Folio 27 by HFU Folio

TENEOR VOTIS I am bound to give of myself because I have received. Folio 27 The Folio is a belles-lettres publication of contemporary artistic expres sion. The journal, though student generated, encompasses in words and graphics the combined talent of tbe Holy Family College Commu nity. Submissions, however, are welcome from contributors beyond the College Community and forwarded to the following address: Folio, School of Arts and Humanities, Holy Family College, Grant and Frankford Avenues, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19114. Visit our website at: http//www.hfc.edu/school_arts/docs/ folio.html

Chief Editors Meredith Kahn William H. Smigiel Chief Editorial Assistant April Thompson Readers Corinne Ebinger (Coordinator, Folio High School Contest) Marianne Marasheski Douglas Robinson Jessica M. Press Kristina A. Weise Diane Sahms-Guarnieri Graphic Design and Drawing Katherine Rogalski Advisor Thomas Francis Lombardi, Ph.D. Professor, School of Arts and Humanities Special thanks to Mrs. Victoria P Lombardi for her valuable input and expert proofreading And to Sr. Johanna Gedaka, S.S.J., Ph.D., Dean, Arts and Humanities, for her support 2

come,w What Am I Gonna Wear? ......................................................................... 4 Feeding Regis ·································································:························· 8 Icaius ...................................................................................................... 12 Fountain Day '97 .................................................................................... 13 Absence ..................................................................................................· 17 If They' re Soft Pretzels, This Must Be Philadelphia ............................. 18 Anno Domini .......................................................................................... 20 On Crossing Campus .............................................................................. 21 Fragility of a Familiar Face .................................................................... 22 Shelved ................................................................................................... 26 Return of a Legend ................................................................................. 27 The Story ................................................................................................ 29 To Avoid the Inevitable .......................................................................... 34 Hunger .................................................................................................... 37 I Love Snow ............................................................................................ 39 The Park .................................................................................................. 42 Things a Teen Knows ............................................................................. 48

What Am I Gonna Wear? Fingers trembling, Elyse nervously grasped the telephone receiver. What am. I gonna do? she thought. Staring at the seemingly ominous keypad, she gathered her composure. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered up a storm of nausea that she could not calm. Her pulse began to race, and her heart pounded. Placing the telephone gently against her ear and taking a deep breath, she began dialing-saying the number out loud, to validate her actions to herself: "215-2-8-"Â it was at that point that Elyse hung up the phone. "I have no guts. T his'll get me nowhere," she said dejectedly. She hated being so painfully shy. Todd, her best guy friend, would answer, "yes," without hesitation. Even with this certainty, the question still ran through her mind: Why am I so nervous? "Because this is the Senior Prom," she said, answering her own question aloud. "And maybe I want more than a j ' ust friends' relationship with Todd." Committing herself to calling him, Elyse once again picked up the phone and dialed. This time she amazingly dialed all IO digits. Immediately, her mind raced, Oh, God, she thought, what am I gonna do if he actually picks- Her train of thought soonjumped its tracks. "Hello," answered a masculine voice on the other end of the line. T he voice belonged to Todd. "Aaahhh!" screamed Elyse into her end of the receiver, and then she hung up. Great, just great, she thought. Not only did I chicken out, but I made the boy deaf in the process. Just m,y luck. At the completion of her thought, the phone rang. "Hello," Elyse said as she picked up the receiver. "Lyse, did yajus' call me?" asked Todd. "Um, yeah," Elyse replied hesitantly twisting one of her mahogany brown curls around her index finger (a nervous habit she acquired as a child and just could not drop). "Star 69 works wonders, you know," Todd piped in-proud of himself for his investigative abilities. "That is how you knew it was me, huh?" replied Elyse, trying to conceal the embarrassed tone in her voice. "Uh-huh. Any reason why you screamed at me?" 4

"No!" squeaked Elyse, the embarrassment and nervousness quickly building inside her. "Good. For a minute, I thought that was your new greetin' or somethin' ," replied Todd, chuckling a bit. Elyse relaxed some. "Yeah, well, I figured I could break it in on you, rather than anybody else." "I feel so special," Todd sarcastically replied. "You should," Elyse retorted, just as sarcastically but with a laugh. Realizing that she had not yet stated her true purpose for calling, Elyse's mood changed almost instantly. "Hey, can I ask you somethin'?" her voice trailed off. "Ah, what do you want?" continued Todd in his sarcastic tone. "I wanna know-" the words stuck to her throat like Krazy Glue. "36," answered Todd, interrupting, as though he had been hit with a mystical revelation. "That wasn't my question, Todd." "Oh, sorry. I thought your question was gonna be 'What is six times six?"' responded Todd, jokingly. They both laughed. Todd's humorous quality endeared him to Elyse. "Not quite," Elyse said. "Actually, I wanted to know if you'd go to the prom with me." The question ran out of her mouth before Elyse could contemplate what she had said. Silence greeted Elyse's statement on the other end of the line. Her nervousness began to grow and fester yet again. In her mind, these moments lasted an eternity. She prepared for rejection by quoting The Serenity Prayer to herself. "God Grant me-" "Elyse." The silence had been broken. "Yeah," she answered timidly. The letters of the word trickled out of her mouth like water from a broken showerhead. "I've known you since fifth grade," Todd began. "Yeah," Elyse interrupted, not certain whether she had readied herself for the forthcoming answer or not. "You're just lucky I forgave you for putting green paint in my hair that year." "I thought it matched your eyes." "My eyes are blue, Todd," said Elyse, laughing. "I know that now, Lyse," replied Todd. 5

