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TENEOR VOTIS I am bound to give of myself because I have received

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Editorial Staff

Christine Fink Tara Cooke Eugene M. Szostak Florence McFadden Joseph Forkin Evelyn Ricci Elizabeth Hoffmann Kimberly Laskowski Richard Kupka Jason Fox Advisor & Moderator Thomas Francis Lombardi, Ph.D.

Professor Humanities Department

Special thanks to Mrs. Victoria P. Lombardi for her expert proofreading.

Dr. Lombardi and the Editorial Staff wish to dedicate Folio 20 to Sister Mary Placide Karczewska

Professor Emeritus Humanities Department Holy Family College for HerDedicated Service to the College since 1955 as Chair of the English Department (1955-1986), Archivist (1986-1994), and underwhom Folio was first conceived and published as the College's official literar y publication.

Folio 20 The Folio is a belles-lettres publication of contemporary artistic expresÂ sion. The journal, though student generated, encompasses in words and graphics the combined talent of the Holy Family College ComÂ munity. Submissions, however, are welcome from contributors beyond the College Community and are to be sent to the following address: Folio, Humanities Department, Holy Family College, Grant and Frankford Avenues, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19114.

Gonlenls Adoration ................................................................................................. 6 An Empty Cupboard .............................................................................. 7 Sonnet XXXI ......................................................................................... 12 Crucifixion ............................................................................................. 13 A Ponrait of the Narrator as a Young Neurotic ................................... 14 The Cry ................................................................................................. 17 The day that stood still...remembered till? ........................................ 18 A Long Night ........................................................................................ 20 False Vision ........................................................................................... 24 Not 'Nough Horse Sense ..................................................................... 25 Caskets ................................................................................................... 28 Mon Ami ................................................................................................ 29 Thanksgiving Day ................................................................................ 30 Christmas, 1990 ..................................................................................... 31 Break My Fall (A OneÂ·Act Play) ........................................................ 33

"At ,he name of Jesus every knee should bend."

Adoration Even i:he sun could not hold that sunburst Holding the Body and Blood of Our Lord That casts no shadow across the altar And burns up nothing more than our regrets, Its rays are certainly there for the taking, But that taking requires a little living In order for His eternal presence To fill up our temporary absences. The more we see the rays His dazzling heart glows The less we notice that our paleness shows. -C. Paul Oldroyd

An Empty Cupboard 7:29 p.m. Any minute now, thought Sam. Using her reflection in the store window facing the crowded mall as a mirror, she fought with the uncooperative wisps of her hair. It had become a daily ritual; at 7:00 she would start to fidget, al phabetizing the chocolate bars, color coding the lollipop tree, and count ing the peppermint sticks lining the old-fashioned country store counter. Her palms becoming sweaty, the coins would often stick to her hands and the bills would become moist as she gave change to often impa tient customers. Even Mr. Cooper noticed that his usually calm, cool and yet warm and friendly worker Sam would become nervous, even clumsy, almost like a novice cashier on her first day. At first, he attrib uted her uneasiness to the hectic hustle and bustle of the holiday sea son. However, it took him only a few days to realize that the true cause of Sam's uneasiness was much more than just a few irritable holiday shoppers. In fact, looking at his watch, Mr. Cooper realized that the catalyst for Sam's unusual behavior was about to enter his store, Cooper's Cupboard, momentarily. "How you doin', Sammy?" called Mr. Cooper from the back of his cluttered yet cozy country store. "Okay. Just straightening up the counter," replied Sam cheerfully. "Looks kinda quiet up there. Why don't you take a break now?" offered Mr. Cooper. Panic-stricken, crazed thoughts raced through Sam's mind. Break? Now? I waited three and a half hours for this, the highlight of my mind. And what perfect timing. The store's empty, no complaining custom ers monopolizing my time or kids trying to cut in line. I couldn't miss this for the world, not even for a break. Trying not to sound overly enthusiastic, Sam replied, "Nah, I'm fine. I don't need a break. I think I'll just finish up here and start restocking the gumball and gumdrop cannisters. They're runnin' kinda low." "Sammy, don't be silly, young lady. We all need a break sometime. But, if you don't want to go now, we'll try to make time later," offered Mr. Cooper. Sam smiled, parting her half-bitten lips. Mr. Cooper, kind old Mr. Cooper, were always looking out for Sam as if she was his own. I'll have 7

to remember to get him something special this Christmas, thought Sam. Maybe that canvas fishing hat he's always been talking about, the tan one with the red feather. Or I could get him a foot massager for nights after the long days here at the store. Nah, too modern for Mr. Cooper. He'd rather just stick his feet in a tub of hot water. Well, there's al ways.... · "Hello, Samantha." Sam jumped as if she had been shocked, an electric current run ning through her body. She had heard that voice, that deep, soft voice every night for the past two weeks, yet it always managed to excite the sleeping butterflies lying dormant in her stomach, especially when he called her "Samantha." No one ever called her "Samantha." It was al ways just plain "Sam." But when "Samantha" rolled off his tongue, she was no longer "tom-boy Sam" but "beautiful Samantha." "Oh, hi, Andrew. I...I didn't see you come in," stammered Sam. "Samantha, how many times have I told you! Just call me Andy." "Okay, okay. So, Andy, how ya doin'? How's business at the Sound of Music?" responded Sam, her voice barely a whisper, quivering ever so lightly. "It's unreal tonight. Why is it that everyone waits until the last minute to do their Christmas shopping? If I have to show one more old lady where the rap section is, I think I'll wrap her," Andy jokingly replied. "That bad, huh?" "Bad isn't the word, Samantha. But then again, you should know what I'm talking about. I mean, just look at all the people crowding... " began Andy, sarcasm lacing his words. "Look, don't get smart with me, Andy. You don't know what busy is. For your information, this place was packed just a few minutes ago. And at least I do more than just give customers directions," Sam re torted laughing. "Oh, poor baby. Let's have a pity party, or, better yet, here's my shoulder to cry on," teased Andy. If only you knew, thought Sam. For the past two weeks, Sam had spent virtually every minute of her waking hours thinking about Andrew. When he first entered the store two weeks ago, Sam was immediately attracted to him. However, her initial reaction was simply to stereotype him as conceited and arro gant. Yet, as they began to talk and became friends, Sam was charmed 8

