Folio 23 by HFU Folio

Special Thanks to all the administrators, faculty, staff, and students who contributed to past and present Folios. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.

The Folio 23 Staff

TENEOR VOTIS

I am bound to give of myself because I have received.

Folio23 The Folio is a bel/es-!ettres publication of contemporary artistic expres sion. The journal, though student generated, encompasses in words and graphics the combined talent of the Holy Family College Com munity. Submissions, however, are welcome from contributors beyond the College Community and may be sent to the following address: Fo/Zo, Humanities Division, Holy Family College, Grant and Frankford Avenues, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19114.

Folio 23 Staff Chief Editorial Assistants Freda M. Terrell Ronald Masciantonio Editorial Staff Michael DiGregorio Joanna Zawila Jon Paul Dauval Chris Tait Christine DiSario-Sablich Kristy Janiszewski Andrea Barth Judith Adams Millie Curley Aileen Tosti Moderator Thomas Francis Lombardi, Ph.D. Profess01; Humanities Division Thanks to Mrs. Victoria P Lombardi, Lecture,; for her valuable input and expert proof. i"eading. Special thanks ro Mrs. Michelle Sos/au, Lecrure,; and rhe Arr studenrs for rheir g raphie contributions.

And, to S,: Johanna Gedaka, SSJ, Ph.D., whose supporr was pivoral in the publication of Folio 23. 2

Seventh Summer ....................................................................................... 4 The Departure ........................................................................................... 8 Iowa Analogy .......................................................................................... 11 Buck Fever .............................................................................................. 12 Write a New Song ................................................................................... 16 Nine Glass Marbles................................................................................. 19 Blind Date ............................................................................................... 20 Addiction................................................................................................. 26 Prismatic Rivers ...................................................................................... 30 In the golden sunlight of day ................................................................... 31 On the Road ............................................................................................ 32 How the Feathers of the Bird Lie by the Ancient Lake .......................... 36 The Dream: Dragon's Flight.................................................................... 37 Something Else........................................................................................ 38 An Artist's Dream ................................................................................... 41 Showdown............................................................................................... 42

Seventh Summer Growin' up in a small town has its mixed blessin's. For instance, everbody knows everbody en everbody's business. I reckon that's O.K. most uh the time, but it sure makes it hard ta go downtown without havin' someone askin', "Does your momma know where you' re goin "7" I had ta answer, "No, ma'am, I didn' ast her, 'cause she da sed no. When I got home, I wuz sent ta my room 'cause my Momma had a phone call tellin' on me. She just couldn' understan' how a five-year-old could be so sneaky (she used a bigger word, but tole me it meant sneaky). Guess I wuz six 'for I knew that bein' sneaky wuz somethin' bad. Sometimes we would hear things like, "Stay 'way from dat ole man. He likes chil'ren too much," only no one ever sed how someone could like chil'ren too much. We listened en stayed 'way from him--at least I did. Later on Lucy didn' come with me when that old man started talkin' ta us in the woods. I went ta tell on her. but nobody wuz home--not even the maid. I don' know what all happened, but that ole man went tajail. After that, my Momma wouldn' let me play in the woods next ta Lucy's house anymore. She sed I had ta stay on my side uh the street. That's when me en Nancy got ta be best frien's. Nancy lived on Main Street 'cross from the railroad tracks, en I lived on Franklin Street 'cross from the school, but it wuz really the same block. There wuz this big ole forest next ta my house, en her house wuz on t'other side. Momma sect it wuz a vacant lot en not a forest, but it sure had a lotta trees ta be called vacant. There wuz one big place where nothin' grew. The dirt wuz real red en had lotsa rocks. Some little bitty square rocks were stacked one on top ov t'other--just like someone put 'em that way on purpose. Me en Nancy wondered if rocks could grow. We thought mebe that wuz how the Grand Canyon started. Then we worried mebe we were gonna have a canyon in our neighborhood, but Nancy's daddy sed that we didn' have ta worry 'bout it. We had ourselves a good time playin' in that lot 'ti) my cousin sed we had ta watch out for snakes. He 'minded us 'bout the lesson everbody got in first grade 'bout treatin' snake bite. He tole us rattlers made a noise if ya got ta close so we could run back t'other way, but copperheads don' have rattles. 4

"There's a lotta copperheads 'round here, so ya'll be careful!" Well, that skeered us pretty good, en we ast him how we'd know there's one round. He sed, "You smell 'em." I wanted ta know, "W hat's they smell like?" I figgered he wuz tryin' ta scare us, en wouldn' be able ta say. "Like fresh cut Q-cummers. You know what that smells like, don'cha?" I didn't want him ta think Iwuz dumb er nuttin' so I nodded, yes. Then me en Nancy went ta my house ta ast what wuz a Q-cummer, en what do they smell like. Momma wuzn' happy that we ast 'bout Q-cummers. She got mad at my cousin for scarin' us, but she made sure we knew what QÂ cummers smelt like en tole us they were "Q-come-bers," not QÂ cummers. Me en Nancy didn't care. We just wanted ta know what they smelt like. That summer wuz so hot that we could make tar balls from the stuff on the road. The coolest place me en Nancy knew ov wuz the basement at my house, but we wouldn' play there. It wuz dark even when we turned the light on, en we always walked inta spider webs. The basement hid some kinda strange lookin' spider that skeered us half-ta-death. Growin' up in North Carolina makes you learn 'bout spiders early on. There's a big, pretty black en yella one we call a writin' spider. Some places in its web were wyte, not clear. Kinda like it tried ta write its A, B, C's, but all it could manage were W's en Z's. My cousin's house had black widda spider 'til Gangy, that's my cousin's grandfather, kilt the spider en burnt the eggs. There's woods spiders, too. Them boogers kin run! We knew ta stay 'way from spiders, but if we got bit, it wouldn' be no worse than a bee sting. We could play with grandaddy long laigs, but this basement spider wuzn' nuttin' we could figger out. We looked real close at dead'ens. Its two front laigs are shorter than the other long ones, so they don' touch the floor 'less it's restin'. That basement spider moves faster than anythin' I ever seen. One chased me en Nancy ta the basement steps, en we just kept rite on arunnin' up the steps en slammed the door shut! Mamma sed we let our 'magination run 'way with us. Daddy 'greed with her 'til we showed him one. Then he sed they were rite strange lookin', en we'd better stay 'way from 'em 'cause they'd prob'bly bite us. He never did try ta kill 'em. He sed there wuz "too many to worry with,"

en they stayed in the basement. One time, over at the playground, Sammy took his shoes off soz he could run faster, en BiJly caught a woods spider, en put it in Sarmny's right shoe. Us little kids tole Sammy (we didn' like Billy 'cause he wuz mean). There musta been tin ah us watchin' en screamin' as Sammy tried ta get that spider outta his shoe. Meanwhile, ole Billy wuz laughin' hizse'f silly-'til he fell over back'ards. Sammy wuz as mad as a cat what got tossed in a crick. He had ta try ta catch that spider by the laig, 'cause when he tried ta dump it outta his shoe--it dicln' dump. Sammy finally got ahold ah that spider's laig en pulled 'em out. The spider bit Sarruny. He stood up en slugged Billy right in the jaw. Billy got mad en tried ta hit Sammy back, but Sarruny punched him in the gut first. Billy doubled over en started runnin' as best he could with Sammy close behind. Us little kids started cheerin' 'cause that meant Billy wouldn' be hittin' us or throwin' rocks at us that day. In August Nancy sed her family wuz gonna move. I ast what that meant, en she 'splained that they were goin' ta a new house; then she started cryin'. Told her that wuz O.K. 'cause even if she moved ta Charlotte we could still visit. She ast me ifl knew where Florida wuz, en I sed I didn'. Her momma hollared that it wuz supper time, en me en Nancy started ta walk back through the vacant lot. This time I would walk her all the way back ta her hous--no more scaredy-cat for snakes. As we were walkin', we heard a strange noise. Nancy sed ta stop en be quiet. The noise happened again, en we knew it wuzn' no rattle snake. We walked on ahead--then we smelt it. It smelt like fresh cut Q-cummers. No breeze wuz blowin', so we knew it hadda be close. We looked at are feet, en all we saw wuz feet en path. "I don' see it," sed Nancy. "Me neither." Still holdin' hands, en without movin' are feet, we crained are necks ta iook at the path behind us. "Do you think it's in back ah us or in front ah us?" Nancy wondered. "We didn' smell it 'fore now, so mebe it's in front ah us." "Do you think it'll bite us if we move?" she asked. "I don' know. We kin run back ta my house. Then you won' be able ta move 'cause you cain't get home." 6