"Good. I'm glad," stated Elyse in a satisfied tone. "Took two weeks of scrubbin' to get that stuff out, ya know." "Listen," Todd said, wanting to continue his previous thought. "You're a really great friend, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather go with." "Whew! That's a relief." "What is?" "Oh, nothing," replied Elyse, just realizing what she had said. She began hitting her head against her bedroom wall,punishing herself for speaking without thinking (yet another nervous habit she just could not drop). "You were nervous, weren't ya?" Todd asked, slightly pleased. "Me,nervous .. . never!" Elyse said, laughing. Todd could see right through her. She never needed to put up a fac;ade in front of him. "Hey," she said, trying to change the subject. "You can dance, right?" "What kind of question's that?" "A very good one, since you're goin' to the prom with me," chuckled Elyse. "I can dance," responded Todd matter-of-factly. "Oh, can you now?" Elyse asked sarcastically. "What?" asked Todd unknowingly. "You want me to prove it to ya?" "Yeah, I do," said Elyse rather defiantly. She hoped this statement would set fire to his competitive nature. "You're on!" Todd stated. He never turned down a challenge. "Okay, when then?" Elyse questioned, glad that her catalyst had lit the fuse. If he wanted to prove himself, Todd would certainly have to take her out on a date before the prom. "Come on, Mr. Man." "Saturday, Bob's havin' a party," Todd stated. "Are you invitin' me to go?" "Well, I wasn't originally gonna go," Todd paused. "But, yeah, I am askin' ya to go wit me." "Okay," Elyse said. "What time do ya wanna meet there?" "I'll pick you up ...maybe around eight." "That's a change, Todd." Whenever the two friends went out before, they would always meet at their intended destination. Elyse took pleasure in knowing that this weekend's party would be different. "Yeah, well, I can't have ya thinkin' I'd be anythin' less than a 6

gentleman at the prom. And, besides, I don't wanna get there and have you dancin' with some other guy," Todd replied. "Oh, is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your voice, Todd?" "Jealous, nah," Todd said. " I just wanna be there with you." "Oh, okay," Elyse said smiling. She could read Todd just as easily as he had read her earlier in their conversation. It comforted her to know that she and Todd could relate so closely with each other. Glancing down at her watch, Elyse seemed shocked by the lateness of the evening. "Listen, Todd, I'm really sorry, but I gotta go. I need to work on a mosaic for my art class." "Not a problem, I should really start that term paper for English." "Todd! It's due tomorrow." Elyse always worried when Todd succumbed to procrastination. "I know, Lyse. Don't worry 'bout me. It'll get done." "I can't work last minute like that." Elyse had finished the term paper assignment a week ago. She saw procrastination as one of the most deadly evils; it ranked right up there with the Seven Deadly Sins. "I know, but I'll be fine." "Alright, I'm gonna go, Todd," "Night, Lyse." "Night Todd, I'll see ya in school tomorrow ...Oh, Todd?" "Yeah, Lyse," "Thanks, I'm glad you said you'd go with me." 'Tm glad you asked," Todd said. "We'll have a great time. But don't forget about the party Saturday night." "I won't," Elyse said, smiling. "Bye, Todd." "Bye, Lyse." Elyse hung up the phone and released a huge sigh of relief. Todd actually wanted to escort her to the prom. In hindsight, it did not take that long for him to answer, either. Attending Bob's party with him in the approaching weekend would be an added bonus. All her fears had been settled, except one: What am I gonna wear? -April Thompson

Feeding Regis "Did you eat my taco," she stated more than asked in a monotonous tone. She knew the answer before her brother responded. He barely glanced over his right shoulder, before hypnotically staring back at his violent computer screen. "Yeah," he hissed, almost smiling with his back facing her. Figures, she thought, rolling her eyes. "Thanks for asking as usual," she snapped more to herself than to him. Glaring long and hard with her deeply naYve brown eyes, she burned two holes into the back of his dark neck. "You gonna be long on there?" she whimpered gently, referring to the computer. Explaining herself, she continued, "Cuz' I gotta do some homework." "Yea?" he hissed again, questioning her reasoning. "Well," he dragged on in a sarcastic tone, "I gotta stay on here ... cuz', if I don't keep busy, I'm going to become very angry." "You're always angry," she mumbled under her breath. "Homework should always come first," he said in a matter-ofÂ fact tone. "All my homework is done, you know." He grinned proudly while he spoke the words. He glowed for himself. "But you only have one class on Saturdays." She presented the point softly and gently to him as a proposition for him to consider. "Yeah, well, I work full time!" His voice grew louder with each word ushering from his unstable mouth. He turned to face her, and she trembled. "So do I," her voice quivered as she stated the fact to him. "Well, aren't you just a goddamn god," he snapped resentfully, as if the words were true. "I never said I was," she said in a sweet and honest tone. "You work full time," he grumbled to himself. "Yeah, well, who takes you to work and picks you up?" He was shouting sharply now, barking like a dog. The sa,ne person who gripes and complains about it, she thought, shaking her head. "Aren't you just a goddamn god," she cracked, for only her ears to hear. Awaiting the consequences, she anxiously stumbled backwards. "Yes, I am," he hissed boldly. She squinted her eyes at him, pushing her brows together. Her 8

