didn’t dissipate. She hastened more until she was powerwalking as fast as she could, stuffing one hand deep into her coat pocket to keep it warm. The bag of
activity, but now it was rather deserted, the only movements being groceries swung back and forth as she hurried on. leaves swirling in the wind and the occasional student hurrying
She felt a sudden, sharp impact against her back, followed
across campus. The sidewalk in front of the JRC was likewise quite empty,
by a loud ripping sound. Le ing out an involuntary shriek, she whirled around, swinging the grocery bag hard. It passed through
except for a solitary student shuffling past the bike racks, bundled
the empty air and hit her leg. No one was there.
up with parka and scarf. In one hand she held a bag of groceries, and with the other, she adjusted the scarf wound around her nose
“Hey, stop it!” she yelled, but no response came. Only the whistling of the wind. The student shook her head and booked it
to prevent the wind from nipping at it. She quickened her pace,
back to her room. She didn’t want to think about what had just
picturing the warm mug of hot chocolate she would soon be
happened. When she took off her coat and hung it up, she noticed
sipping in her room. Another few blocks to go, and she’d be at her destination. She’d decided to take the long way around campus to
a ragged line of ripped cloth down the back. Huh. Maybe I just snagged it on a tree branch.
enjoy the fresh air, but that fresh air had turned out to be very cold. As the student passed Lazier Hall, a chill shot down her spine. She was accosted with the feeling of eyes boring into the
Content with that explanation, she reached for her grocery bag to pull out the box of hot chocolate mix she had bought. But it wasn’t there. The rest of her groceries were still there, but the hot chocolate was gone.
back of her head. Clutching the groceries a li le tighter in her
Great. Just great.
hand, she risked a glance behind her. No one. Just a few desiccated
Se ling for tea instead, the student sat down at her desk to 29
study for her finals. She put in some earbuds to drown out the tree
She put away her phone and tried to draw another mechanism.
branches rustling outside her window, not noticing the pairs of
The curly arrows seemed to swim to and fro before her tired eyes.
beady eyes peering at her from outside. As she flipped her
She picked up the cyclohexane she had built and tried to rotate it;
textbook open and started scanning the pages, they blinked, disappointed, and disappeared.
one of the bonds snapped off. Ugh. She needed a break. The room’s walls seemed to press in on her, and the cold air seeping in through the window felt nice. Should she go for a walk
A few days later, finals were looming, and the student was hunched over at her desk, fiddling with her chemistry model kit. She’d spent all afternoon drawing mechanisms and reviewing
again? After what had happened the other day, she was a li le wary. But maybe if she just stepped outside for a bit, she’d be okay. Just a few minutes.
nomenclature and needed a break. The air in her room was stale
The fresh air was rejuvenating. Standing outside and taking
and stuffy, so she cracked open the nearest window. She picked up her phone and went on Facebook for a li le
it in, she thought she’d be ready to do another few mechanisms. After a few deep breaths, she turned back around to go inside but
break; there wasn’t much activity. The only new post in the
saw her neighbor si ing outside on the porch reading a book.
Grinnell students’ group was a picture of someone’s empty front
They looked up and waved.
porch. Looking closer, she realized it was her neighbor’s.
“I saw your post,” the student called. “Sorry about your pumpkin.”
“I seriously just carved a pumpkin ten minutes ago and set it out here and it’s gone. If you stole my pumpkin NOT FUNNY and I will track you down.”
“Thanks. It was seriously epic, had this badass whale eating my professor on it,” her neighbor called back. “That’s why I’m si ing out here. I’m on the lookout for whoever poached my pumpkin.”
The student wondered who on earth would spend time stealing someone’s pumpkin when there were finals to study for.
“Any evidence?” “Well, as it happens, the culprit left this behind.” Reaching 30
behind them, the neighbor held out a chunk of pumpkin, with the
“Squirrels!”
stem a ached. “They left the lid of the pumpkin, but not the rest.”
“Squirrels don’t do that!”
“Huh.” Ge ing as close as possible, the student stared at it. “That’s odd.” “Yeah.” “Are those...teeth marks?”
“Grinnell squirrels have always been a bit strange.” The neighbor rooted around in their mouth with a finger, pulling out a chunk of fur. “They must be hungry, they’re not normally that aggressive.”
The neighbor turned around the pumpkin chunk to examine the row of indentations along its side. “I guess they are.” “Would someone just come along and...eat your pumpkin?”
“Oh.” Suddenly it clicked. “There aren’t nearly as many students around. They’re missing out on the a ention, not to mention the Dhall scraps, that we usually give them.”