by his gentle voice, keen sense of humor, and his easy attitude. The mere fact that he had always taken the time to talk to Sam, even if he had only a ten minute break from Sound ofMusic, made her feel speÂ cial. Besides, he had never mentioned that he had a girlfriend and seemed to spend all of his time working. Without realizing, Sam had fallen for Andrew, opening her heart to whatever lay ahead. "Well, what can I do for you this evening-the usual?" Sam casually responded, purposely ignoring his last remark. When he first started coming in Cooper's Cupboard, Andrew had bought the usual, a Hershey bar with almonds and a Coke, each night. However, as time passed, Sam began to charge him for just the candy or just the soda until she would not let him pay at all. Sam rationalized this by passing it off as the free snack given by Mr. Cooper to all of his workers. Instead of eating it herself, she just gave it to Andy. "Um, I need to ask you a big favor, Samantha. I'm kinda running low on cash this week, and it's my turn to buy food for my boss, Tim. He treated me last night, and I wanna return the favor. I really hate to ask this, but could you spot me the money tonight, and I'll pay you back tomorrow, sorta like an 1.0.U.?" Andy asked sheepishly, almost cautiously. "Sure, no problem. What's your boss like?" Andy responded now assuredly, "Well, Tim is a pretty flexible guy. I'll get my usual Hershey bar with almonds, and I guess I'll get him a Snickers bar. Oh, and two Cokes and a pack of gum." "That's it?" "Yeah, that should do it. Tim's lucky I'm getting him anything. Listen, thanks again. I mean, most people wouldn't give a person a break like you do. You're really sweet and..." "Hey, don't thank me. Let's just say you owe me one, okay?" "You got it. Listen, I hate to run, Sam, but I have to get back to work before they send a confused old woman after me. Take it easy and try not to work too hard." "You don't have to worry about that. See you tomorrow?" asked Sam, her voice begging, pleading. "Maybe. Thanks again. Bye, Sam," Andy replied indifferently as he walked away, his footsteps clopped against the polished hardwood floor of the store. "Sam. Bye, Sam." T he meaningless words echoed through her mind resoundingly. He had never called her Sam. Not even when he first 9

introduced himself and shook her hand. Yet, here he was or rather there he went with a simple, "Bye, Sam." Dazed, Sam watched Andrew quickly brnsh by Mr. Cooper and enter the mall. She watched his tall shape, his long strides carry him farther from her. Sam was surprised to see him stop abruptly in the middle of the mall. As if in slow motion, Sam saw Andrew raise his arm and hold out the red, white and silver Coke can only to see it taken by a petite, blonde haired girl who, in return, graciously thanked him with a kiss. "Listen, Sammy... Sammy?" Mr. Cooper, very much aware of what had just happened, saw the pain spread across Sammy's face. He wanted to console her, to tell her she deserved much better than Andrew, give her a hug and make everything better. Yet, he knew all he could do was keep her mind off what had just transpired. "Sammy, did you hear me?" "Uh, I'm sorry, Mr. Cooper. Did you say something? I didn't hear you." Sammy responded mechanically. She heard nothing, felt noth ing; she just saw Andrew take the blonde haired girl's hand in his and walk away-in the direction opposite Sound ofMusic. "Sammy, that Christmas tree in the back corner could really use a woman's touch. Why don't you see what you can do, maybe add some candy canes or string more popcorn. I'll watch the front of the store," suggested a comforting Mr. Cooper. Normally, Sam would have jumped at the chance to decorate Cooper's Christmas tree. It was undoubtedly the most beautifully deco rated tree in the mall; the traditional Cooper Christmas tree, with its delicately hand carved and painted wooden figurines, plush crimson velvet, bows, draping popcorn and cranberry garlands, and the rhyth mically blinking soft ivory lights was not only a source of great beauty but of immense pride for Mr. Cooper, who carefully carved each of the ornaments himself. Sam was honored that Mr. Cooper had asked her to contribute to something so valuable to the store and, more impor tantly, to Mr. Cooper himself. But, at the moment, she needed to es cape from the world which now seemed to be closing in around her. She needed to break away. "Sure, Mr. Cooper, but would you mind if I took that break now? I'm a little cold, and I left my sweater in the car. It'll just take me a few minutes to rnn out and get it." "Sammy, take all the time you need. You've been working real hard 10

lately. Give yourself a break. Remember, although I may be your boss, I'm still your friend, even if I am an old fart. Real friends don't take advantage of one another. Now, git outta here, young lady, before I pull out my soapbox." "Thanks, Mr. Cooper. I owe you one," sighed Sam gratefully. "Ah, you don't owe me a thing. Just gimme one helluva of a Christ mas tree-one that'll show up the one in Dresse's Pharmacy. You know, the one with the plastic ornaments and fake beads," \1r. Cooper re plied with a sly grin, almost like a child ready to steal a cookie from the cookie jar. "You got it! Be right back," called Sam. Waving to Mr. Cooper, Sam could not help but smile. He was such a sweet man, always trying to make her laugh. Still, Sam felt as if her world had been turned upside-down. Nausea sweeping over her stom ach, she longed for the cool night air. Though she told Mr. Cooper that she was cold, she needed to get away from the store, from the mall, from the foolish feeling plaguing her. How could I have been so stu pid? thought Sam, How could he use me, lie to me? I mean, I thought we were supposed to be friends?" Tears began to well in Sam's eyes, spilling over silently as she ap proached the very spot where just moments before Andrew and the blonde had stood. Nothing was left but a crumbled piece of paper and a newly fallen teardrop which escaped from Sam's eyes. As her eyes began to focus on the crinkled paper, the tears retreating from the quiz zical looks of shoppers passing by, Sam turned away. The light merry sounds of familiar Christmas carols soothed her pounding head as she continued walking toward the entrance of the mall, toward the cold air, which would numb the growing pain inside her. Amid the blinking of the holiday lights, the laughter of excited teenagers, and the festive nature of Santa's helpers entertaining impatient children waiting to see the jolly man, Sam never looked back, for all that remained was an empty Snickers wrapper and the dried teardrop of a broken heart. -Susan Mercer

Sonnet XX.XI Things were different then; we had asylum. -Blanketed, as we were, in imagesÂ And every man was Lear, shattered. Folly Was our way. And time was indifferent. And though the world entered, it merely passed Through us. So we thought. Unaffected, Never closer to our end, as we fixe,d An eternal stare upon a whitewashed Sin that was collapsing upon us. Then one day, the wheel reversed itself. And we felt the pangs of need. As we Abandoned our encampment of familiar Smoke and decaying beauty, thoughts and Remembrances of once free floating love (Embalmed) turned to rebirth and that sickly, Near vomiting kind of hope that can never Realize itself in the simple minds of the poor. And so, with wonder emaciated And the shabbiness that is human love, We take an uneasy step and peer into Ourselves. And know; reclamation is near. -Joseph Burns