face tightened, pulling her ears back and her nose twitched. The space between the brother and sister grew thick and heavy, like choking smoke. He plucked at his shirt, in consistency with the ticking of the clock, pulling it away from his skin. "Ugh," he sighed routinely. Giving in against his own will, he retreated from a mind-numbing session of technical war games to his own personal hell. He lived at the corner of the third floor in a radioactive cell that glowed green from the ceiling, seeping like chemical waste down the graffiti walls, to the dirty green-carpeted floor where he took advantage of weaker creatures. He abandoned his position as protector secretly upon the disgusting floor. Not a speck of dust could be found in his room. He constantly moved the furniture around, like the cycle of the moon, to cover over the stains collecting on the landfill. Gargoyles and dragons perched over his manifestation on shelves at each corner of the cell, guarding his landmine. His wasteland was a war-zone in itself, and the gate was always closed. Heavy metal music screamed through the walls, competing with loud phone conversations to disturb his little sister. After knocking only once, he barged through her unlocked door. "You got twenty bucks I could borrow?" he pleaded softly, like a begging puppy. "I, uh, gotta feed Regis." Regis was his three-foot black and tan ball python. Her brother loved his snake. He frequently paraded Regis throughout the house around his neck, bragging like a prized accomplishment, as she had once bragged about her brother. He loved the snake as if it were a real person, often stroking and kissing the reptile to have some means of affection in his life. His sister never saw him so compassionate towards another living, breathing organism in the time she spent residing with him. She hated feeding Regis. She knew her brother would als.o use the money for another disgusting habit: smoking. A stale stench protruded from his clothing. She despised the foul odor that churned her stomach when he opened his gate in the morning, only to stumble down to the kitchen to drown his self-pity in a cup of Folger 's coffee. "You know I'm good for it," he said in reference to the twenty dollars. "I'll pay you when I get my check Friday." He did always pay me back, she thought. Without paying it any 9

more mind, she reached into her beat up pink purse and grabbed a twenty-dollar bill out of the leopard wallet inside. He brought home the innocent snake food in a pathetic brown paper bag. When he called for her, she couldn't say no to feeding Regis. Guilt-free, her brother carelessly tossed the fmTy white creature into the twenty-gallon tank. Four walls. No exit. No one spoke while Regis ate. The predator slowly snuck out of his hiding cell, slithered around his prey smiling routinely, almost licking his lips while he hissed. He sat silent, perched like a lion waiting to pounce. Swift and sudden, he attacked and the snake launched his lethal jaws like missiles into the quivering victim. Regis coiled his body, strangling the mouse until its body lay limp. Then, he devoured it. She wandered wearily clown to the kitchen after witnessing the slaughter, like so many nightmares before, and opened the freezer to find a milk chocolate covered Dove ice cream bar. Mmmm, she thought. "Whose ice cream bar?" she pleaded to her mother sitting at the kitchen table. "Your brother's." She winked reassuringly at her daughter. "But I'm sure we can find justification if you ate it." Licking her lips, her mouth drooled. She looked at the ice cream bar, glanced at her mother, then back at the freezer. She smiled to herself and closed the door. She skipped to her room satisfied from hunger, and a lonely Dove bar lay dormant in the freezer, waiting to be eaten. She lay in a fetal position upstairs in her bed, hiding, as she had on many nights before, nights when her brother had bent his elbows a few too many times and drove home unable to see straight. She curled herself into a ball. He clumsily tumbled into things loudly on those nights and occasionally rolled off his bed. As tears burned her innocent cheeks and melted her piHow, she prayed Regis wouldn't escape out of the hell he had created for himself and invade her room. She heard a knock and someone entered, unannounced. Softly the voice asked, "Hey, could I borrow a couple more bucks?" She rolled over and sat straight to face her brother and those malicious dark eyes pressing down upon her, almost hypnotic. She possessed the same dark eyes, with different intentions. It's a shame, she thought, beautiful eyes wasted hiding an ugly soul. Well, I'd 10

rather have a beautiful soul. Glaring at him intently, she decided. "No," she said. "I don't have it." He stood dumbfounded for a moment, and then carrying another sorry brown paper bag behind him, he retreated to his cell. She waited. After a few minutes, she heard a gasp. She opened her door to find her brother, with tears in his eyes, holding a limp life in his hands. "Regis is dead," he yelped, fighting back tears. "Yeah," his sister said, almost smiling. "I know," she added strongly. As she stood strong and bold before him, a newly freed white mouse scurried out of the green room, and a lonely brown paper bag lay empty on the dirty floor. -Rachel McClain

Icarus Textured feelings in their abstract walls, Rooms full of quasi-illuminations, All that's human, resolved. All that was, is, and ever will be: A story told while still an innocent. Absorbing reality and accepting My penance for ignorance. Blades falling from the sky, Clipping our wings, Trapping us on earth. Kept from the clouds by The chains of childhoodÂ All that we have left are dreams. 12