"Yeah!" We ran as fast as we could, en tole my Momma that Nancy couldn' get home 'cause we smelt Q-cummers in the woods. She sed we could walk on Main Street if we stayed on the sidewalk. I'd never gone ta Nancy's house by walkin' on Main Street. I didn' even know what the front ah her house looked like. Momma called Nancy's momma, en sed she would be home direc'ly. We held hands as we walked through backyards 'til we got ta Main Street. We talked 'bout writin' letters en visitin' every week or so--Florida couldn' be that far away. W hen we got ta Nancy's house, I wuz s'prised ta see that she lived where Gangy use 'ta live. We waved good-by en made promises ta visit. W hen I got home, I ast Momma where Florida wt1z. She sed it wuz a long ways off. I ast if we could visit Nancy in Florida in two weeks like we'd promised. Momma tried her best ta 'splain how far 'way Florida wuz, en how we probably never would go there. After crushin' our plans for visits, Momma tried ta stop the tears by sayin' that mebe we would be able ta go. But we didn', en then school started agam. -Judith E. Adams

Drawn by: Lauren Van Dyke Hayes

The Departure The early morning hours approached as two young men walked along the dark path together. The worn out trail wound erratically through the dark woods, eventually leading to a high cliff overlooking the river. Bill, a tall, overweight man, dressed in blue workman's clothes and a light jacket, walked alongside his best friend, John, who wore a long black trench coat and carried the remains of a six pack in his right hand. "You gonna miss this place?" said Bill, tossing an empty can into the stream that flowed along the path. "I guess," said John, quickly tossing Bill the last beer and stuffing the trash into his jacket pocket. "You know," Bill slurred, "it's not gonna be the same without you. Who's gonna keep me straight when you're gone? You know, if it wasn't for you, I'd probably be dead by now. All those fights I seem to get in, all the trouble that follows me. You're the only one who talked me through. What'll I do now?" "You got Sandy. She'll take care of you." "You're kiddin', right? You know the only reason she stays with me is 'cause her parents hate me. I'm her way of gettin' back at 'em for treatin' her so bad. Anyway, no one could replace you." "So when you gonna get outta this place?" said John, chuckling to himself as he deftly jumped over a log. "I'll never get out of here. You were always the smart one, and I was always the dumb jock," answered Bill. "That's not true," John lied. "Anyway, if you didn't get hurt that night, you'd a been gone a long--" "Yeah, well, I did!" Bill interrupted. John looked toward the ground trying his best to look remorseful. He knew better than to bring up that night. "You know, I don't appreciate you always bringin' that up. Gimme a break!" Bill commanded. "We haven't talked about it for almost three months, Bill," John said, now staring straight ahead. "Calm down! We're almost there." 8

"Man, we'll have lots a good times when you come back to visit, huh?" said Bill, breaking the silence. "Sure. Sure, I'll come back," John muttered. "You better! I. . .I know I don't say this stuff often, John, but I...I need you. After all that stuff happened, I mean after I got hurt and all, every person in this damn town turned their back on me----except you." "It'll be O.K., man. Have I ever let you down before?" Bill did not answer as he lifted his hands to his eyes to cover the impending tears. John continued to peer forward, ignoring him. After a minute of silence, the two approached their destination, a small clearing on the edge of a steep cliff where the stream ran into a river. Bill sat down on a large rock near the edge of the forest to collect himself as John walked ahead. John thought of all the things he and his best friend had been through. They had visited this cliff almost every weekend since they had been friends. As John walked to the edge of the cliff, his thoughts floated back to a time before Bill and he were so close. He stared down at the rocks, remembering the name calling and the abuse. Everyone had acted like Bill's friend before that night, but after, he had nothing until John came along. Bill did not laugh, ridicule, or bully John anymore after the injury. "Guess you think I'm pretty dumb?" Bill said, standing again. "I mean breakin' down like that and all." With these words he walked over and stood next to John. He peered down the cliff at the rocks, wondering what his friend stared at so intently. "No, that's perfect! I wouldn't have it any other way," chuckled John, slowly turning his glare toward Bill. "What do you mean by that?" said Bill, still surveying the rocks below, not conscious of John's stare. "I mean, that you would be acting so sappy. You don't care that I'm leaving. You're just scared of being alone, again," said John, still staring at Bill, slowly sliding his hand into his inside jacket pocket. "Why're you saying this stuff?" questioned Bill, turning to face John. 9

"Corne on, man, stop kiddin' around. You really want these to be some of your last words to your best friend?" Bill stammered. "That's exactly what these are, man! These are the last words you' II ever hear," said John as he pulled a 45 caliber pistol from inside his jacket and pointed it at Bill. "Wha--what are you doin', John? Put that away'" Bill pleaded. "Stop telling me what to do' You never cared about me; it was always about you. I oughta blow you sky high right now just for bein' so stupid!" John paused for what seemed like an eternity, then continued, "But I won't." "You won't ? Well, why in the hell would you in the first place? You know I care about you. You're my best friend. Every time I needed you--" "That's right... rne, me, me...that's all you ever think about. What about when I needed someone? What about when I was alone? You didn't 1 isten to me then, when you were a big hot shot jock, did you ? " John thundered, waving the gun tauntingly at Bill. "What are you talkin' about? Is this about high school, man ? Corne on! We were kids. You knew I didn't mean any of that stuff. Didn't you ? " said Bill. "Oh, you meant it alright. But now it's your turn." "What do you mean? Stop talkin' crazy. You won't shoot me!" Bill said, trying more to convince himself than John. "No, you're right," muttered John. "I won't shoot you--" John slowly began examining the gun. He proceeded to point the barrel of the gun to his temple, quietly watching for Bill's reaction. Bill seemed horrified yet relieved the gun was not pointed at him any longer. John waited for Bill to say something, anything out of concern for him. But the only sound was the river slamming on the rocks below. That was it. The decision was made. Without hesitation, John pulled the gun from his head, pointed it at his friend once more, and then flung it over the cliff, silently watching as the pistol disappeared into the blackness below. -Ronald Masciantonio 10

Iowa Analogy Camelot of corn, corn which changed the world. Live cattle now; but not then. "Once upon a time they journeyed on schooners Across the ocean of grass seven feet high." (Or so they say) "Now, see tall grasses-walk through-only $5.00 All afternoon-Yowza, Yowza." Yellow skies, golden corn, maize days, Lemon afternoon, playful jaundice. To counterfeit the West but not yet West. "Some stayed-others went farther: To Minnesota, St. Paul, Bloomington, the Yukon, the moon." Again he saw Jack Falstaff's pudgy face, Both up and down the clouds Later on an ancient ale tray. Mythic communities locked in time: Amana Locked in sameness, largeness, saneness. Cacophony of corn, choking valleys Singular corn planted with no neighbors, No riot in the corn. Neighborhoods of corn-no boundaries. No future but itself: deerdauntingdeer. "You need to park a car and walk to know W hat it was really like," he said. But it wasn't As among crisscrossed corn rows they wove. - Victoria P. Lombardi 11