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-Joanne Robus

A Portrait of the Narrator as a Young Neurotic Has anyone else ever lain in bed watching the shadows on the ceiling take on the form of a large black hatchet hovering over your bed? No? I didn't think so. Don't be alarmed. I only did that for about a year or two after I read about a phantom headsman in a comic book. I hardly ever do such things now . How about open closets? Has anyone else ever wedged an abridged copy of Little Women under a closet door to keep it from coming open and letting the bogeyman out? I mean, not recently, but ever? Anyone? I really only did that when I realized that the closet was the only place dark enough for the bogeyman to hide. I don't believe in the bogeyman at all, now. And ifl want to keep the closet door shut tight while I'm trying to sleep, that's, well, perfectly normal. I know no one out there is made even the slightest bit nervous by mirrors, so I won't even ask. Every now and then I would brush my hair in front of the mirror in my parents' room, and I would feel certain that the "figure in black" was creeping up on me. I could see some fleeting thing in the corner of the mirror, but it always disappeared before I turned around. I could never make out its shape, but I knew it was there-seconds before I turned. I thought that others had to see it, but now I know it's just me. Sometimes, I still think I see it, but only late at night when l am tired and very much alone. Maybe the figure in black is really Clarabelle's shadow. Clowns always disturbed me as a child. I didn't trust them. I would wonder: Why do they wear so much make-up.P What are they trying to hide? What if they don't have faces under the paint? I didn't like jack-in-the-boxes, either. They had clowns in them. My stuffed animals were always "looking at me funny." Their eyes never closed and they seemed to follow me around. Dolls bugged me, too . Their eyes would close, but they had such strange expressions on their hard, plastic faces. I could never bring myself to carry them around and call them "babies" as other girls did. You can imagine what I would have felt about a clown doll. The very thought of one is disturbing tc this day. The only thing worse would be a clown ventriloquist's dummy. 14

Dummies have always struck me as being a little like toy zombies. The one thing I really liked as a kid was horror movies on TV. Game shows were boring, comedy shows were goofy, and cartoons were childish, but horror movies-they were exciting. While other kids en joyed "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood," I enjoyed 11The Shock Theatre." Dr. Shock, unlike Mr. Rogers, opened up a real 'Neighborhood of Make Believe" -orie with Frankenstein monsters, werewolves, vampires, and mummies. They were great, beautiful films in that old-time, black and-white-flickering way. The heroines were so realistically pale and frightened (not to mention screaming so admirably well); the heroes were so stoic and brave as they faced nightmarish creatures from be yond the grave, and the monsters were so awfully corny, I simply couldn't resist them. The best movies, hands down, were those that featured the 11 living dead11-those poor, shuffling, radioactive creatures that seemed unstop pable and pathetically stupid. Sure, they ate human brains, but they moved like busted Slinkys down stairs polished with pancake syrup. Whether they emerged from sunken ocean liners that came into con tact with plutonium, or from the local graveyard after an experiment with poison gas, the living dead were a joy to watch. I suppose watching movies about walking corpses and blood-suck ing demons is not the sort of behavior one would recommend for a child who believes her Batman doll is out to get her, but those movies never bothered me at all. I guess I was kind of morbid. When my love of all things creepy reached its height, I was con vinced that I should be a horror movie host. In the middle of summer I had dug out all the spooky Halloween things. I spread a black cloth on a table in the basement and decorated it with fake cobwebs, a plas tic skull, and a number of rubber spiders and bats. My basement (usu ally a place of invisible monsters, unspeakable horrors, and tremen dous angst) transformed into a place of movie monsters, plastic horrors, and fun. I convinced my mom to let me have a candle (if I didn't light it) and also to let me use one of her pots for a witch's cauldron (if I didn't put anything icky in it), but I wanted something special. I wanted a Barbie-doll head. The Barbie-doll head, a plastic head and neck modeled after the likeness of everyone's favorite 11-1/2" blonde, was nearly life-size. The 15

purpose of this thing, as far as I could see, was for little girls to practice putting make-up on it so that they could grow up to be cosmetologists. The idea was to make Barbie "pretty." I wanted to get monster make-up and create "living-dead Barbie." I carefully cut a picture of the Barbie-doll head out of a Sears cata logue and stuck the picture on the refrigerator door to remind my par ents that I "really, really" wanted one for my birthday. I wanted to have her ready for Halloween so that I could display her with the other decorations. I lay awake at night imagining how I would tease her flaxen locks and streak them with gore. My birthday came and went. I received "cowgirl Barbie" and a little horse that she could sit on. Halloween came and went without any dead Barbies, other than the "cowgirl Barbie" that I put in a noose and hanged from the outside railing. All of the Raisinettes in the world could not erase the disappoint ment of that Halloween. I knew that I had to get a Barbie-doll head by Christmas or I would explode. Children, unlike adults, realize the dangers of unfulfilled desire. I felt sure that my unfulfilled desire would culminate in a hem orrhage. Of course, that could have just been my hypochondria. Fearing that my numerous Christmas lists (I made one for each member of my family) would be ignored, I struck out to the local Sal vation Army to see Santa Claus, even though he usually gave me the creeps. I waited in line, alone, standing near dozens of mommies with kiddies, just to see the old guy. Declining to have my picture taken or even to open the offered candy cane, I made my petition. "I want a Barbie-doll head to make into a rotting corpse." I'm pretty sure I gave Santa a good case of the creeps that year. On Christmas Eve, I was a regular bundle of nerves, even more so than usual. I could think of nothing but the "living-dead Barbie," the "decaying flesh Barbie," and "the blood-sucking, demon-infested, foam ing-at-the-mouth, Ken-look-at-me-now-Barbie." I could not sleep for playing with the little tubes and jars that waited for Barbie's pretty puss. Finally, that Christmas morning, I opened up that Barbie-doll-head sized box and took out my prize, ready to mutilate it in any number of ghastly ways. That was the last time it left the box. The eyes didn't close. That bothered me. -Jennifer Drew 16

The Cry I saw him in the bed thumb in mouth in rigid fetal position. Once handsome and vibrant, whose long muscled legs and tight thighs had thrilled and delighted me. He lay in second infancy, body taut, toes and fingers coiled, tight -His green flecked eyes, half-shuttered, suddenly flew open, no sound from dry clenched lips ... but eyes screamed: Save lvle! -Florence McFadden

The day that stood still ...remembered till? On this day that carries within its heartbeat the passing of dreams the solace of desire the revelation of anarchy the will and the spirit of contention although not with bitterness or malice but with constancy and shameÂ lessness here is a time eternal and momentary when the wind sweeps down upon the earth this is when all is everything and everything is all and all is still this is when the heart has no questions but cannot act this is when your eyes close slowly ... as if in disbelief like the final curtain like the evening sun like the wings of a bird returning to perch here the pond is a mirror on a windy day embodied in this supreme silence is the convention of love universal and fleeting it is there only to remind...that it has no allegiance it asks you only to acknowledge its existence and yet you do not know... what it is to answer its call your thoughts are of essence and still your eyes are closed there is nowhere to go shadows are not company but reflections of self

conscience is replaced by argument the rain that falls gives growth only to pools of sorrow that become black holes capped by a dark cold blade of ice but you do not see them so into them you will fall in them faith is lost belief is disillusioned where will you walk where will you hide what answer will you hear in the cradle of night that will give you release from your tears from your fears this... that you can see... is no gift but madness in all that is your universe you are alone even your doubts have left you this convention of love that gives you movement that sustains your existence has by its own caprice left you to fend off the demons to triumph within the spirit to know virtue to be true to yourself to open your eyes for the day has stood still long enough ... -Robert H. Burkhauser