-Frank Nicoletti

Fountain Day '97

The alarm shrieked at 5:30 a.m. once again. The time possessed an element of inconsequentiality because the alarm had been going off at the same time for the past three years. The importance lay in the events that the day had in store. I had witnessed two junior classes before me have their moment at the center of the fountain at Logan Circle. Jumping into this man-made body of water as a junior signified a student's last year for this experience and marked the start of her senior year. One entered the fountain a golden junior and emerged a red senior. The entire class gathered amongst the sculptures at the center and sang the Alma Mater, and when they concluded, they chanted their graduation year. I jumped out of bed immediately because this year my class owned the spotlight. The Class of 1998 of John W. Hallahan High School prepared to romp in the Logan Circle fountain for their third and final time. I turned off the annoying buzzing sound of the alarm and went into the bathroom to prepare myself. I turned on the light and squinted because of its brightness. Going through my usual routine of showering and scrubbing my teeth, I couldn't stop thinking about my past three years as a student at Hallahan. I slowly changed into the navy blue, polyester jumper, mesmerized by the yellow "HH" on the left side of the uniform. As I tied the yellow shoelaces on my blue and white saddle shoes, these words kept running through my head: Next year you will be tying red laces. I tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to awaken anyone. I prepared a piece of toast and some orange juice for breakfast, and then flopped down in front of the television to catch the morning news. The meteorologist mentioned that the high would be 60 degrees. My first thought entertained pessimistic qualities, creeping into my head like a slithering serpent through tall grass. Oh, my Gosh, that water will be cold! I would not permit the weather to ruin my last romp in the fountain. I had waited three long years for this moment and refused to back down. My mother's alarm went off at 6:15 a.m. I knew she wanted to watch us Hallahan girls engage in our annual tradition, so I ran upstairs to tell her the news about the weather. She could not believe that 13

such a day could exist in mid-June. "I guess you won't spend much time in the water," my mother replied. I shrugged and told her that I would see her at the fountain. I went downstairs and out the door, locking it behind me. Totally oblivious to my surroundings as I walked to catch the #67 to Frank.ford Terminal, I did not see Lucky, the Dalmatian that lives at the corner house. He barked at me, and I jumped a foot into the air. I shouted his name, acting out my immediate reaction, and, fortunately, he stopped due to the familiarity. I waited all of five minutes before the #67 arrived. When it did, the doors opened, and I stepped onto the bus, dropping my school token into the fare box and taking my transfer from the driver. I moved toward the back of the bus as far as possible. Fortunately, I did not suffer from claustrophobia. Had I, the number of people on this bus would have initiated an attack. Forced to stand, I held tight as we rounded Oxford Circle. When we arrived at Bridge and Pratt, I exited the bus and walked up the El steps as I had done for the last three years. Sliding my transfer under the glass and passing through the turnstyle, I proceeded up the second staircase to the El platform. I stepped onto the El, and two minutes later the conductor blew his whistle to warn the passengers that he prepared to close the doors. . The rocking of the EI car had the same effect as a mother comforting her child. It brought me closer and closer to the fountain. Different types of people surrounded me. Some people read newspapers, while others listened to Walkmans. For most, their destination remained the same: work. As always, that familiar blind man with his Golden Retriever seeing-eye dog at his feet continued his journey to work along with the other commuters. I had seen him every morning since I started Hallahan, always admiring this man for not allowing his loss of sight to hinder his quality of life. After scanning my surroundings, I noticed we had arrived at Spring Garden. At ten minutes after 7, the sun peeked its head over the shoulders of the buildings. It shone bright red and yellow as the train started to make its descent into the subterranean tunnels. As the train approached 2 Street station, it made a terrible screeching sound as it turned on to Market Street. The sound had the power to send chills along a-person's spine, like fingernails scratching a blackboard. The passengers who nd

ride the El everyday did not flinch. Those who hold their ears and cringe immediately give themselves away as occasional El riders. In no time we anived at 13 th Street, at which point I stood and moved to the door in preparation to exit the El at 15 th Street. Upon our arrival, I exited the train and approached the escalator. As usual, it did not move, but everyone proceeded up the menacing iron steps as if they ascended the staircase of a 'grand palace. The weather forecaster turned out to be right. Until I had to walk from 15 th and Market Streets to 191h and Wood, I had not noticed the cold. As I entered Love Park, the miraculous sight that includes the Love Sculpture, the fountain at Love Park, the Ben Franklin Parkway, the Logan Circle fountain, and the Art Museum came into view. This scene became my favorite part of my walk to school. The stroll along the Parkway had a picturesque quality. The flags lining it swayed in the morning breeze. I had walked this route before, but today it had more meaning. I finally reached Logan Circle and could not resist gazing at that glorious fountain. I entered the school building and went straight to my homeroom. I could not wait until we received our report cards and departed as seniors. The clock moved slower this morning than it ever had before. I had waited a hundred years for this moment. Mrs. Vitikas distributed our final report cards for the year, and everyone waited intently for the announcement. Then Mrs. Lockhead, the disciplinarian, made her final announcements on the P.A. system about summer school. After these announcements, Sr. Marita Carmel, the principal, began her announcements. Then she said the words I had been longing to hear, "The seniors are now dismissed." A shout came from my homeroom; everyone stood simultaneously and ran for the door. I pushed my way outside, found my friend Cathy, and we bolted down 19th Street, alternating between skipping and running. The noise level equaled the roar of the crowd at a Phillies' game. The rolling sea of blue uniforms moved closer and closer to the fountain. Teachers did their best to direct traffic so none of the girls would be injured. Just before I took the plunge, I handed my report card to my mother who videotaped the event. We had awaited this moment all year. Cathy and I finally got to the edge of the fountain, held hands, 15