Buck Fever Dreary eyed men stumbled around the cabin dressing themselves in multiple layers of thick, woolly clothing. Waves of dry heat billowed from the coal stove as Griff prepared breakfast on its surface. The men gathered around the table, ate br�akfast, and told tales of past hunting experiences. Conversations centered around prized deer that they had killed and the unfortunate few that had escaped. As)by men talked about their plans and hopes for the day, Timmy, the newest member of their hunting club, sat aqd listened in astonish)Ilent. Each member of the group offered wotds of wisdom to Timmy as he prepared for his first day of deer hti_ntfng. "Listen up, young Buck," said the eld�st member of the group to his grandson as he prepared for this long awaited day. "The most important thing to remember is to shoot only if you're absolutely positive about your target. We don't need.n� accicl.ents out there." "Yes, Grandpop," replied the boy as he wiped the remnants of sleep from his eyes. The boy ate his breakfast and listened intently to the group of men he had waited twelve years to be with. "Now when you see that buck come walking by, you put your sites just above his shoulder and squeeze the trigger, nice and easy. You don't want to miss like your old man does every year," said Timmy's uncle, as he pattedTirnmy's father on the back. The men finished eating, left the table, and put on their outer garments of fluorescent orange clothing. One by one they removed their rifles from the gun cabinet and walked outside. A look of pride beamed fromTimmy's father's face as he handed a rifle to his son. "Let's go, son. It. won't be dark much longer." Timmy opened the door to the cabin, and the biting cold struck him like a slap in the face. The men wishedTimmy good luck, patted him o,n the back, and headed into the woods.Timmy watched as, one by one, they cocked their rifles and disappeared into the darkness. "Alright, son. Let's go," saidTimmy's father as he loaded his own gun. r

Timmy paused for a second and looked around nervously. When his gaze met his father's, he pointed his rifle at the ground, cocked it, and sent a bullet into the chamber. "Follow close behind and be quiet," whispered Timmy's father as they started off into the woods. Timmy followed right in his father's footsteps. Trying to be as quiet as possible, they gingerly walked through the woods, like the animals they hunted. Every few hundred yards, Timmy's father motioned for Timmy to stop. He pointed at his ears to show Timmy that he might have heard something. After nearly a half an hour of hiking, they anived at the spot they had selected the previous day. Timmy's father brushed aside the leaves around the base of the tree. Timmy leaned up against the tree and whispered to his father. "What are you doing that for?" "This way the deer won't hear us if we move." "Dad, how long 'til it gets light?" "It shouldn't be long now," replied Timmy's father. "Now be quiet. You don't want to spook the deer." "Ok," replied Timmy. The men and the boy stood in complete silence. After standing motionless for some time, Timmy felt the bitter cold penetrate his clothing. "Dad, I'm freezing. What should I do?" "Timmy, you can't move or else the deer will-" Timmy's father stopped in mid-sentence because he heard the rustling of leaves. He motioned for Timmy to look to his left. Timmy also heard the unmistakable sound of walking through the woods. Timmy's heart rate quickened with each step that this animal took. As he prepared to raise his gun, the animal came into clear sight. "Dad, it's a raccoon. I can't believe it. My heart was really pounding," said Timmy excitedly. Timmy's heart rate gradually returned to normal. Soon after daybreak Timmy heard the thundering of rifles in the distance. Several shots followed by silence, then more shots. Each series of shots seemed to get closer. "The deer are on the run! They must be missing them! It sounds 13

like they're coming this way," said Tirmny's father, as he turned in the direction of the shots. Several minutes went by, and the two hunters again heard leaves rustling. Timmy's heart began to increase its rhythm as the animals came closer. Timmy, with his eyes focused on a nearby hedgerow, noticed movement. His father motioned for him to raise his gun. Timmy cautiously raised his gun to his shoulder as a small doe tentatively walked within fifty yards of the two men. A discouraged look overtook Timmy's face as he realized he couldn't shoot a female deer. The doe walked a few more steps, stopped, then turned, and looked back. Timmy knew from countless stories that when a doe turned around a buck was sure to follow. He lowered his cheek to his rifle, eyed up the break in the hedgerow, and waited. A few moments later, a magnificent buck appeared. It walked tall with a muscular build. The sun gleamed off its beautiful coat. Timmy counted the points on its antlers, astonished by the number. Peering down the banel of his rifle, he stared at the biggest deer he had ever seen. Countless pieces of advice floated through his head. He had dreamed of this day many times and knew exactly what to do. Timmy lined up his sights just above the shoulder blade of the trophy buck. His father watched and hoped that his son would make a good shot. Timmy froze like a statue, unable to move. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he couldn't pull the trigger. Time seemed to slow down as he looked at this beautiful creature. Standing there, his heart pounding like a hammer on the head of a nail, Timmy watched as his dream deer slowly walked away. "Timmy, what's wrong? Why didn't you shoot?" asked his father, amazed at what he had just witnessed. Timmy, holding the rifle to his shoulder, still couldn't move. He felt helpless and discouraged. Fighting back tears he looked up at his father. "Dad, I don't know. I, I don't know what happened. I had him in my sights. I just couldn't pull the trigger. That was the biggest buck I've ever seen. It was so pretty. I wanted to shoot it, but I couldn't. What's wrong with me?" Timmy's father sat down at the base of the tree with his son. He looked at his son and could see tears welling up in his eyes. 14

"Timmy, there's nothing wrong with you. Alot of hunters share your sickness." "What sickness? What are you talking about, Dad? I'm not sick," replied Timmy, still visibly shaken by the experience. Timmy's father placed a hand on Timmy's forehead. "I should have known," said his father, shaking his head as if to show his own stupidity. "What? What's wrong?" asked Timmy one more time. "You have the fever, son." A look of shock covered Timmy's face. "What fever? What are you talking about?" said Timmy desperately trying to figure out what his father meant. Timmy's father laughed out loud at the fear he saw in his son's eyes. "Buck fever, son. You got buck fever, and there's nothing you can do about it." -Theodore Qualli

Write a New Song Denis Endicott lay lazily in his bed. A guitar was propped up next to him, and every few minutes he would Jean over and strum a few idle notes. He was trying to write a new song. Some lyrics came to his mind, and he wrote them down on a notepad he kept handy by his bedside. He heard laughter coming from downstairs, so he threw on a shirt and decided to find out what the commotion was about. As Denis entered the kitchen, he felt immediate regret. His father and twin brother, wearing cheery smiles, were seated around the large, round formica table. Kyle looked up when he noticed his brother, and he waved an envelope in Denis' face. "Denis, I've been accepted to Harvard!" he said. Denis slapped Kyle on the back. "That's great, man. I'm real happy for you." Steven studied Denis' face. "What about you? Have you heard from any universities yet?" Denis turned away from his father's intent stare and opened the refrigerator door. Shrugging, he pretended to be looking for someÂ thing to eat. 'Tm sure I'll hear something soon." The truth was Denis had not even sent out any college applications. He did not wantto go to college. He just wanted to write songs and land his band some local club gigs. His father sighed and shook his head. "You'll never make it in college. You're not smart enough." The words bore into Denis' flesh like a knife, although he had heard them many times before. Denis grabbed a can of soda and shut the refrigerator door. He met Kyle's eyes. Kyle quickly averted his gaze and focused his attention on the letter he held tightly in his hand. "After all I tried to do for you, Denis, you still don't get it." Steven continued, "I offered you a job at my law firm. I gave you pamphlets to read on law. Your life's going noÂ where." "Dad," Denis protested, his voice rising in anger, "I don't want to be a lawyer. I think my band is really good. We're checking out clubs, and we're-" Steven rolled his eyes and got up from the chair. "You and that 16

stupid band. That's all you'll ever be. Nothing. Look at Kyle." He wrapped his arm around his other son's shoulders and gave them a squeeze. He'll be at Harvard this fall. I'm proud to call him my son. Why can't you be more like Kyle?" Disappointment dripped from his father's words. Denis watched Steven walk out of the room. Dutifully, Kyle followed, stopping as he reached Denis' side. "For what it's worth, I think you and your band...you're good." Denis stared after his brother. "How would you know," he whisÂ pered. "You never even heard us." That evening Denis took a long walk. He walked for an hour and found himself at Jeff's apartment building. Jeff played the drums in the band. Denis knocked on a door with the number two on it and waited. He could hear loud music. The door swung open and a pretty, petite brunette stood in the doorway. "Denis!" she shouted. "Hey, everyone, Denis is here." She grabbed his hand, and together they pushed their way past dancing bodies. Denis bumped into someone sitting on the floor. The girl was rolling a joint. Denis sank down on a shabby couch. The apartment had only three rooms, and twenty people crowded into the stuffy, smoke-filled living room. Jeff came out of the kitchen, a joint hanging from his thin lips, and two beers in his hand. Jeff passed the joint to a boy standing by the stereo and called out, "Denny!" He handed his friend a beer. Jeff's eyes were clouded. "Glad you came, man." He motioned to his girlfriend, Patsy, and elbowed Denis. Patsy pushed a crude pipe under his nose. Denis leaned up against the wall and smiled. Denis' head felt as though it weighed a ton. The morning light pouring through the window was much too bright. He sat up in bed, not even remembering how or when he got home from Jeff's wild party. He heard a door slam, and Steven marched into Denis' room. "Where the hell were you last night?" Denis rolled out of bed and sat on the edge. He didn't answer his father. "Never mind. I don't care. Look at this mess." Steven beganpick17