A Long Night We arrived at my grandparents' house full of apprehension. Though my father and I loved them dearly, evenings with my grandparents were a trial. Normally we would visit them alone, but on the night of November 23rd, we brought Edward Gabriel Winston. Edward was my father's best friend, the object of my adoration, and soon to be the co-inhabitant of our apartment. He was to meet my grandparents for the first time-an introduction we had been avoiding for two years. Edward was an intelligent, refined gentleman who hailed from England. And, quite frankly, I was afraid my grandparents would embarrass us. When the front door opened, two pairs of skinny arms wrapped around my body, then around my father. After father wriggled free of grandmother's clutches, he laid a hand on Edward's shoulder. "Edward Winston, these are my parents, Ed and Martha Long." Grandfather whacked Edward's arm. "Pleased to meet ya. You got a good name." He leaned close to Edward, winked at him. "It's mine, ya know." "Yes, Sir." Edward's sky-blue eyes swept to my grandmother, "Mrs. Long, it's a pleasure." Grandmother squinted at him. "Ya got an accent, huh? Southern, is it?" Edward hesitated, glanced at my father. "It's English, Ma," father responded. "Edward 's from England." Grandmother's lips thinned. "That's nice." She surveyed Edward a moment, then extended her hand. "Give me your coat, hon." Edward slipped off his long black silk-lined coat and handed it to my grandmother. She touched the fabric as if ir were some foreign substance, then hung it crookedly on the coat rack. "Nice coat you got here, Eddy. Expensive was it?" Father's eyes widened in horror. "Ma!" Edward cleared his throat to disguise a chuckle and smiled poÂ litely at my grandmother. "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Long." "Roof leaks." She nudged grandfather, who had been gawking at Edward since he removed his coat. "Lead us to the kitchen, old man." In an overexaggerated shuffle, grandfather led us to the small, counÂ try-like kitchen that was scented with cinnamon. We sat down at the 20

table, and grandmother sliced us each a piece of cake and poured us a glass of milk. When she set the glasses on the table, I shot a look of disgust at my father. Milk? Edward was English; he drank only tea! Edward, ever the gentleman, thanked her-though I knew he inwardly shuddered at the thought of milk. Grandmother plopped down, shoved a forkful of cake in her mouth and garbled: "So, Eddy. .. how much do ya make a year?" "Martha, you know how much I make," grandfather growled. Grandmother pinched him. "Not you, dummy. The boy. Well, how much?" Edward set down his fork and asked in return: "How much do you suppose I make?" She shrugged. "Dunno. Judging from your clothes and nifty watch, I'd say a bundle. So?" "Mother..." "Relax, Emory. It's all right," Edward assured his friend. With the slightest glint of mischief in his eyes, Edward told grandmother his yearly income-and caused her to choke on her cake . As grandmother attempted to regain her composure, I tried to think of a way to change the subject. Luckily, her coughing fit had reminded father that she was recovering from bronchitis, and he asked her if her medication was working. She waved her napkin at him. "Nah, I don't take that crap." "But, Ma, the doctor said if you just take the medication he preÂ scribed, your cough would go away. Is swallowing a pill such a timeÂ consuming effort that you'd risk your own life?" Grandmother narrowed her weak eyes on father, as she placed her glasses on her nose. "Emory, is that a mustache? Shave it off. Makes you look scruffy." She shakily lit a cigarette. "No. Medicine makes me sick." "Medicine makes you well. Cigarettes make you sick. And I've had this mustache for five years now." Grandmother pounded her fist on the table . "Thought I told you to shave it off!" "You did, Ma. Every time Meggy and I visit, you tell me to shave it off. But I happen to like it." Grandmother shook her head disapprovingly. "Ever since Marge died, you've let yourself go." Father stiffened. "Ma, Margie only died three years ago. I've had 21

the mustache for five." "Ttt, Ttt. Three years has it been? For three years you've been alone." She pointed a long, boney finger at him. "We've got to find you a woman, a mother for Meggy. She's growing up. Needs a woman's influence." "Grams, I'm fine," I interceded. "Daddy's been great. And Edward helps ..." The heads of both grandparents swiveled to peer at the dignified man seated next to my father. He smiled and modestly said: "I do what I can." Grandfather mumbled something incoherent as my grandmother patted Edward's knee. "That's nice, dear. But," she turned back to me, "in a few years, when you want to talk about boys and," her voice lowÂ ered to a whisper, "s-e-x, and all you have is your daddy and Eddy here... " Grandfather erupted. "Martha! For heaven's sake, Meggy's not yet fifteen!" "I'm sixteen, Grandpa." "Oh, fiddle. Same difference." I locked eyes with my father and mouthed the word "ugh." He gave me the "be patient" look, then made a face at Edward, who masked his amusement by brushing lint off his sleeve. "You know why you haven't found a good woman?" Grandmother asked shrilly. "It's that mustache. Scratches them when you smooch. I oughta know! Your pa had one, and I made him shave it off. Didn't I, Ed?" "Yep," grandfather agreed gruffly. "See! Now you listen to your ma and shave that thing off." "Holy Jesus! Martha, leave the boy alone. It's his own business if he wants to sport a mustache. He could wear a bra-and it still wouldn't be any of our darn business," but even as he spoke, grandfather's head snapped towards father. "But you don't, do ya?" Grandmother pinched him, "Don't ask him that." Father turned puppy-dog eyes on Edward and me and mouthed the word "ugh." He gingerly touched his mustache and looked at us in question. "Keep it, Daddy," I said. "It makes you look dapper." "Dapper, snapper," grandfather said. "Ya know, that's not always such a good thing. Take Ed here-you don't mind if I call you Ed?" 22