and jumped in together. All around girls splashed one another. I lost my friend for a split second. When I turned around,Cathy and some of my other friends knocked me off of my feet, laughing hysterically. Then we noticed evei:yone gathering at the center of the fountain, so we made our way over. All the new seniors arranged themselves as if on bleachers like a choir. On the count of three, we began to sing: "Let a floodtide of song from our hearts pour along, oh girls of the Hallalrnn High ...." I could not believe it had finally come. ''Let the bl,ue and the white in their radiant light, Alma Mater glorify! Alma Mater glorify!" Then came the wondrous shouts: "98! 98! 98!" .The choir dispersed and continued their romp. Everyone had mixed '�inotions. One moment a girl laughed and splashed; the next moment she sobbed and hugged her friends. Suddenly silence prevailed. The girls in the fountain plirnbed p.ut and waited at the entrance to theCircle. The doors opened to the �thool and out rushed the new juniors. When they rea�hed the fountain, the new seniors picked up their "little sisters," threw them in the fountain, and jumped back into the water. Then the ,�arof the classes began. Competing shouts of "98!" and "99!" erupted like Mo1.mt Saint Helens. Girls got oi1 the sculptures of turtles and frogs and put their hands in front of the water to �ake it spray. Then the silence r�turned as all the girls got out of the fountain awaiting the new sopgomores. The upper classes threw their "little sisters" in the fount�if{ahd jumped in again. Now the entire Hallahan student body was in the Logan Circle fountain. The noise level had a deaf ening effect. Most of the students gathered in the area of the fountain that faced Hallahan, making it nearly impossible to move.· Occasional · shouts from the classes continued: "98!" "99!" "2000!" Ever so slowly, the girls dispersed. Some went out for lunch . . Others went down the Parkway and jumped into the Love Park fountain. One thing remained certain: the majority of the students, soaking wet, returned home on the El. -Meredi th Kahn

Absence Ambivalent darkness My mind drifted towards the night Blazing, burning spheres in mid-air Millions of grains united as one vast inge'nious creation' But a lonely face peeks out of the natural satellite The wisdom I sought and gained about the nocturnal beings .. Neglected a piece of reality So massive, yet so alone So close and yet so distant I decided for myself to keep company the lonely face And admire the souls in their nightly grace With a leap from the willow tree with no root escalated Lifted me to forever I climbed on clouds where angels rest And stepped on stars Traveled by small spectacular bodies Streaked my moonlit strands as we burned through the period Between dusk and dawn But upon my arrival Where the being would have dwelled I found emptiness Nothing Seems the lonely face was a mere reflection And I remain lost Resting with angels Sleeping with the souls of stars Still seeking Still searching For a face in the sky -Rachel McClain 17

If They're Soft Pretzels, This Must Be Philadelphia He looked through the peephole in the front door. The sun had set many hours ago, and it was too dark to see the only thing that interested him: a 1984 Chevy Impala parked on the street adjacent to the house. Not wanting to open the front door for fear of being seen, he ran upstairs to his brother's bedroom and, holding his breath, peeked through the slats of the closed mini-blinds. The streetlight shone enough for him to see the car. Everything seemed to be okay. Cars lined both sides of the street, leaving no space left to park. Few houses were lit, because of the late hour. His parents had departed for the weekend; however, he expected his brother to arrive home any minute, and he anxiously waited for him. So far, so good, he thought. "Hey, Ray, why are you in my room and who are you spying on outside?" Staitled, Ray turned around and faced his brother. "What time is it, George?" "I don't know-a little after midnight. Just tell me what's going on." "Okay, okay. Me and Joe were hanging out at Jay's house watching Dude, Where's My Ca,ďż˝ and, hey, George, did you ever see that movie? It's really stupid, but I liked it, anyway. Anyway, we were just watching the movie, and then all of a sudden we heard a guy laughin' out front, and then car doors slammin'. So, we ran out the door, but we only saw the car go speedin' down Jay's street. But, George, you'll never believe this. We looked at Jay's car, and there were three soft pretzels hanging on the antenna! We were like, what the ... ?" George looked intently at his younger brother. "Ray, what do you mean-there were soft pretzels hanging from the antenna? You guys had better not have been in Jay's parents' liquor cabinet!" "I swear! We were just watching Dude, Where's My Car? Let me finish the story, will ya?" "Okay, I' 11 be quiet. Finish this already." George, more mature 18

at age twenty-two than his eighteen-year-old brother, only wanted to get some sleep. He didn't really care about Ray and his friends' juvenile behavior. But, simply to get rid of him, he pretended to listen. Ray continued his tale. "I mean it. There were soft pretzels. You know the frozen ones. Only they weren't frozen any more. They were on the car antenna. But, Joe, Jay, and me decided it had to be Matt and Bob who carried out this dirty trick. Because it looked like Matt's car that drove away." "Ray, is there a point to this absurd story? I'm tired and I want to go to bed!" George grabbed the remote control from his nightstand and flipped through every channel. "Yeah, anyway, let me tel1 you what we did. Jay's mom had a box of frozen soft pretzels in the freezer. So, we took the whole box and waited about a half-hour. Then, we went up to Matt's street and hung all the soft pretzels on his car antenna. But they didn't hear us 'cause we walked and stayed real quiet. And that's all, except now when I was walking home from Jay's house I was looking over my shoulder the whole time." George heard enough of the story by this point. He flopped onto his bed, hoping his brother would take the hint and disappear. He didn't. Ray said, "What are you watching, George? Oh-put on Saturday Night Live." "Okay, Ray, if I let you watch the end of Saturday Night Live in my room, will you get out as soon as it's over? And quit talking-I don't want to hear anymore crap about you or your dim-witted friends. Got that?" "Got it, George." Ray sat on the chair to watch the remaining twenty minutes of the program. When it ended, he rose to leave his brother's room. ''I'm going to bed, George. But I think I'll look out the window one more time." Ray went to the window and lifted the mini-blinds. He screeched. "Oh, crap, George! Hurry up and look at this! I'm going outside." George forced himself to rise and glanced out of the window while his brother, still ranting, bounded down the stairs and outside into the crisp night air. 19