ing up Denis' dirty clothes piled high in a corner. "Your brother would never let his room look this disgusting. On top of everything, you're a slob." "Dad," Denis said groggily, "say what you gotta say, then leave me alone." Steven's face tensed, and he sneered at his son. "I'm having a gathering here tonight in honor of your brother's success. You are to be here." Denis buried his face in his hands. "Are you listening to me?" Steven raged. "Pay attention to me. I want you to come, and don't you even think about embarrassing me or your brother tonight. I've invited some prominent people. There's going to be a catering service coming around one o'clock, and the orchestra will be here at two." "Dad," Denis said, getting up from the bed, "why did you hire an orchestra? The guys and I will play. It'll be cheaper. Kyle will love it. Besides the drums, Jeff plays the trumpet, and Billy, he's practically Mozart when he gets on the piano. I can"Yeah! "Steven's eyes widened. "And you can play the guitar!" "Right! You'll let me do that for Kyle?" Denis asked, a tentative smile emerging on his face. "Are you kidding me?"Steven gave his son a smirk, then turned and strode out of the room. -JoannaZawila

Draw11 by.-Tra11g Phuong Nguyen

Nine Glass Marbles 9 glass marbles on a roll but the third one's always out of sync out of sorts underfoot glass is too fragile to leave on the floor and yet we do and yet we always do. the illogical spheres roll on and on always unthinking always imperfect 9 crazy globesbut the third one's insane. Cronus ate his children until one son overthrew him. Aphrodite and Ares are the warring lovers. Morn is caught in the middle again. Mother may I kill your creatures? Hades can't wait until they're all dead. and I just keep thinking of the 9 glass marbles on a roll but the third one's always out of sync out of sorts underfoot and yet we wonder why and yet we always wonder why. -Freda M. Terrell 19

Blind Date Julie had been starir.ig at her reflection in the mirror for nearly ten minutes when her sister slammed open her bedroom door and pulled her 1rorn her trance. ·'Hey. are you goin' out tonight ? " asked Heather wnen she noticed the clothes strewn around her usually neat sister's room. ··1 have a elate," Julie responded unemotionally. "Don't sound so excited," Heather teased. "So, who is he? Where'd ya meet him '7·· she questioned as she made herself comfortable on her sister"s bed. Julie turned away from the mirror and faced her slightly younger sibling. "It's a blind date," she sighed. "My friend Lisa and her boyfriend called last week and talked me into goin' out with this friend of his. I don't know why I let them do this to me. I don't wanna meet anyone. I don't even wanna go out." "I think a night out is exactly what you need," Heather replied. "You've barely gone out since you and Rob broke up. It's been four months. You're only twenty years old. It's time to get on with your life. even if it is a blind date." Julie, still unconvinced, looked at her sister as she pulled on a pair of jeans and tight black sweater. "I have gotten on with my life just fine, thank you. I"ve been too busy with school and work lately to worry about my social life." Julie sat back down in front of her mirror and began carefully applying her make-up. "You're gettin' fixed up awful purty for someone you don't want to meet." Heather teased. "Are you sure you're not the teensiest bit excited?'' Julie returned all of the cosmetics to their rightful positions and turned to face her sister once more. "Maybe a little," she finally admitted. 'Tm mostly nervous, though. What if this guy's a real jerk or something? And what's wrong with him that he needs Lisa and Matt to fix him up with somebody?" She turned back to the mirror and began to brush her long honey-colored hair. "Anyway," she began softly, "I've barely talked to any guys but Rob for three years. What if I do or say something stupid ? " 20

Heather put her arm around her sister's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. "You'll be fine," she comforted. "Just be yourself." As Julie finished her preparations, the girls heard a knock on the front door. "That's him." Julie whispered nervously to her sister. "Oh; my God, how do I look?" she questioned as she examined herself in the rrurror. "You look great," Heather reassured. "D'ya want me to go check him out for you?" she asked excitedly. "If he looks like a geek or psycho, I could tell him you're sick or something." Julie reluctantly agreed and sat down on the bed to wait for her sister to return from her mission. A few seconds later, she heard Heather bounding up the stairs. She rushed into the room and began her report before catching breath. "Jul, if you still don't feel like goin' out, I'll go in your place. He's a total babe!" Julie could only stare at her sister as she continued and hoped that her assessment was accurate. "If you're gonna go, you better get downstairs now. Dad's down there interrogating him." Julie grabbed her coat and pocketbook and gave her siďż˝Ler an excited grin as she walked nonchalantly down the stairs. 'Hi, you must be Bill," Julie said as she offered her hand to the tall, attractive stranger in the living room. 'Tm Julie," she continued, not yet giving him a chance to speak. "Well, if you're ready, let's go. 'Bye everybody, won't be too late." She quickly waved to her family as she rushed her date out of the house. "It's really nice to meet you, Julie," said the man as they walked down the front path toward the sidewalk. "But, my name's not Bill. It's Pat." "Oh, I'm sorry. I must've heard Matt wrong," she said. "Actually, I probably wasn't paying attention. To be honest with you, I really didn't want to go out tonight. You know how uncomfortable blind dates are." "Sure do," he laughed nervously. "Well, I hope the merry matchmakers didn't tell you anything bad about me," she joked. "I know they both have a habit of speaking without thinking." 21

"Actually, uh...they didn't tell me anything," he hesitated. "Oh," she was surprised. "They really didn't tell me much about you, either. I guess that J s why I was so worried. All they said was you were a nice guy." He laughed nervously again as he searched his coat pockets for his car keys. "Well, I feel kinda stupid. I didn't make any special plans for tonight." "Oh, that's all right," Julie responded, "I'm sure we could think of something to do." They stood together awkwardly in front of his car for a few minutes, each searching for some appropriate response. Pat ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair and startled Julie when he broke the silence with an excited suggestion. "Hey, I know a great little Italian place. D'ya wanna try it?" "Sure, I love Italian food," she responded, relieved that they at least had a destination. "That would be perfect." Trying to be a gentleman, Pat opened the passenger side door and helped Julie into the car. The awkward silence continued as they drove, but within a few minutes, they arrived at the little restaurant. When they entered the dimly lit room, their senses were immediately filled with the smell of delicious food and the sound of romantic music. A clapper looking man in a tuxedo lead the pair to a secluded table in the corner of the room. As dinner progressed, Julie almost forgot that she was on a blind date with a complete stranger, and instead she began to feel as if she had found her "soulmate." They talked all through dinner and then continued the conversation during a stroll along the city's waterfront park. The pair shared the details of their lives as though they were lifelong friends. Pat began excitedly telling Julie the story of how the neighborhood pee-wee soccer team he coached won the championship last season, and she couldn't help wonder why this smart, funny, attractive guy would need Matt to fix him up on a date. In fact, now that she thought about it, he was nothing like Matt and his immature friends. She certainly couldn't picture him at one of their wild beer parties. When he finished demonstrating how his six-year-old goalie won the game with an incredible last-minute save, Julie decided to bring up the questions that began to gnaw at her. "So, how exactly do 22