"Not at all. In fact, I insist. Emory and Meghan are like family to me, so naturally you and Mrs. Long..." "Good," grandfather interrupted. "Now, I'm gonna say something. I hope it don't rile your temper. It's just a piece of elderly advice." Edward ran a hand through his thick blonde hair. "I'm sure I couldn't take affront to your opinion." Grandfather's mouth twisted. "Hmm. Well, I'll speak so you un derstand. You simply shouldn't dress the way you do. It ain't proper." "It isn't?" Edward's eyes widened as he suppressed a smile. He was always impeccably dressed. For instance, on this night he wore a dove gray tailored suit with a waistline jacket and silk shirt open at the neck to reveal the delicate silver chain he always wore. Edward bowed his head, "I'm terribly ashamed. Please, Mr. Long correct my erroneous ways. How should I embellish my wardrobe?" Grandmother's thin fingers wrapped around Edward's wrists. "No, Eddy, not add to your wardrobe, subtract. You may be a proper English gent, but you're overdressed. Tone it down, or, boy, beware the trouble." "Mother, really," father said. "The only thing Edward will attract are the amorous glances of women." "And men," grandfather blurted. Grandmother glared at him. "Sorry, Martha, but it's true. You're all silk and finery, boy. W hen you walked in tonight, removing that fancy long coat of yours, I half expected to see a cravitch." Edward's brow arched in perplexion. "A what, sir?" "Cravitch," grandfather stated, "Ya know, that fancy neck-thing worn in the olden days." I shook my head. Grandfather was mixing up his words again. An noyed, I mentally screamed at him: Cravat, Grandpa! Cravat! Edward, who normally corrected people's English, only said, "Of course! Forgive my ignorance, Mr. Long." It was going to be a long night. -Tara Cooke

FALSE VISION I lay there next to you, yet it seemed we were continents apart. My heart frozen, broken, drifting somewhere below the arctic. Nothing I could do or say could alter this frontier, everything evaporated into a frozen myth. There once was a time when we stood upon the crystal ship. How delicate her beauty. Our eyes lay upon her skies, and our hands gently warmed the sides of her belly. There we proclaimed, how easy it would be to conquer such distant shores. We spoke of worlds not Columbus nor any of his fleet would ever weave. We were sailors, captains, admirals and pirates charting a new legend upon the seas. Not Melville or his White W hale could overturn this quest. And it was so majestic, there even sat Adam and Eve. Flowers rose from the garden but something else lay within the weeds. Adam gave his blessing, but the Serpent stole his tongue and tangled his words and in a howl uttered. "We shall not be the only humans to fall." I believed it to be fragments of a dream and never thought its nectar would lay beneath my lips, until I woke the next day to view my own wake. I wanted to cry. I wanted mercy, but it had been my hands which lay around my throat. -Eric Rimerman 24

Not 'Nough Horse Sense It was gonna be m 1 first time ridin1 • Bein1 only eleven years old, Ah reckon' Ah 1 d watched one too many Westerns 1 cuz what Ah thought wuz gonna happen, and what actually did, wuz two completely dif'rent thangs. Ah 1 d pictured m 1 self easily mountin1 a horse resemblin 1 the Black Stallion-but brown in color. He'd tower 'bove me wit 1 hi·., sleek, well defined muscles and juttin' bone structure. His hayer1 d be deep brown and glistened wit' the sparkle a1 the sun. His mane and tail,a darker brown, d be brushed so nicely that they'd resemble a fine piece a' silk. M 1 fantasy went on wit 1 me and m1 horse takin1 off wit' unbulievable speed and gallopin 1 through the wooded trails, leaving nuttin b 1 hind but dust and kicked-up pebbles. People'd be gaukin1 at us 'cuz a1 our swift ab1 1 sperienced departure, and m 1 horse and Ah 1d b 1come the best a1 buddies. He'd yield to mah commands like a hand puppet followin 1 the fingers 1 at controlled it. Bullet-the horse's name-and Ah1d jump ova1 anythang that got in our way. Logs and sticka bushes 1d be no match fer us. At the end a 1 the journey, Ah1d dismount Bullet, exchange fare wells wit1 1 im, an1 slowly, yit confadently, walk away-probably inta a sunset. Unfo1tunetly, as anyone coulda guessed, this idear wuz far fetched. In reality, as Ah 1proached the barn, Ah b 1 came mo1 repulsed wit 1 each step. The stench a 1 horse manure sarrounded me as if it'd jus 1 been dumped on m 1 head by a sick-minded pranksta. Fo 1 tunetly, as time went bah, the smell b 1 came less noticeable as Ah grew mo1 'cus tom to it. There wuz no tumbleweeds, 0 1 rough and tough cowboys chewin' on tobacca and spittin' it wherevar they wanted ta. Knee-ha' piles a 1 manure and a dozen stray cats and ki'ens seemed ta be the mos1 prev'lent charactristics a' this barn. Afta1 waitin 1 impatiently fer 1 bout twenty minutes-a short eturnity a woman called mah name. Ah glanced back at m 1 maw ta reassure her that Ah'd be a 1 right, an' inosied on up to the cowgirl. She 1 uz wearin' blue jeans 1 at wuz so tight, she-could not've possibly gotten' inta 1 em wit'out the aid of a large shoehorn an1 some grease. Her blonde matted hayer looked like it hadn't been warshed in weeks, which wuz egzakly the way it smelled. Afta' closely inspectin 1 me, she assed if Ah'd eva 1 ridden b'fore. Ah 'uz about ta make one a 1 the bigges1 mistakes a1 mah 1

life; Ah 'uz about ta lie. "Of course," Ah said. Ah told 'er Ah'd been ridin' since the ripe ole age a' eight. Ah even backed it up wit' the name of a difrent farm Ah knew 'bout. Afta' she'd heard all she wanted ta hear, the cowgirl went inta the barn and reappeared wit' the mos' hideous creature Ah'd eva' seen in all mah eleven years. The horse she'd chosen fer meh looked like, in the baseball game a' life, he'd been benched. The only thang that jutted on him wuz 'is oversized belly. His mane wuz tangled from the caked-on mud; so wuz 'is tail. To top this off, he wuz the wrong color. The furst half of 'im wuz black, but the dust and dirt on 'is hayer made 'im look almos' green. The last half of 'im, includin' 'is hine' legs, wuz white wit' brown spots. Afta' seein' 'im, Ah quickly re-emphasized ta the cowgirl that Ah 'uz not a beginner, ta which she replied, "I certanly hope not. Now hop on up." The only part a' m' fantasy which came true wuz theÂˇ way Ah mounted the horse. To mah saprise, Ah jumped up an' landed squarely in the saddle. 'Ti! that moment, Ah'd been afraid that Ah'd jump up an' over the horse, missin' 'im completely an' landin' on the ground nex' to 'im. Feelin' relieved this didn't happen, and much mo' confadent, Ah assed the cowgirl if the horse hadda name. Afta' mumblin' nuttin' but the words "Black Arrow," she gave the horse a smack ta the b'hind an' sent us on our way. I'd prepared m'self fer the ride a' mah life, when Black Arrow d'cided he wanted ta stop at the water trough .. .fer almos' five minutes. When we finely started movin' again, we went so slow that it looked like we wuz movin' backwards. Afta' takin' all I could take, and makin' shur we wuz outta the cowgirl's view, Ah snapped off a stick from a nearbah tree, hopin' that a light whack to Black Arrow's b'hind might git 'im movin' quicker. But as soon as 'e heard the snappin' a' that branch, some'n in him snapped, too. Black Arrow started buckin' 'is hine' legs an' whinnyan' 'is head off. Then 'e took off so quick Ah thought the glue calvalry 'uz afta' us. Ah 'uz holdin' on fer dear life, determined not ta be thrown off, when he started intentionally side-swiping meh inta ev'ry tree and sticka bush 'long the barely-two-foot-wide trail. It wuz at this time Ah b'gan ta re'lize that a hard saddle is the last thang ya' want settin' underneath ya' when ya'r bein' viciously bounced 'round on yer butt. Ah wanted ta jump off, mainly ta appease cert'n beggin' body parts, but we 'uz goin' much too fast. Ah'z too fright'nd ta close m' eyes, fer fear a' bein' clothes-lined by some darin' tree branch. Jus' when suicide seemed m' only choice, Black Arrow finely slowed down 'nough 26