In the twenty minutes Ray forgot about guarding the precious 1984 Chevy Impala; the delinquents had struck again. Outside, he sprinted to the aged Chevy. The front windshield was completely covered with magazines! Mostly Snowboarding magazines. Ray thought, This is incredible. Aloud he spoke, "Tomorrow I'll think of something even better to get back at Matt and Bob! This is war!" -Maria Rybicki

Anno Domini On silver birds from the East With unspeakable acts Of obscenity They bring the twin pillars down The Sons of Darkness. The Sons of Light will raise them up Some, with their last breath This Time we will prevail. Dona Nobis pacem ... Dona Nobis pacem .. . Dona Nobis pacem .. -Regina M. Clawges Johnson (Regina's husband, David, a captain for American Airlines, took off from New York on the morning of September 11, 2001 at the same time that the ill-fated American Airlines flights departed Ji-om Boston and Washington, D.C. Captain Johnson was able to safely land his crew and passengers at their intended destination.) 20

On Crossing Campus We can't make it through down in there tonight Nor any other when shortcuts are most desirable Look, the wrought-iron fence is Miltonic visible Painted blacker than a new moon's midnight Oh, a shortcut or a nice warm wrap worthy of eternal thanks When leaves rattle in strange places and when Fingers of fog poke at you from behind abandoned colonnade To move further on, hurriedly, reluctantly around the long way Where they soon come into view, the low pillows of granite cut Into uniform rows of tombs for the Polish nuns to sojourn -W.H. Smigiel

Fragility of a Familiar Face The quaint and quiet community known as Doylestown thrives from its abundance of privately owned storefront properties, its County Theater, which only shows independent films, its Courthouse, which consistently bustles with lawyers, clients, and criminals, and its Starbucks. The Central Bucks West Pennsylvania State Football Champions call Doylestown home and their team accomplishments have brought notoriety to our diminutive town. Yet before entering the heart of Doylestown, the aorta known as Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church cannot be ignored. Every Sunday this sanctuary fills with the faithful townspeople who come to pay homage to God for their safe suburban living. I have been a member of this church since baptism, but in the last three years, I have been plagued by the experience I have shared with over one hundred others- the death of my sixteen-year-old cousin. Billy now rests in Our Lady of Mount Carmel Cemetery, and I have dared not enter since the morning of August 6, 1998. The cemetery, a place where rheumy-eyed visitors dwell, absorbs the tears that fall for the living who once were and listens to the strained voices that try to make sense of the reality that occupies their lost world. The marble stone wall, which stores the departed souls, encircles the graveyard and leads the eye to the warm, welcoming entrance. I gaze upon the black iron gates with the stained glass biblical stories and challenge myself to enter, to walk among the deceased, to pay my respects, to visit my Billy, but I never muster up enough courage to go in. A bronze statue of St. Francis, with a tiny bird on his left shoulder, greets the mourners as they come in steady droves to weep. Beneath the fleshy green carpet lies the remains of my cousin, and it has been three years since I last attempted to say my final good-byes to him. His young face, his eyes, his smell, his laugh, dance like shadows in my mind and cut too rigidly in my heart to ever heal. My strong loyalty and devotion towards him adds to my daily struggle of going back to his grave and coming face-to-face with the brutal torment that death brings. I remember his funeral service happened with sluggish speed, 22

and yet before I could make my knuckles white again by clenching a Kleenex, the ceremony ended. As people began to congregate in the cemetery, a somber, stifling silence-broken occasionally by whimpers and the gasping for air-settled in my ears. Those assembled looked so drained, and their eyes looked like a kaleidoscope of pinks and reds. The morning dew saturated the green blades of grass, and a heavy competition grew between the smell of freshly cut florist flowers and the odor of newly opened dirt. To the right, in perfect parallel rows, hundreds of headstones protruded upward from the ground. Simple gray blocks, with fading etched words, memories, or Scripture consume my vision. Others look like decadent towers surging up out of the ground, resembling a miniature Eiffel Tower, rather than a gravesite. My cousin's modest headstone does not stand out against the other roughly cut blocks of stone. I would have never remembered where he rests had my aunt and uncle not requested a spot for him under a tree. A pine tree stretches across the left side of my cousin's grave, which has always been my marker when I peer into the graveyard. Billy, being so enthralled with nature, could now forever look upon the squirrels that captivated him. A small gray pebble road cuts through the throat of the cemetery to help add direction to the people who visit. However, on the day of Billy's funeral, the width of the path could not contain the mass of mourners, and the immense crowd began to leak onto the lawn. I remember being caught in a violent sea, with waves of black suits and dresses, and no hope of rescue. Then the dark, morbid ocean parted, and my family approached the coffin. The coffin, the only sturdy entity that did not crumble at the funeral, appeared ?olid. The deep mahogany color, coated in a protective wax, seemed to catch and then release the rays of the sun. The sleek and smooth exterior allowed my hand to glide easily and caress its surface. I knelt by it and tried to pray, but no words would come to my mind. I knew I could not keep treading water forever. So I collapsed, drowning my entire being into the deepest, darkest depths that few people dare to go, and suddenly a rush of raging, surging emotion poured over me. I became absorbed in this melancholy madness, which was slowly churning itself into rage and unspeakable anger directed at God for taking him and at Billy for letting Hirn. I tasted the bitter, ironic 23