you know Matt? He never mentioned it to me?" she asked. "Huh?" Her question caught him off guard. "Oh, I just know him from around the neighborhood." "Oh," she seemed satisfied with his answer. "I was wondering 'cause you didn't seem like one of his loser frat-house friends." "Have you known him long?" Pat asked, deftly changing the focus of the conversation. "Who, Matt?" she responded. "No, I only met him a couple months ago when my friend Lisa started goin' out with him. I know he's your friend and all, but I really never liked him that much," she confessed. He looked down into the water and muttered, "Well, we're really not that close." Pat glanced quickly at his watch and then turned back to Julie. "Look, it's almost one. I don't want to keep you out too late." Julie nodded in agreement, and they walked together toward the car. They were silent until they reached Julie's house and parked the car out front. "Wait, I'll get the door for you," Pat said before Julie opened it herself. He helped her out of the car and walked her to the front door. "It's kinda cold out here," she said hesitantly. "Would you like to come in and have a cup of hot chocolate before you go?" Pat nervously agreed and followed her into the quiet living room. "I guess everyone's asleep already. I'll go get the drinks. Make yourself comfortable," she said motioning to the couch. Pat waited anxiously for Julie to return. A few minutes later she entered the room, placed the two steaming mugs on the table in front of the couch, and sat down beside Pat. "Thank you for dinner. I had a really nice time tonight," she said shyly. "Julie, there's something I have to tell you," Pat began sheepishly. She looked at him seriously, but before he could speak, the telephone interrupted him. 'Tm sorry," she apologized as she rushed into the kitchen to answer the phone. "I'll be right back!" As she rushed to the phone, Julie concluded that this must be Lisa calling to see how the date had gone. Only she would call this late. "Hello," Julie said as she grabbed the 23

phone. "Jul, where have you been? I've been trying to reach you all night?" "What?" Julie was- not surprised to hear her friend's voice, but Lisa's tone was hardly what she expected. "I'm really sorry about tonight," Lisa continued. "Bill called Matt earlier and said he wasn't gonna go tonight. I've been trying to reach you, but your mom said you were out." Julie peeked through the doorway at the man sitting on her couch. Bill cancelled our date, she thought. "Um...Lis, let me call you tomorrow." She abruptly hung up on her friend and returned to the living room. She stood with her arms folded, leaning on the doorway, and looked at Pat. "Well," she said, "that was Lisa. She said Matt's friend canceled on me. So, would you like to tell me who the hell you are?" Pat rushed over to Julie and began to plead his case. "That's what I was gettin' ready to explain. I'm not your blind date. I have no idea who Matt and Lisa are. I knocked on the door earlier to ask for donations to buy my soccer team new uniforms. Before I could say anything, your dad invited me in and started asking me questions. I know I should have said something sooner, but it was kinda fun. I got caught up in it. And then when you came down, you seemed so nice and looked so pretty, I just thought...it must be fate." Julie could barely believe the outrageous tum of events. Before she could respond, Pat spoke again, 'Tm sorry I lied to you. I'll get out of your house now." Julie watched as he began to walk towards the door. He turned to look at her once more. "I did have a really good time with you tonight." Julie stared at the closed door and suddenly realized that she had allowed the nicest guy she had ever met to leave. She hurried to the door, hoping that it wasn't too late. She ran outside to her front gate and saw Pat leaning against the hood of his car. "I was hopin' I wouldn't have to stand here too long," he joked when their eyes met. "How long would you have waited?" she asked. He shrugged his shoulders. "Until you came out, I guess." "You're crazy. You do know that, don't you?" she asked. 24

"Crazy for you," he laughed as he walked toward her. "If I deci_de to see you again, you have to promise never to lie to me like this," she said trying to sound stem. "Cross my heart," he ran his fingers over his chest. "Now, give me a good-night kiss, you jerk," Julie commanded. Pat operied the gate that separated them and pulled Julie into a warm embrace. He dropped a soft kiss on her lips before he released her. "Can I call you tomorrow?" he asked softly. Julie nodded, and he walked her to the door. He stole one more quick kiss before he hurried back to his car. "That's the last time I go on a blind date," Julie laughed to herself as she watched Pat drive off into the night. -Megan Clements

Draivn By: Trang Phuong Nguyen

ADDICTION "Can I have one of -yours?" the woman asked. "I don't think so," replied the man. "Please," she pleaded. "I've been good today. I've only had one all day." The man paused to light a cigarette before answering the woman's request. "No," he said, exhaling disgust along with smoke. "You promised that you wouldn't." "You expect me to keep my promise?" the woman asked, incredulously. "You never keep yours," she declared. "You promised to be home on time tonight. You promised to put out the trash. You make alot of promises, but you never keep them," she shrieked. "You nev--" "Shut up!" bellowed the man. "The only person with a problem is you. Not me. You," he declared, punctuating each indictment by pointing at her with the two fingers that held his cigarette. "Andrew, please," she begged. "Don't push me, Susan! Have you forgotten what happened the last time you pushed me?" The woman, tears blurring her vision, turned slowly and walked out of the room. The man, already seated on the sofa, leaned forward to switch on the television set. There he sat, content to spend the evening watching sitcoms and smoking cigarettes. Sometime later the woman returned to the room. Pausing at the threshold, she peeked carefully around the jamb. She found the man sprawled out on the sofa. His slack mouth produced endless rivers of drool, running down his cheek. Satisfied that he was soundly sleeping, the woman crept into the room Walking on cat's paws, she made her way over to the sleeping man. With hands as sure and steady as a pickpocket's, she reached into his sweatshirt, extracting his cigarettes. "If you won't give me one, I'll have to take one," she said, more to herself than to the man 26

who lay sleeping before her. After removing a cigarette, the woman carefully replaced the pack and turned to leave. No more than a half-dozen steps separated her from the door-and freedom. "Susan, what are you doing?" asked the man in a cold and menacing tone. His voice was like a knife in her back. Hands held guiltily behind her, she spun around to face him. He sat upright on the sofa, staring at her with a strange, almost gruesome, smile on his face. "I, I didn't mean to disturb you," she stammered. "I was checking to see if you needed a blanket. It's rather chilly in the house tonight, and I didn't want you to be cold," she said, taking small steps toward the door. The man rose from the sofa and crossed the room in two steps. Grabbing the woman by her shoulders, he thrust her up against the wall. Sliding his hands up to her throat, he whispered softly, "What do you have in your hands?" Ever so slightly, he tightened his grip on her throat, as he spoke each word. "Your concern for my comfort is almost touching, but we both know it's a lie. You'd better be careful, Susan, or I might start thinking that you love me." He paused. "Do you love me, Susan?" The scorn in his voice washed over her body in wave after acid wave, stripping the flesh from her bones the way a lion licks the skin from its prey. Clawing at the hands around her throat, the woman begged, "Andrew, please, I can't breathe. Please stop. I'm not hiding anything," she croaked. "You want me to stop?" he asked, continuing his verbal and physical assault. Sneering at her, he questioned, "What do you suppose would be an appropriate punishment? Perhaps I should crush your larynx and end your lies forever." The woman could feel the pressure on her throat increasing. Small black pinpoints of light flashed before her eyes, distorting her vision. Her heart, desperately trying to pump blood to her brain, thumped loudly in her ears. Frantically casting her eyes around the room, she caught sight of the television. My God, I'm going to die while Jerry Seinfeld is picking his nose. Concentrate. Think. Praying that he would react in a predictable way, she looked up 27

into the man's malevolent gaze and held out her hand. Palm facing up, she showed him the crushed cigarette. Removing his hand from her neck in order to strike .her, he provided the window of opportunity that she had been hoping for. Pivoting to one side, she savagely twisted her body. Managing to escape his grasp, she ran to the other side of the room. "Noooo," the man roared reaching out to recapture his prey. "Stay away from me," she screamed. Fearful!y backing away, she bumped into a cabinet, breaking the glass door with her elbow. Sports memorabilia of all kinds tumbled down, landing at her feet. Outraged by what she had done, the man began smashing the collection of crystal figurines, which sat on the table beside him. "You're next, Susan," he hissed, continuing to destroy everything within his reach. "Stop! Please stop!" she screamed. Tears streaming down her face, she bent down and picked up an autographed baseball bat from the pile of collectibles at her feet. Noticing the bat in his wife's hands, the man paused. The thought that she would consider defending herself increased his rage, and he charged across the room. Blinded by an all-consuming need to annihilate his wife, the man tripped over the Oriental carpet and landed at her feet. With a wail of fear and anger, the woman brought the bat down on the back of the man's head with all the force she could muster. The last thing the man heard was the whoosh of the baseball bat as it smashed into his head. As the mixed blackness of blood and impending unconsciousness flowed down over his eyes, he thought, I am going to kill ha Only God knows what he thought after that. The woman bent down over the man and checked his pulse. Though she felt nothing, she could not convince herself that he was really, finally, irrevocably dead. Clutching the baseball bat, she backed out of the room, her eyes never leaving the body lying on the floor, afraid that if she turned her back to him he would jump up and chase her like a specter rising from the grave. "911 Operator. What is your emergency?" asked the dispatcher. 28