fer me ta brave the jump, and stopped a few feet ahead a' meh. Ah d'cided to 'proach 'im an' try t' establish some kinda rapport. As soon as Ah got close to 'im, though, he bent 'is head 'round ta see whut Ah 'uz doin'. Unfo'tunetly, he took note a' the stick, which wuz' branded ta m' hand durin' the ride a' death, and once again took off. Ah 'uz left alone ta find m' way back ta the barn. Afta' walkin' fer 'bout fifteen minutes, Ah 'uz in view a' the barn足 an' Black Arrow. He'd beaten meh back and wuz prob'ly tellin' eve'yone, includin' 'is accomplices in horseback ridin' terr'ization, 'bout the "expurtise" of 'is las' rider. Not only wuz Ah up ta m' ears in disappoint足 ment, but now Ah had ta face humiliation. Saprisin'ly, the cowgirl only gave meh a smirk an' politely assed me ta return fer 'nother ride. Needless ta say, Ah learned a lessin the hard and-soon to be-painful way. Ah re'lized 'at braggin' 'bout bein' 'sperienced didn' mean Ah'd get a fasta' horse; it meant Ah'd get one 'at wuz stubborn, harda' ta control, an' outraht nasty. The nex' day re足 minded meh again a' mah stupid mistake, as sittin' b'came an impossi足 bility. Now, almos' ten years lata', when Ah ride, Ah tell that cowgirl m' life hist'ry a' horseback ridin'. Altho' Ah still walk bowlegged the nex' day, Ah 'm almos' never disappointed. -Jennifer Rotondo

Caskets In my mind, there was a funeral, Mourning bells, weeping wails. Gentlemen and women, dressed so plainly. The church echoed, eulogies of fond farewell In hope that the dead . Would receive them. Hymns of highest caliber resounded. The cleric made way around the coffins Anointing each one, with incense, Sweet, but bitter perfume for sleep Honored, blessed with holy vapors. The dead were ready to die. Thoughts, not people, I put in caskets Seeking to bury memories. From many lives they came. I loved them all Finding fortunes of friendship, But, as fate would have it, Life made changes And friendship fell fatal to the ground. Though I respect the dead, it is not easy To forget, that I exhume them Whenever I visit their graves. -Eugene M. Szostak

The two sat together in the cramped coffee shop. Her eyes passed over the many pictures on the wall. Every picture was of-of all thingsÂ of trains. Trains in motion, trains with steam chugging out from them; iron volcanoes, belching black smoke. They looked as if they were in a hurry. Very impersonal, she thought. I don't see any beauty in them at all. "Well, what do you think?" asked the young man in the bright green sweater. She stared into the murky chocolate depths of her drink. She stirred the cream into the drink, creating her own mini milky universe. "I mean, it's a good job," he said. "I'd be out of my mind not to take it." She nodded her head stupidly--like one of those cheap plastic dogs that wagged its cheap plastic head up and down endlessly. "I'm not even sure I've got it yet. They just sent this letter--canvas letters, they're called-- and it's just to see if you'd do it and if they'd even want you," he explained. "When would you leave?" she asked. He said as soon as he heard from them. "I mean as soon as I could get it together and get up there." She nodded, "Yeah, upstate New York is pretty far away." He said, "Actually, it's only a six-hour drive." She dismissed his words with a wave of her mittened fingers. "Six, seven, eight." He put his cup of coffee down too hard, and the cup clattered in its saucer. "When I said six, I meant six," he whispered in the way that someone pets a cat which has begun to get its fur up. She began to blow swirls into her cup, cooling the drink off. "Well, it gets pretty cold up there, I imagine." He said that it did. "It's only two hours from Canada." "Canada!" she smiled. He gave a high wild laugh. His eyes were large and shining. ToÂ gether they reminisced over last year's trip there. He had her smiling again. She wagged her head back and forth. "Canada," she repeated. "Mon ami, Canada!" -Catherine Walter 29

Thanksgiving Day I braked for a buggy on Thanksgiving Day Over the river and thro11gh the woods To mother's ho11se we go -I stopped, stopped behind a friendly Lancastrian freak, perhaps shoes pointed up, Travelling backward, a quaint spidery box. His ten-mile life my life, His coach-trail my lifeline. His clip-clop my computer-strike! Deliberate. Black hat, long beard. One. Past I could never reach, Held within her grasp--did she know? Did she see? Did she care? Oh, what have yott done since you died, mother.ďż˝ The worn traditions: The turkey we were too full to eat, The life we were too poor to share, The memories we are too proud to allow, The time we faced her in the Embellished enclosure, gowned in pink. The fog never lifted Yet to that meetinghouse over the foamy ridge They went with their blue skirts, Gingham skirts and bonnets, faceless lives, The greys, browns, greens- -mottled colours So of earth's hunter's hat. They knew.

In time of rain, the buggy runs, In time of sun it shines, In time of snow In time to come In time, in time, The discordant Ohmmmm ... -Victoria P Lombardi 30

Christmas, 1990 A single star sang in the stillness. Dark the way and weary the travelers hungering. Athirst They knew the road long traveled winding away from all that was familiar, the common task the shared history of small events in ordinary lives now dearer for being absent. Shrouded in hope, a deeper faith was growing, trust that despite appearance they passed beyond the day in providential journeying. On they trod their horizon lowered to manageable distance, their hopes quieted to steady pace. The two held peace until the hour's urgency would not be stayed. And when the way seemed blocked and night no refuge they looked to one another knowing love and goodness and shelter wider than a world. These two held faith against the night. And God was with them.

The animals witnessed the miracled birth choired by angels Trinity reborn that from the two a third, the Wondrous One Mighty God-hero Wonder Counselor King Forever Prince of Peace yet baby less than man and more humanity given itself Jesus.

-Sister Eileen McGovern, C.S.F.N.