essence of life that made me realize only after we experience death, do we fully come to appreciate the fragility of familiar faces. After allowing myself to sink to the icy and burning bottom of my soul, I began to swim back up to the light so that I could once again breathe. 1 cleared the salt from my eyes to witness Billy's three sisters flinging themselves onto his casket and trying to wrap their arms around the cocoon that now encased their brother, but it was too swollen, and so they compromised by resting their heads on it. To witness three sisters for the last time embracing their baby brother burned an image in my mind that will forever haunt me. They began to shriek and sob, asking repetitively, Oh., why, God, why? Their tears slowly began to stream off the beautiful polished surface and landed on the loose ground below. This scene of sorrow caused a chain reaction of screams and wailing cries from the mourners, which only began to cease when my aunt cautiously approached her daughters and removed their limp bodies. Yet before being dragged away, they placed a flower on the coffin, leaned over, and kissed their brother goodbye. Once the priest had said his final words for Billy's service, words that to this day I cannot recollect, I remember people slowly began to filter from the scene murmuring how sorry they were for our loss. As the assemblage parted, I came across the image of my uncle, dressed in a dark blue suit, hovering over the grave of his only son, and clenching a soaking wet towel he had brought with him because he went through tissues too quickly. He stared down at the grave so intently that I could see he made eye contact with his boy for the last time. Yellow and black roses and carnations swarmed over Billy's casket. He was number seventy-seven on the Central Bucks West Football Team, and those were the school's colors. My brother and I walked away from Billy's grave and headed back to the entrance of the cemetery, which seemed to swallow our childhood. A sense of guilty relief swept over my body and hung permanently on my shoulders when I felt the wmmth of my brother's hand. I realized that I would never have the strength to experience such sorrow nor allow myself to plummet to such depths of pain ever again. Three long, agonizing years have passed since Death stole Billy from my family, and I have yet to return to see him. Still Our Lady of Mount 24

Carmel Cemetery serves as a constant and cruel reminder of the place that Billy now calls home. -Kristina A. Weise

Shelved In scraggly lines two abreast In the dim dark hallway at noon White haired women, two men at best Slump in wheelchairs, waiting too soon, For brown double doors to open, Allowing them into the room. Bright red tablecloths welcome them Inside the sun drenched salon. They dine on potatoes and ham In the three-a-day nutrition. Tasty, hot food feeds frail bodies But the deep down hunger goes on. A chat, a touch from old cronies, A son, a friend, an old neighbor Nourishes hearts that are hungry: Food for the soul.

-Cecelia Johnson

Return of a LegendÂˇ "Are you kidding me?" Davis said. "Why would I lie about something like that?" Jon said. "I don't know. I just never thought I'd see the day he came back. I thought we'd see him in some old-timers games," Davis replied. "Yeah,really. I hope he can dominate the game like he did before he retired.With all of the new young talent in the game,it's gonna be difficult. If he's as great as he was, the young players will have to watch out." The two young men quickly searched the room for the remote control. Jon fell to his knees and searched under the dilapidated sofa. Pushing away dust balls and chewed up dog toys that had been thrown under the sofa to avoid the vacuum cleaner, Jon extracted his hand. Within his dust-covered grasp,he held the television remote control. Without hesitation, he turned on the TV. "I hope we didn't miss the announcement," Jon said excitedly. "We missed it the first time. What makes this any different?" "Davis,this marks another possible domination of the basketball league by none other than ...Oh!Here it is!" Jon and Davis fixated their eyes on the commentator. They held their collective breath as they awaited the news. "Ladies and gentlemen,it's true. Michael Jordan will play once again," the reporter said. He has announced that he will play this year for the Washington Wizards and will donate his entire salary to relief efforts for the tragedy in New York City." "Yes!" They yelled loud enough to shake the foundation of the house. High fives were exchanged,and Jon ran up to his room. "Where do you think you're going?" Davis asked. "Hold on. I'll be right down." Davis could hear Jon rnmmaging through items upstairs. Jon came storming down the steps wearing his jersey and holding up a sign in front of him. "Wow!" Davis was astonished."You're breaking out the old Bulls jersey.Nice.What's that sign?Welcome back,MJ.Someone a little excited about this return?" Jon replied sarcastically,"No, not at all." 27