"I've killed my husband," replied the woman. "What is your address?" asked the dispatcher, as she keyed the code into her computer that would alert the police and dispatch an ambulance. "702 Baker Street," said the woman. "Is anyone else in the house with you?" asked the dispatcher. "No. My husband--he tried to strangle me. He tried to kill me because I took one of his cigarettes," said the woman. "Just stay calm. The police are on their way, ma'am," said the dispatcher. "Please stay on the line until they get there." "I can't," replied the woman. "There's something I have to do." Baseball bat still in hand, the woman returned to the den. Pausing to make sure that her husband had not moved, she entered the room and walked over to his body. Carefully, she began to search through his clothes. Finding what she wanted, she put the items in her pocket and again backed out of the room. Moving down the hallway to the kitchen, she sat at the table and reached into her pocket. She extracted the package of cigarettes and a lighter. Opening up the pack, she placed a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. Inhaling the smoke deeply into her lungs, she sat back in her chair and smiled. I've been good today, she thought. I've only had two all day. -Christine DiSario-Sablich

Prismatic Rivers floating on prismatic rivers, in neatly folded paper canoes. senses, more clear than naturally possible. swelling thoughts, slipping through my fingers. the few I keep, spill out in my blood. sour tastes and aching spine. we all take the smoke missile to our cosmic destination. the king shouts against us, he knows not the truth. real people unable to find the connection amongst our garblings. there are more of us among you, than you care to realize. beautiful revelations hidden behind media's mask. drug down, drugged up. the impossible task. lovely sunny days are unavoidable! -Joe Eichhorn 30

In the golden sunlight of the day In the golden sunlight of the day, a sea of hope appears blue to the eyes, as wild fire stretches across the skies. I can see you from the glance of my morning window, you proceed in a soft morning flight through your innocent clouds. Such a test of winds in your feathered wings, in a song of poetry I can hear you sing, though to this symphony I have nothing to bring. Ahhh . . . from the night I have unmasked a kiss with the taste of death, you can still smell its essence upon my breath, and now, along with you, I could rest. Forever.... In the wilderness. -Maxwell Bilicich

On the Road "Ya gotta light?" Jim asked while looking in the rearview mirror at his friend Dave. He switched hands on the steering wheel, so his right hand could drive while he rolled down the window with his left. "Huh?" Dave asked. He did these acrobatics while turning down the portable radio in the back seat, which had replaced the broken car radio. "Ya gotta light?" Jim asked again. This time he was pointing to the cigarette hanging from his mouth. "Why don't ya just use the car lighter?" Dave said, wondering. "'Cause it's quicker to use yours. But by this time I could of used the other one. Will you just give it to me?" he demanded. While he held his right hand in the back seat to retrieve the lighter, the left hand had taken over driving once again. "Here, but I don't see why you couldn't just use the other one," Dave said, while handing Jim the lighter. "Shut the hell up," Jim said, lighting the cigarette in his mouth. "Damn, why are you so pissed off?" Rich, the passenger, asked. "'Cause I had to wait for you two assholes, as usual. I could've been on the road an hour ago." "I was ready," John interrupted from the seat directly behind Jim. "Yeah, for a change. But I still had to wait for your brother," Jim responded. He was becoming more aggravated by the situation. He was also beginning to struggle with the driving. The snow was falling so hard that the view through the windshield looked like the static on an untuned TV. Red lights in front could barely be seen. They were crawling along the Turnpike. "Just forget about it," Jim said. "I just want to get there before the roads get too bad. Then I'll be happy." "Am I gonna like the show?" Rich asked, changing to a different subject. "I don't know," Jim said, while taking a drag on his cigarette. After exhaling the smoke, he continued, "It depends on what they play." "Do ya have any Phi sh tapes in the car, so I can hear some of their 32

songs?" Rich asked. "Naa," Jim responded, "just Dead. John; change the tape. I'm sick of this one," Jim added. "What should I put in?" John asked. "Whatever ya want," Jim responded. He was looking in the rearview minor to see what tape he had selected. "Not that one," Jim said. "Put on the one from Fillmore 4-28-71. I haven't heard that one in a while." "Alright," John said. The snow began to let up, but the road still had a covering of snow about an inch deep. While driving, the four young men had passed several minor fender benders, but they paid no mind. A long period of silence that seemed to last forever filled the car. Each person's mind wandered into thoughts of the past and future. Jim's mind surveyed the previous Phish concerts he had attended and anticipated this one. The other three guys tried to imagine what it would be like to attend the concert. Each one had a feeling of anticipation that made the car ride seem like a cross-country journey. "I'm hungry," Dave said, breaking the silence. "Yeah, can we stop?" Rich added. "Yeah, I'm starvin' ," Jim responded. "The next place I see, we'll stop." "We should get some beer, 'cause everybody will be messed up by the time we get there," Jim theorized. "Yeah, I don't want to go to the show sober," Dave added. "It's your fault we're late," Jim said. "I think we should wait." "Come on, Jim. It's a good idea," Rich added. "It will give us somethin' to do for the next hour and a half." "Alright, we'll look for a place near a food place," Jim said reluctantly. It was dark now and the once crowded road became more and more desolate. They finally reached a place where they could fulfill both their needs. A McDonald's was located next to a bar. Two went to purchase food; the other two went to buy beer. After a short amount of time, they met in the car. 33

"I wish I could've gone in the Mickey D's," John said. "That place was pretty rough." "Shut up, ya wimp," Jim said. "Where's my change?" "Here," John said, reaching over Jim's right shoulder to hand him the change. "How much did ya get?" Rich asked. "Six six-packs," Dave responded. "How much was it?" Jim asked, looking at the money in his hand. He was pleased with how much change he held. "Four bucks each," John responded. "Ya should' ve gotten more. That's only six a piece." "They're pounders, though," Dave added. "Holy shit!" Rich said in shock. "We're gonna be really messed up when we get there." "I can't believe it was only four bucks for six packs of pounders," Jim said in amazement. "W hat kind of beer is it?" "We got three Lite and three Bud," John responded. "Gimme one," Jim said. "Ya didn't finish eatin' ," Rich noticed. ''I'm stuffed," Jim said, while c1:acking open a beer he placed between his legs. Once again he switched hands on the steering wheel to roll down the window. He placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with the lighter he had purposely not returned to Dave. "Nice try, asshole," Dave yelled from the back seat. "Gimme back my lighter!" "Ah, ya caught me," Jim said. "Let me use it first." Dave settled down in his seat and opened his own beer. He forgot about the lighter for five minutes until he took out his own cigarette. "Shit!" Dave exclaimed. "I can't find my lighter." At the same time, he searched his small area in the back seat. He also checked on the floor and in the seats before realizing his error. "Jim, gimme my damn lighter," he said forcefully. "I know you still have it." "You're an idiot," Rich added. "Ya just asked him for it five minutes ago and then forgot. Ya don't deserve it." 34