“I mean, stranger things have happened.” Suddenly, the leaves rustled in the yard. The student’s eyes were drawn to a quick movement on the porch railing behind her
“That must be it.” She remembered the other day. “They followed me home from the store! And took my hot chocolate.”
neighbor. She yelled, “Look out!” A wave of squirrels, tumbling over each other in their fervor, washed over the porch and surged over her neighbor’s shoulders, instantly ripping the piece of pumpkin from their
“Probably best to not walk around with food, then,” her neighbor said. “Or have it si ing outside your house.” “Yeah. Well, I’d be er get back to finals. Nice talking to you.”
hands. They let out a surprised squawk and jumped up, ba ing
“Bye. Don’t get a acked by squirrels!”
away the squirrels as the student backed up to let the squirrels scurry by. The horde was gone down the street in a flash of bushy
“Ha, ha. I won’t.” She was unlocking the door to her room when she heard a
tails, as fast as it had come. “What the heck was that?” the neighbor spu ered. “I think I
faint rustling behind it. The pi er-pa ering of several tiny paws across the floor. A shock of terror rooted her feet to the ground.
have fur in my mouth! Ew!” 31
How could they have go en in? And then she remembered how she had opened the window to let in the fresh air. Time slowed to a stop and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. She had to know. So she turned the key, fingers trembling, and opened the door. Her belongings were sca ered all across the floor, shredded into bits by tiny teeth and claws. The squirrels, on her bed and floor and desk, stopped in unison and turned to look at her, fixing her with their beady red eyes.
meathead | Marnie Monogue 32
"Mind If I Sit Here?" Zainab Thompson "Mind if I sit here?" Umi looks up. The intricate pa erns braided into the side of his
“Sorry, li le buddy,” she says. The student slides into the seat across from her, watching curiously as Umi plucks the flower from
head are familiar; she’s seen him around campus a few times. They’ve never actually met up close, though, and it’s only now
her palm and drops it in her mug of water. Satisfied, the hummingbird perches on the rim of the mug and shoves its head
that she realizes his eyes are just slightly glowing pools of pale
back into the petals. Sounds of people talking and laughing and
yellow. He lacks irises or pupils.
cla ering silverware against plates momentarily fill the silence
Oh. Wait. He said something. “Eyes!” she blurts. She winces at his look of confusion. “Um, I mean— sure!” Umi had tensed up in her nervousness, and her fist had clenched around the petunia she’d been offering to her hummingbird companion. The bird pecks at her finger, dislodging
between them. Umi absorbs the severed base of the petunia back into her hand. “Friend of yours?” he asks, seeming bemused. “Oh! No. It showed up a few minutes ago. It gave me this weird cookie thing and then stared at me until I ate it. I made the flower as a thank you.”
a small clump of soil as it chi ers in angry protest at her lapse in
“A ‘weird cookie thing’?” he echoes.
a ention.
“Yeah! It was so bizarre.” She momentarily scans the discarded
33
napkins and crumbled notecards she’d accumulated over the past few hours, plucking the tiny brown drawstring bag from where it
She shrugs. “It’s nice enough. Kinda overwhelming, though. I normally sit by myself at lunch to try and recuperate.”
lies half-hidden under a part of her textbook. “Dropped it right on
“Oh. Sorry about that. Do you want me to leave?”
my book. The cookie was good though. It had a nice filling.” “That is bizarre,” he murmurs. They watch the bird for another
“No, no, it’s okay! You’re fine.” “Hmm. Do you mean to say I’m underwhelming?”
moment. It’s a strange li le thing; it wears a harness made of what
“No! I—” He’s grinning. He’s joking. She hadn’t offended him,
looks like interwoven pine needles. She’s no expert, but its wings
she’s just slow on the uptake. She grins back. “Honestly? Yeah.
are tipped with an orange that looks a bit too bright to be natural. The same orange color is streaked over a small section of the pine
I’ve played frisbee with minotaurs, hung out with the Animal Welcoming Commi ee, and accidentally fallen into a portal to the
needles over its left shoulder joint. Maybe it’s someone’s familiar,
ephemeral plane, all in this first week. You’re gonna need to step
or a class project or something. Hopefully its owner isn’t too worried.
up your game to earn the ‘overwhelming’ title.” “Animal Welcoming Commi ee? What even is that?”
The student refocuses on Umi, smiling. “Well. I’m Miah! I keep seeing you around, so I thought I’d say hi.”
“Oh, that’s just my name for the animals that keep showing up around me,” she says, shrugging. At his puzzled expression, she
“Umi.” “Nice. What year are you?”
elaborates. “Like this li le bugger here, I mean. And yesterday, when a weird squirrel buried a nut or something in my head on
“I’m a first-year. You?”
my way to calc. Took forever to get it out. Or the other night, when
“Third. You’re a first-year?” His tone is disbelieving. It’s not an unusual reaction. People have told her her entire life that she looks older than she is. It’s kinda hard to pin an age on soil, after all. “I… um. Wow. Welcome! How are you liking the college experience so far?”