Break My Fall A ONE-ACT PLAY By: Richard C. Kupka

CHARACTERS RAYMOND NATHAN NADINE CYNTHIA (O'CONNOR) SCENE 1 SCENE: The scene is a summer park. White lighting signifies mid afternoon. Upstage (length of the stage) stands a wall painted with trees, grass, etc.Sounds of birds and cars passing in the distance.Down stage right is a park bench; downstage center is a drinking fountain. Curtain opens on Raymond. He is seated alone on the park bench, drinking a soda, reading a book. Enter Nathan and Nadine from up stage, from behind the wall. The two walk over to meet Raymond. NATHAN:

Hey, Ray! What are you doing here? I called your house, but your mom said she dropped you off at the library. RAYMOND: (Attempting to hide the book) Oh ... I just, uh ... I just had to get a book out for school and I, um ... came here to read it. NATHAN: School's been over for three weeks now.What are you really reading? (Grabs the book and pulls it away from Raymond)

RAYMOND: (Standing up, becoming angry) Hey! NATHAN: (Reading title of the book aloud, and loudly) HOfID to B"ild Up lour Confidence: Sef.)ffl Easy Methods? RAYMOND: (Reaching for the book, Nathan keeping it from him) Oh, man ... (Whining) Come on, Nate! Give it back! NADINE: Don't be a jerk, Nate. Give him his book. NATHAN: (Looking at Nadine, angry and hurt) You know I'm not trying to be a jerk, Nadine.(He turns to Raymond and hands him his book) You know that, pal. I just hate to see you waste your time reading this garbage.What 33

you need to do is just go out there and climbÂ RAYMOND: (Interrupting) I'm not going to climb up anything! NATHAN: You see? That is exactly what I mean. RAYMOND & NADINE: (Together) What? (Looks at them bothfor a moment in surprise)What I mean NATHAN: is, you're afraid of setting your goals too high. Your fear of heights is keeping you from doing other things. Do you understand what I'm saying? RAYMOND: Yeah, I know what you're saying (Sits back down, hugging the book) ... you're telling me that I'm a wimp. NATHAN: (Loud with anger) That is not what I said! Nadine, did I say that? I didn't hear myself say that! INADINE: (Interrupting) I think you should keep it down a little. (Nathan turns and walks a few feet away, angry) Look, Ray, I know you don't want to hear this, but ... Nathan could be right about this.(Raymond looks down) Kind of.Don't you think? RAYMOND: (Still looking down, mumbling) Oh, great! Now you, too. No, not me, too. Look, all I'm saying is ... maybe for NADINE: once you should take his advice.Just go out and do something.Don't think a whole lot about it.Just pick something, anything you're afraid of, and do it. RAYMOND: (Looking past Nadine, at Nathan) Do you really think he's right, Nadine? He might be ... (She begins to giggle) But I wouldn't NADINE: return that book to the library yet if I were you. RAYMOND: (Smiles) Yeah! I'll probably need a psychology book after listening to the two of you. (The two laugh. Nathan turns to face them)

NATHAN: (Impatiently to Nadine) Well, are you ready? RAYMOND: Where are the two of you off to? The movies.Want to come with us? NADINE: RAYMOND: No. That's okay. I think I'll go off and do something dangerous. (Fakes a smile) (To Raymond) Don't forget what I said, man. I'm NATHAN: serious! (louder) Serious! RAYMOND: Okay, okay.I won't forget. Besides, you won't let me. NATHAN & NADINE: (Together) You know it! (They all laugh) NATHAN: See you later, Ray. NADINE: Good-bye. 34

(Raymond waves good-bye) (Nadine and Nathan walk upstage Lights fade on all but RaymondHe resumes reading; spotlight on him fades out)

SCENE II SCENE: Again, the scene is a summer park. Dim blue lighting signi fies late evening. Upstage (length of stage) stands a wall painted with trees, grass, etc. Sounds of crickets and an occasional passing car in the distance. Downstage right is a blanket; downstage center is a public water fountain; and downstage left is a tall tree. Nathan and Nadine are sitting on the blanket, having a late night picnic. NATHAN: NADINE: NATHAN:

NADINE: NATHAN:

NADINE: NATHAN: NADINE: NATHAN: NADINE: NATHAN:

You know, Nadine, I really worry about Ray sometimes. He makes me so mad, though! Once in a while I could (lnterrupting) I know; I know. But he1 s afraid. He's been afraid since I've known him. Oh, yeah? Well, when we were little, he was never afraid of heights.He and I used to always climb that big old tree over there. (Points to the tree) Now he's afraid to even climb a flight of stairs. I don't know. Maybe I do over-react sometimes, but(Interrupting) Sometimes? All right, a lot of times. Anyway, I only do it because I want him to get over this stupid fear of his! He uses it as an excuse for everything. I mean, last year, in gym class, he refused to climb the rope. He would rather take an F for the class than climb the rope. Doesn't that tell you something? No, should it? Tell me again. How did it happen? How did he fall? (Disgusted) Oh, Nadine! That was almost ten years ago. I1 ve told you the story twenty times already. You did not tell me twenty times! Besides, maybe if we think about what happened that day, it will help us to help Raymond. (Disgusted) All right! The two of us were about, I don't know ...six or seven years old.We were both in first grade, I know that much. 35

NADINE: NATHAN:

NADINE: NATHAN: NADINE: NATHAN: NADINE: NATHAN: NADINE:

NATHAN: NADINE: NATHAN:

Yeah, go on. Anyway, we were in my back yard, playing catch. I threw the ball too high, and it got stuck up in my tree. Well, being the kind of kid that he was, he climbed right up the tree, and just before he could reach the ball, he stepped on a dead branch, and it cracked. The rest is history. Come on! I know there's more to it than that. You told me before. Tell me now. Please? For Ray? For me? Okay, okay. So anyway, the branch broke off, and he fell to the ground and broke his leg. His mom wouldn't let him talk to me for a month. (He laughs) She still doesn't like me. (Becoming serious again) Ever since then, though. Ever since then he hasn't climbed anything more than two feet off the ground. (Inspired) That's it! What's it? He's got to get his two feet off the ground, and I know how to make him do it, too. (Excited) How? Tell me! Think about it. Who would Ray do just about anything in this world for? Who does he want to impress most of anybody we know? Me. But what does that have to do with anything? No. Not you. Think harder. Who does he always talk about? She's in our biology class. (He looks at her blankly) Here's another clue. He always says that he wants to ask her out, but he's too afraid she'll say no. (Enlightened) Oh! Cynthia O'Connor! Wow, but how are we going to get her to notice Raymond? Just leave that to me. God, I love it when you take charge of a situation. (Leans over, kisses Nadine) (Lights fade to black)