"He was to give it to me, though," Dave explained. "Remember, the 24-hour rule." "Here ya go, stupid," Jim said, reaching his right hand over his right shoulder to give him the lighter. "But it will be mine before the end of the night." "We'll see," Dave responded. By now they had all opened a beer, Jim his second. The miles rolled by as they sang along to the Grateful Dead songs on the radio, told stories, laughed, smoked cigarettes, and picked on Dave. The next hour passed in the blink of an eye, with only one problem: they were not getting there <J.sJast asthe.y;had J:ioped since they had to pull over every twenty,m1�t,Ites-f?r'fesrstops. ·-. . "Gimme an'othefbeer,'Jim demanded, rea�hing.his hand into the '·\ ,;; back seat. <' / / "Thereais �Q mor:y/:: Dave responded. "I got the .Jast one right here." . __ . _ ·;,,":.: ..::.�,�{ ... _ "Well, shJi'e 3,:'_J��.�'ai�.':You'\l�:haden?u�9/�--"So've yo�f' Davere� ?ricl�d. "�esid�s �?�(re driv}n' and ya . had more thanine." &'\: \ ·j,, • '," \"• i ;i " ' I m fme. Conye·0:R," Jn;nr,pleaded. J ,,,,· · · "No, just keep 'yq\\J;.�yes on the r()t;1.d-'and/ get ptlhere,'' Dave preached. \ r"\ They continued arguing back a:r:J.d:fqrthJor a(Jon,g tithe; both boys were obviously feeling the effects of the;�l.f.�.11,c{�{b,��f John pleaded with Jim to stop arguing and drive safely'b,�:caus'e:;-He)had started to swerve. ·· ·-..... _' '>.'.��::-::_) / "Just give it to me," Jim demanded as he'teached to grab the beer from Dave's hand, who would not give it up. They struggled while John and Rich tried to get them to stop, but they found it too amusing to separate their hands interlocked around the beer can. All the liquid had been drained from the container, but it became a matter of pride to get the last sip. "Jim! Look out!" Dave yelled as he pointed out the front window. When Jim turned around, he could see nothing but open space, no road. They all screamed at the top of their lungs. -Edward White 1

\\'-..

How the Feathers-of the Bird Lie by the Ancient Lake how the feathers of the bird lie by the ancient lake, innocent tender flower, petals folded in honor of its yellow brilliance, such a servant of the sun, abandoned at night by the forests of azure. i 've visited there once, like a child that reaches for the light, like a newborn, blossoming into the sun, waters nurturing my rooted soul. forgive me now for wasting the dawn, for leaving the passionate darkness behind. how dreams become reality when the candle is extinguished. how the pane of my window reaches out to that secluded spot in the woods. i would like to be there all the time, be there, never rewind, let my scared heart pound with young love. "the bats' did you see the bats?" how they reach in from the night to take me away from that severed garden. how i will always enjoy resting by its stream, in the woods, alone, with you. -Frank Nicoletti

The Dream: Dragon's Flight There was a time, so long ago A time when magic reigned A time when unicorns roamed wild and free And the dragons danced on the wind Knights, brave and bold, Wizards, cunning and clever, Maidens, charming and fair, The bards song, sung; each has its tale, A legend woven in the tapestry of fabled lore But where are all the castles? For only their skeletons stand sentinel Where are all the ladies and their champions? Their lighthearted mirth whispers on the wind Time can erase stone, mortar and blood But magic remains, eternal When the moon rises high And people dare to dream The bard's enduring melody flows through the soul Unlocking ancient arcane mysteries And setting the dragon free -Patricia Anne DiNoia

Something Else It was October again. That month when the rain-rusted leaves fall from their branches and litter the streets in dead piles. That month when the wind blows cold across the graveyard, bringing with it dreams of winter. That month when the air grows still, clean, and crisp, with a faint lingering scent of the promise of snow, burning leaves, and something else. That something else, that undeniably autumn aroma, seemed heaviest as one passed the cemetery, or so Justin thought as he walked briskly by it one late October evening. The wind blew colder, more melancholy across the graveyard that smrnunded a huge Gothic church on three sides. The church's spire reached out toward heaven, but its thick stone walls kept it firmly anchored to the earth. The heavy walls contrasted sharply with the delicate stained glass windows that graced the interior of the building with their color. Outside, however, in the dim twilight, the structure appeared ominous and foreboding. Looking at the magnificent architecture before him, Justin recalled the many tales he had read that took place in great Gothic churches. Those stories always contained the ghosts of dreams that lived, whispered, and finally died in lofty bell towers that echoed with the mournful sounds of their demise. Still, Justin found himself captivated by the dark beauty of the church. Then a light wind from the graveyard awakened him from his reverie. It carried with it the October smell, with the other mysterious part that Justin could never identify. This time, however, that unnamed but terrifyingly familiar scent assailed his nostrils and drove him into a blind panic. Seized by an uncontrollable fear, Justin backed away from the church and directly into traffic. Brakes screeched; Justin froze in wide-eyed terror. His eyes sent the message to his brain: "Move!" Justin spun around, disoriented, and stumbled. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the cars kept coming faster...

*****

The blackness faded to white, and Justin opened his eyes to a bright light. He shakily got to his feet and stood in the center of an enormous white room. He noticed that instead of his clothing he now wore a white robe, as dazzling as the color of the room. Light streamed 38

from an unseen source at one end of the room. Justin began to make his way toward it when he heard a voice. "What is your business here?" it asked. Justin felt a chill run down his spine and shivered. The voice held such power, he thought, that if it could be unleashed on the world, nobody would survive. He kept still and did not answer. "What is your business here?" the voice demanded again, more sternly this time. "!...don't know. I'm...Ijust, um, ended up here," Justin stammered. The possessor of the voice, some unseen Entity, remained silent, as though pondering this information. Justin decided that he should try to explain why he was there to the Entity, although he could not even explain it to himself. Before he could open his mouth, darkness howled past him, hurtling toward the light at a blinding speed. Justin spun around just as the darkness overtook the light, smothering it. "What...what happened?" he asked the Entity. "The Darkness," the Entity answered, "has taken over the realm of the Light." There was a rustling sound, like that of dead leaves in the wind. Justin felt the Entity's presence close to him. The Entity continued speaking with a sigh. "The Darkness has no speed. It is where the Light is not. It has no need to travel. It is... Justin shivered. An icy blast of wind rushed at him, and he smelled the pure scent of the something else that had driven him to a panic before he awoke in the strange room. Terror took possession of his mind once again, but before he could react to it, the Entity's powerful voice echoed across the room. "Stop!" Justin felt the terror leave him, as though the Entity had exorcized some demon. "What was that?" he asked, still shaking. "That," said the Entity solemnly, "was the smell of your own mortality. No living being can identify it, yet all fear it." "No living being?" asked Justin. "Then I'm--" 39

"Yes." Justin's knees weakened and gave out underneath him, but he did not fall. Instead, he felt his body floating, suspended in the Darkness. Tiny pinpricks of the Light came to comfort him. Justin thought it was like sleeping with his eyes open, looking at the stars. Suddenly, he felt a cold, hard surface against his back and realized that he was lying on the pavement, staring up at the stars. He heard hushed voices around him. "Is he breathing?" "Where is that ambulance?" "Will he be okay?" Justin struggled to get up, to get away from the crowd that hovered over him, but they gently pushed him back down and told him to lie still. Moments later, Justin heard the wail of the ambulance siren in the distance. He felt the choking Darkness descend and smelled the now-identifiable scent that had become horribly familiar to him. He had nearly resigned himself to dying when a light pierced the Darkness that now dimmed his vision. Justin felt a surge of desire fill his body and struggled to his feet against the protest of the crowd. His vision blurred, then cleared, then blurred again with tears of pain. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from crying out in agony and staggered toward the Light. He tried in vain to ignore the thunderous pounding inside his brain as he stumbled up a stairway, clinging to the railing. Finally, clutching his bloody shoulder, Justin limped forward into the Light. Unable to go any farther, he fell to his knees before the altar of the great church. -Freda M. Terrell Drmrn br: Lauren \Ian Dyke Haws

An Artist's Dream Spirits so delicate, gently light their own way, In a darkness so great, it has swallowed the sleeping children.

Among the scattered shards of metal and flesh a windswept seed roots, Clutching the earth with sinuous fingers, Embracing energy, it creates a wooded spire.