I woke up with a racoon on my face. Sometimes they get kind of annoying, but…” She trails off. His smile is gone now. Oh no. Did she say something wrong? “What?” she asks. 34
“That, um. That doesn’t sound like much of a welcoming commi ee.” “They didn’t do that to you when you were a first-year?”
much mica and clay in the grounds on the rest of campus, and I haven’t been able to find another place that works.” He’s quiet for a long moment. The hummingbird finally loses
He shakes his head slowly. He purses his lips and stares at the table. After a moment, he speaks in a subdued voice, nodding at
interest in the flower, fli ing up in starts and starts to land on Miah’s shoulder. It pecks at his cheek. Weird. Does it know him?
her relatively plain plate of fries and a half-finished veggie burger.
Either way, he ignores it and says:
“You’re human?”
“…I can probably help out with the Ri er situation.”
“Well. Not entirely, no. I just eat when I have to, and I really like fries.”
— The target was supposed to be dead several minutes ago, which
“When do you have to?” “I, um. I just… don’t need to eat much.” She pauses, unsure what about her complicated nutrient intake situation is too much information. “Not hungry or something?” Whelp. He asked. “I don’t really need, like. Food. Normally, I just bury myself underground for a few hours and then I’m set for
means she’s impervious to the venom. Great. She’s just grown a flower from her hand and that traitorous bird Halle is feeding from it like some sort of glu on. Ugh. Over a dozen animal operatives, a dozen plans, wasted on a target who has proven frustratingly difficult to take down. Fine, then. He’ll do it himself. First, however, he needs more information. Time to do some cha ing.
a week or so. I just haven’t been able to find a place on campus
“Mind if I sit here?”
where the soil, um… agrees with me.” He blinks, brow furrowed. She continues.
“Eyes!” she says. What? Alright, so she’s a strange one then. Great.
“I mean the composition of what’s in the ground. Ri er Forest seemed like a good bet, but I tried it a li le bit ago and I think I ended up pissing off something that lives in the trees. There’s too
She grimaces, before adding, “Um— I mean. Sure.” He slides into the seat across from her. Up close like this, her physiology is a curiosity. She doesn’t seem to have skin or fur. The 35
surface of her body instead resembles freshly-turned earth. Mushrooms sprouting from her head vary in size and color and
filling.” “That is bizarre.” The quickest-acting poison he knows,
shift slightly as she moves. Her voice is a deep, gentle rumble.
reduced to a ‘weird cookie thing.’ With a nice filling. Unbelievable.
Overall, she seems relatively benign. It would be comforting if he didn’t know the kind of sacrilegious criminal she is. Who else
What is she? For the sake of keeping up appearances, Jeremiah continues.
would dare commit so heinous an act as breaking the surface of
“Well. I’m Miah! I keep seeing you around, so I thought I’d say hi.”
protected ground?
“Umi.”
He turns his a ention to Halle. The li le cretin doesn’t even have the decency to seem contrite. Instead, she pecks at the target’s
“Nice. What year are you?” “I’m a first-year. You?”
finger, knocking loose a small clump of dirt and twi ering.
“Third. You’re a first-year?”
“Sorry, li le buddy,” the target apologizes. She deftly snaps the stem of the base of the flower and drops it into her cup. Halle
He’s spent the past week trying to murder a first-year? This… changes things. He had thought her much, much older. Does she
quickly descends upon it and the rest of the stem sinks into the
even know what she did?
target’s hand. Interesting. “Friend of yours?” he asks pointedly. Halle pays him no mind. “Oh! No. It showed up a few minutes ago. It gave me a weird cookie thing and then stared at me until I ate it. I made the flower as a thank you.” “A ‘weird cookie thing’?” “Yeah! It was so bizarre.” She retrieves the bag and shows it to him. He nods like he hadn’t made Halle deliver it. “Dropped it right on my book. The cookie was good though. It had a nice
The righteous rage at the violation of his peoples’ land fizzles a bit, replaced by common sense. Of course she doesn’t know. Gods, what kind of jerk is he? “I… um. Wow,” he says. “Welcome! How are you liking the college experience so far?” She shrugs. “It’s nice enough. Kinda overwhelming, though. I sit by myself at lunch to try and recuperate.” The implication there is loud enough. “Oh. Sorry about that. Do you want me to leave?” 36
“No, no, it’s okay! You’re fine.”
she'd been fending off the a acks from the animals... and she just
“Hmm. Do you mean to say I’m underwhelming?” He smirks.
thinks they’re as a cutesy welcoming commi ee?