SCENE III

SCENE: The scene is a living room; curtain is closed on the back wall upstage. Lighting is dim and white, signifying indoors, daytime. A sofa sits in the center, in front of it, a coffee table. On the table, two glasses 36

of lemonade with straws in them sit undisturbed.Quietly, an air-condiÂ tioner is whirring in the background, and a television, barely audible from off stage, is playing the evening news. Seated on the sofa are Nadine and Cynthia. CYNTHIA: So, what is it you wanted? NADINE: (Grimacing, slightly embarrassed) Well, I don't know quite how to tell you this, but ...Do you know Ray Peterson? CYNTHIA: Wait a minute, isn't he that cute guy in our biology class? The one who hangs around with your Nate all of the time? NADINE: (Excited) Yeah! Well, I'm his friend, too, and he needs help. I need you to help him out. Please, as a favor to me? CYNTHIA: Well, what kind of help does he need? What can I do for him? NADINE: Um ...Ray has a problem overcoming his shyness. He told me before that he likes you, but he's too shy to ask you to go out with him. CYNTHIA: Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to ask him out? NADINE: Actually, yes, for starters.But there's more to it than that.I'm afraid. CYNTHIA: Look, I'm not that kind of girl! NADINE: No, no, no. Not that much more. It's just that you've got to meet him some place special. In the park. CYNTHIA: Okay. NADINE: Up a tree. CYNTHIA: (Confused) What? NADINE: Please? It's very important! It has to be up in a tree! CYNTHIA: My ... my tree climbing days are over. I haven't climbed a tree since eighth grade. NADINE: But, you're athletic.You run track.You're on the swim team. You can do it, can't you? Please? Pretty Please? CYNTHIA: (Hesitant) Oh ... all right.I'll do it.Only if you tell me why it's got to be up a tree. NADINE: Well, ever since about ten years ago.When Ray was a little boy (Fading off) he was climbing up a tree in Nathan's ... (Lights fade to black)

SCENE IV

SCENE: The scene is a summer park, on stage; the curtain is raised to show the painted wall in the background upstage.Lighting is white to signify mid-afternoon.Sound of chirping birds and passing cars is heard in the distance.Downstage right is a park bench; downstage center is a drinking fountain. Raymond is sitting alone on the bench, drinking a soda, reading his 'self confidence' book. Cynthia enters from behind the wall, walks up to the fountain and takes a drink of water. Raymond sees her and becomes nervous. Cynthia approaches him, and he be gins to fidget. CYNTHIA: RAYMOND: CYNTHIA: RAYMOND: CYNTHIA: RAYMOND: CYNTHIA:

RAYMOND:

Hello, Ray. (Raymond is attempting to hide the cover of his book) So, what's up? (Nervous) Um ... not much. Uh ...how about you? Not much.Do you come here a lot to read? To the park? No.I mean yes! I mean ... It's okay. Don't worry about it.I was wondering, would you like to have, I don't know, maybe have a picnic or lunch or something with me tomorrow? Really? (Nearly choking) I mean, uh ...sure. Why not? Where? What time? I mean, um ... Let's meet here in the park about one o'clock.I'll bring sandwiches.We'll meet by the park fountain, okay? (Ray can only nod in agreement) Okay, bye. (Cynthia exits) I can't believe Cynthia O'Connor asked me out on a date! I've got to get home and call Nate. He'll never believe it! (Raymond jumps up and runs off stage) (Lights fade to black)

SCENE V

SCENE: The scene is a summer park; upstage wall is painted with trees and grass, etc.Downstage right remains empty; downstage cen ter is the park water-fountain; downstage left is a tall oak tree.Lighting is white to signify early afternoon. Cynthia is sitting on a fairly high branch, holding a basket of sandwiches.Birds are singing and cars are passing in the distance. Nathan and Nadine can be seen, peeking from behind the wall upstage. Raymond enters from downstage right, un aware of anyone else's presence on the stage. 38

RAYMOND: CYNTHIA:. RAYMOND: CYNTHIA: RAYMOND:

(Looking around) Cynthia? Are you around? (Yelling, to be heard) I'm up here! In the tree! (Horrified) In the tree? (Looking up) What the ... ? Up here! Come on up! I've got our sandwiches. (Nervous, voice shaking) Um ... can't we eat on the ground? I'm not dressed to climb trees. CYNTHIA: Don't be a baby! Besides, the view from up here is great! I want this lunch to be special. RAYMOND: (Aside) Couldn't it be special on firm ground? (to Cynthia) Urn ... okay. (He begins to feel around the side of the tree) Is there a rope to pull myself up with or something? (Quietly) A safety net maybe? CYNTHIA: I just climbed up. Look, I made it up here carrying a basket of sandwiches. You can do it. CQme on! RAYMOND: (Trembling) Oh, okay.Just let me get a drink of 'Yatt?r. CYNTHIA: I have sodas in my basket.. ;;, RAYMOND: (Aside) Damn it! (Aloud) Okay. (Hefeels aroundtiff �(lft.of the tree for a knot to push hif!lselfup on) I'll be right up! (Raymond closes his eyes, blesses himself and touches his leg up he pushes with his feet, and into the (ree he climbs-Nadine and Nathan disappear behind the wali) (Cynthia extends a hand to pull Raymond up) (Lights fade to black; curtains close)

THE END

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CONTRIBUTORS' NOTES Robert H. Burkhouser's poetry appeared in Folio 19. He is currently a stu dent at Holy Family. Joseph Burns' poetry appeared in Folio 19. He is an English Concentrator and a Senior at Holy Family. He was awarded the Von Rosenstiel Schol arship Award for two consecutive years (1992-1993). Tara Cooke is an English Concentrator and a Senior at Holy Family. She was the 1993 recipient of the Von Rosenstiel Scholarship Award. Jennifer Drew's poetry appeared inFolio 18 and Folio 19. She is an English Concentrator and has been recognized by the League of American Penwomen. Richard Kupka is an English Concentrator at Holy Family. He is the recipi ent of the Von Rosenstiel Scholarship Awardfor 1994. Victoria P. Lombardi is a graduate of Holy Family and assists the Folio staff as a proofreader. She was awarded the 1994 Excellence Awardfor Part-time Instruction. Florence McFadden is a Continuing Education student and a member of Folio. Eileen McGovern, C.S.F.N., Ph.D.,is Chair of the Humanities Department. One of her poems was featured in Folio 19. Susan Mercer is a graduate of Holy Family, class of 1993. She currently teaches at Nazareth Grade School, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. C. Paul Oldroyd is a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania and Harvard University. He is a Philadelphia resident. Dora Pruna is a full professor of language and presently teaches part-time in the Language Department. She has contributed graphics to previous issues of Folio. Eric Rimerman studied part-time at Holy Family and resides in Philadel phia. He is a graduate of Temple University. Joanne Rebus is a senior at Holy Family. Her concentration is English Education. Jennifer Rotondo is a graduate of Holy Family, class of 1993. Eugene M. Szostak's poetry appeared in Folio 19. He is an English Con centrator. Catherine Walter is a graduate of Holy Family and is currently enrolled in graduate studies at Beaver College, Glenside, Pennsylvania. 40