Singly, spirits dim, then glow barely whispering Michelangelo, Halos touch and dawn softly kisses open tender eyes, We whisper again.

There is a being in that tree It is the intent of young souls. But now, among the scattered shards of metal and flesh, You must use y our dreams to find it. -Michelle Soslau

Showdown Big Dog sat on the· roof of his Cadillac and smiled. Standing 6 feet, 2 inches, and weighing 220 muscular pounds , he cut an impos ing figure. His shaved head and shirtless form glistened with sweat, which poured from his tattoo and scar-covered body. He took a swig from his 40 oz. bottle of Schmidts, scratched his stubbled face, and absorbed the electric atmosphere around him. The stifling humidity on this oppressively hot August night heightened the already unbear able tension that ran thick through the muggy air. The only element that dulled the excited voices of the mass of people gathered at the playground was the steady roar of the El nearby. This throng of people consisted mainly of the Icons, a powerful local gang. They consumed every available space of the trash-strewn playground's basketball courts. The night of judgement had arrived. Their immortal leader, Big Dog, would soon meet his greatest nemesis. The main basketball court of the playground had hosted many epic battles throughout the years, but this battle undoubtedly ranked · as the most important. Many considered Big Dog the toughest and most ruthless of a long line of neighborhood thugs. Frequently in and out of jail, he murdered anyone who opposed him. He and the Icons extorted money from local businesses and controlled the area drug traffic. His intimidating appearance, combined with a notorious lack of conscience, made him feared by civilians and police alike. Con versely, Tom McCray was hailed as a hero in the gritty, lower middle class neighborhood in which he and Big Dog lived. A promising ama teur boxer, Tom's fistic prowess and charisma made him a legend. His friendliness and good looks belied the violent mindset that he had developed on the streets of Philadelphia. Big Dog and Tom had coexsisted uneasily for years, each man representing opposite values and lifestyles. Their inevitable confron tation became a reality earlier in the day when authorities discovered Tom's younger brother, Brian, dead in a vacant local lot. Only 18 years old, he had been shot in the head three times. With Tom's sup port, Brian had recently quit the Icons and looked forward to partici pating in a high school G.E.D program. Big Dog preached that you were an Icon for life, and deserters, like Brian, usually paid the price. As 42

a result, Tom immediately held Big Dog responsible for the murder. Tom sat on his bed, head in hands, and reflected on what awaited him. A large "Irish Pride" tattoo adorned the back of Tom's lean 6 foot frame. A long scar from an old stab wound ran across the abdo men of his deeply tanned body. The blue bandana covering his wavy black hair matched his blazing blue eyes. He had put word out earlier for Big Dog to meet him on the courts at midnight. That fateful hour approached, yet Tom remained in his cramped, dimly lit room, staring at a picture of Brian. "The streets are watchin' ," Tom thought aloud. "I gotta make my move." He rose from his bed, kissed the tear-stained picture of his brother, and placed it in his pocket. He asked God to give him strength, then departed for the playground. A light rain began to fall as Tom walked down the narrow rowhouse lined streets near the avenue, where the playground stood. In the dead si lence of his walk, Tom could almost feel the eyes of his neighbors staring out at him from behind dark windows. Once Tom reached the avenue, he noticed that it, too, seemed unusually quiet. None of the usual screams, gunshots, or police sirens, just the rumble of the El overhead. I guess everybody's home in the air conditionin', Tom thought to himself as he wiped his sweat-covered brow. Graffiti, much of it done by the Icons, covered the decaying strip. An old man sat on a comer, trying to cool himself down with a bottle of Wild Turkey. "Yo, Tom," he yelled. "Good luck, man." Tom nodded and continued on in the now steadily falling rain. Tom, soaked with rain and perspiration, arrived at the entrance of the playground. A few blocks away, the bells of St. Ed's Church rang to signal midnight. The Icons covered the courts, at least 50 men strong. Tom saw Big Dog sitting atop his car, menacing as always. The Icons remained silent as Tom walked to center court, perhaps shocked that he had come alone to their stronghold. Big Dog, a sinister grin covering his grizzled face, hopped down from his car to meet Tom at center court. The Icons gathered tightly around the two men as they stared at each other, eyes burning with hatred. "Damn," said Tom as he ended the staredown by gazing around him, "you need all your boys here for me? That's weak." Big Dog tilted back his head and let out a short laugh. "Yo, fellas," he said, looking around at the Icons, "it's gonna be a fair one. If anybody tries to jump in, they answer to me." He stepped back, smiling, and continued, "I wanna kill this punk by myself, just like what I did to his brother." Tom's right hand connected with Big Dog's nose, and the battle began. Tom's blow stunned Big Dog, disbelieving, dropping him to the ground. Big Dog put his hand to his nose and felt warm blood flowing from his 43

nostrils. "C'mon, man, get up!" Tom screamed, "Show me what you got!" Big Dog rose to his feet, smiling, and replied, "Now it's on." Angered by the sight of his own blood, he lowered his head and charged at Tom. Tom simply side-stepped him and connected with three punishing right hands to the side of the face. Once again, Big Dog, deposited on his rear, looked up in disbelief. The Icons, seeing their vaunted leader bleeding and dazed, shouted en couragement. "C'mon, Dog," they shouted. "Beat 'em down!" Big Dog, head throbbing with pain, rose, and backed up a few steps. He again ran at Tom, wildly swinging his meaty fists. This time, Tom side-stepped him and grabbed the back of his head, slamming it through a car window. The once cheering Icons, voices now hushed with fear, viewed these events with mouths agape. Big Dog slowly lifted his head and upper body out of the car's shattered window and turned around. His face a gruesome mask of blood, he blindly stumbled towards Tom. But before he could reach him, he slipped on the rain-slicked asphalt and fell to the ground. Moaning in agony and frustra tion, he vainly attempted to get to his feet. Tom walked over to Big Dog's helpless form and stood over him. He calmly clasped his arms around Big Dog's head and neck and drew him close. "This is for Brian," he whispered into his rival's ear. Pausing to glance at the cowering Icons, he proceeded to snap Big Dog's neck. Tom stared briefly at Big Dog's lifeless body, then turned to walk away. To his surprise, it seemed that the whole neighbor hood stood in his path. They had all come out to witness the end of Big Dog's reign of terror. Tom moved forward into the crowd, and it quickly parted, allowing him to exit the playground. As he walked through the gate, Tom glanced at a police car parked a few yards away. The cop inside locked eyes with Tom, then simply nodded and looked away. Drawn by: Angelique Yonka11ske Tom artived home quickly and gathered his belongings, placing them in two duffel bags. Still covered with Big Dog's blood, he did not bother to shower. He quickly carried his bags downstairs and slipped out the front door. He took a final look at his house and then disappeared into the night. - Eric Stakelbeck 44

Folio 23 -- Contributors Fra n k Nicoletti, a Holy Family graduate who majored in Humanities, contributed to Folio 22 and has recently published a book of verse entitled the doors in the wall. Freda M. Terrell, a Secondary Education/English concentrator and junior at Holy Family, is the Secretary of the H.F.C. Humanities Society and the recipient of the 1998-99 Marion Ahrens Von Rosenstiel . English Language Scholarship. Edward White, a recent Holy Family graduate, majored in the Humanities. His primary interests are Art and English. Maxwell Bilicich is currently a liberal arts major attending Manor College. Megan Clements, a recent Holy Family graduate, majored in English with a concentration in Communications. Joe Eichorn, a poet and painter, resides in Philadelphia. Patricia Anne DiNoia is currently an English major at Holy Family. Erick Stakelbeck is currently an English major at Holy Family. Joanna Zawila is currently an English/Communications major at Holy Family. Judith E. Adams is currently an English major at Holy Family. Victoria P. Lombardi, a graduate of Holy Family, assists Folio as a proofreader. Michelle Soslau is a lecturer in Art at Holy Family. Ronald Masciantonio, an English Literature concentrator and graduating senior at Holy Family, has served for two y ears as the president of the Holy Family College Humanities Society. Christine DiSario-Sablich is currently attending Holy Family. Theodore Qualli is a freshman English major at Holy Family.