“No! I—” She seems genuinely panicked for a moment, but then seems to realize he’s joking. She grins. “Honestly? Yeah. I’ve played frisbee with minotaurs, hung out with the Animal Welcoming Commi ee, and accidentally fallen into a portal to one of the ephemeral oceans, all in this first week. You’re gonna need to step up your game to earn the ‘overwhelming’ title.” Animal Welcoming Commi ee. Guilt wraps an ugly arm around him. He has a sneaking suspicion he knows what she means. “Animal Welcoming Commi ee? What even is that?” “Oh, that’s just my name for the animals that keep showing up around me, like this li le bugger here.” She gestures at Halle. “And yesterday, when a weird squirrel buried a nut or something in my head on my way to calc. Took forever to get out. Or the other night, when I woke up with a racoon on my face. Sometimes they get
He must have made a face, because she frowns. “What?” she asks. “That, um. That doesn’t sound like much of a welcoming commi ee.” “They didn’t do that to you when you were a first year?” He shakes his head and breaks eye contact. He’s a terrible person. He notes the food on her plate. “You’re human?” “Well. Not entirely, no. I just eat when I have to, and I really like fries.” Oh? “When do you have to?” “I, um. I just… don’t need to eat much.” She falters, seeming unsure if she should continue. “Not hungry or something?” “I don’t really need, like. Food. Normally, I just bury myself
kind of annoying, but…” The squirrel was supposed to drive her mad with a druidic
underground for a few hours and then I’m set for a week or so. I just haven’t been able to find a place on campus where the soil,
neural influencer, and the racoon had been a empting valiantly to
um… agrees with me.”
smother her in her sleep. Despite the guilt, he’s still extremely curious about just what she is. All this time, he thought
His confusion definitely shows on his face this time, because she elaborates. 37
“I mean the composition of what’s in the ground. Ri er Forest seemed like a good bet, but I tried it a li le bit ago and I think I ended up pissing off something that lives in the trees. There’s too much mica and clay in the grounds on the rest of campus, and I haven’t been able to find another place that works.” Jeez. Jeremiah really needs to properly evaluate the elders’ reasons for pu ing hits out on people. In his eyes, her transgression is forgiven, but the hard part will be convincing the others of the same. He’ll have some serious explaining to do. Halle finally returns to his shoulder. Normally this is the part where he rewards her for a job well done with li le head rubs and a vial of nectar, and his hand twitches in muscle memory from having done so hundreds of times. This time, though, he refrains. He’ll take her to the interpreter later to explain what went wrong, but for now: “…I can probably help out with the Ri er situation.”
38
Contributors ALLISON COTTRELL '21 is having nightmares of Styrofoam.
SARAH LICHT '22 is a third-year English/Psychology double major, a writer of poems and short stories, and an avid dreamer
KATIE GOODALL ’23 is a second year from Colorado Springs,
and gamer. When she isn't writing, she can be found ge ing
Colorado. In her free time, she enjoys hiking with her dogs, writing, another cup of coffee, watching bad movies, or playing with her and baking excessive amounts of cookies. She hopes to see
cat Lillith. In the future, she hopes to publish her own poetry
everyone back on campus soon.
collection and, even more hopefully, several novels.
SHABANA GUPTA '22 is a self-taught artist that loves adding
MARNIE MONOGUE '21 is up to date on her vaccinations (but
color to anything and everything. Ze reads and writes fantasy and
still waiting for the one that Dolly Parton made).
dabbles in any art form ze can get zir hands on. MJ OLD '23 is a second year currently a ending Grinnell College ANTHONY KANG '24 is a first year at Grinnell College who
from their home in Virginia, which means their synchronous
intends on majoring in English and Philosophy. He's from
online classes are an hour later than they are for the plebeians in
Centreville, Virginia and enjoys cinema, literature, writing, reading, Iowa. Writing is just one component of a demanding schedule of listening to music, swimming, and bicycling!
thinking about marine life.
GEORGE KOSINSKI '23 is a second year intended English major
SAM RUETER '21 is a Psychology major.
from New Haven, CT. He spends most of his time reading books and cooking, though he does draw sometimes as well. 39
STEVEN SAADA '22 is an old man in disguise who enjoys complaining for sport, cracking his body like a glowstick, bad puns, cats, and chocolate. He is also a founding member of the Yah ee League of America. Sometimes he does art. ALEESHA SHI '22 is a third-year from St. Louis double majoring in studio art and psychology. She loves to paint with watercolors, animate digitally, and make comics. SABRINA TANG '23 can be found staring at squirrels in the grass on her way to Dhall. She hopes they don’t a ack her when she goes back to Grinnell. ZAINAB THOMPSON '22 is currently crafting a world of weirdness and wonder. It is not intentionally a recreation of 2020, but it does feature things like people made of dirt and would-be assassins, which make it pre y uncomfortably close. She hopes the resemblance fades as the world (theoretically) starts to recover from its current state of affairs.
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