Exchanging a quick glance, they ran out the front door.Jon opened the doors to his car as Davis hopped in the passenger seat. They sped down the street and onto I-95 South.On the ride down, they spoke no words.An occasional look of jubilance but 110 words.The ride seemed short as they turned onto Broad Street.The car doors swung open, and the two burst out, slamming the doors shut. Sprinting up the sidewalk, Davis reached the door first. He opened it as not to slow Jon down, since he had the credit card.Jon, out of breath, made it to the ticket window.Panting and wheezing from his asthma, he managed a couple of words. ''I'd like two tickets to the Wiza1Âˇds versus the 76ers," Jon said, catching his breath. Davis entered the ticket office and stood next to him. The voice behind the thick glass chortled in a cold, mocking tone, "Sold out, fellas.Yous are just a little late.Since the rumors of Jordan's return, we've had this game sold out months in advance.I recommend you order earlier or see what the scalpers have to offer." Jon and Davis looked at each other, turned away from the window, and returned dejected to the car.They opened the doors and slid inside. With the turning of the ignition, the long ride home began. Much like the ride down, they spoke no words to each other.With disheartened faces, they occasionally glanced at each other, looking for some consolation. During the drive, Jon took the Jordan jersey off and threw it into the back seat.They an-ived home and opened the doors.Getting out, they slammed the doors shut.This time not in excitement but in anger. Davis looked at Jon and simply said, "We'11 watch it at your house on the ... " Before Davis could finish the sentence, a disgruntled Jon said, "No, we won't." Davis turned around and started his walk home. Jon locked the doors to his car, glimpsing at his backseat.In the back lay his Jordan jersey, balled up and in a corner. He figured that rescuing the jersey from the cold car would waste his time.Turning his eyes from the car, a dejected Jon walked into the house and shut the door behind him. -George Golding IV 28

The Story "Grandma, tell me the story of how you and Grandpa met again?" six year old Isabella begged her grandmother. She sat in her old wooden rocking chair, pulled her granddaughter on her lap, and started to tell the same story she had told a thousand times before. Isabella loved the story of how her grandparents had met. "It was a chilly Palm Sunday in March. I had decided to teach color guard for The Sound before I was really sure what I was getting into." "And that's the day you met him, right?" "Yes, that was the day I met Grandpa. I walked in to this large, empty room, with curtain dividers. On the one side of the room stood a baby grand piano. At the piano sat a young man, playing something I had never heard before." "His musical?" "Yes, his musical. How many times have I told you this story, Izzy?" she asked of her granddaughter, laughingly. "I don't care. I love this story!" she retorted. "So, anyhow, there he sat tickling the ivorys," she said, tickling her granddaughter as she said it. "He was a handsome young man. I didn't know his name, or his age, only that he knew how to play the piano. But I was interested in listening to the radio, not listening to him play the piano. So I threw my radio on the baby grand and told him to stop playing. I didn't ask. I just told him to stop. He looked at me, and being the gentleman he was and still is, he kindly stopped and walked away. Little did I know, but he didn't like me too much after that." Isabella fidgeted a little and settled down, placing her head on her grandmother's chest. "Keep going, Grandma. I love this story!" "Well, I wanted to find out more about this young man. I wanted to know his story. What was his name? I didn't even know his name. I asked my friend who knew of him, but she didn't even know his name. So I kept asking, and that's when I learned his name." "Alex!" Izzy exclaimed with excitement. "Yes, Alex. That's who your brother and your father are named 29

after." Izzy shook her head in agreement and rested it back on her grandmother's chest. "Practice ended and we both went our separate ways. I didn't see him for two weeks after that. The next practice inclt1ded a parade afterwards. Unplanned, we met in a parking lot, where we had someone else to pick up. He invited me to sit on his car and talk with him. I don't know what prompted him to ask me to do that, since he didn't like me very much. But I joined him on his car, anyway, and we chatted for a few minutes until it was time to leave. When we got to the parade, my brother and I had a fight, and that's when he asked if I was Irish. I told him that I was, and he said he knew because of my temper. That was the beginning of many conversations to come. Now, not only did Grandpa teach, but he marched, too. So, that day during rehearsal, we talked a lot while he was learning his drill. He asked me to sit next to him on the bus that took us to the beginning of the parade and had me hold his Mickey Mouse watch for him while he marched. I did so and enjoyed every minute of it," she said, smiling. "The parade was over, and we returned to our cars to change. There was a bar-b-que, where he bought me a drink, and we sat and talked for about an hour. Then it was time to go home. Our houses were in the same direction, and when he turned off, I was sad to see him go. I still didn't have his phone number, so I would have to wait until the next practice to speak with him again. "Before that weekend, my best friend and I decided to go see a movie, and I wanted to invite him along. So I called information, got his phone number, and called him. His girlfriend answered the phone." "Yuck!" Izzy said with a scrunched nose. "How could he ever think of having anyone else for a girlfriend besides you?" "He was dating her before we even met," she answered her granddaughter with a soothing tone. "I asked to speak to your grandfather, and he turned my invitation down. Which was ok, I suppose. But, now, I had his phone number. That's when our friendship really took off. "A week or so later, Sara and I drove to his apartment. I didn't know which number he lived in, and we never found him. That was ok, though. It was a nice night out for the two of us. I felt like I was 30

fifteen again," she smirked and her granddaughter smiled. "We spoke on the phone just about every night. Little did we know we woold need each other as much as we did that summer. We were both young, and everyone we taught with were older. They didn't like our style of teaching, even though it seemed to work. I remember weekend after weekend coming home and crying because of what I had gone through at rehearsal. We became each other's support system." "The whole time, he was still dating her?" Izzy asked inquisitively. "Yes, they were still dating, even though I think we spoke on the phone more than they did. I didn't care, though, because at that point I needed a friend that understood more than anything. Izzy, friends are so important," she told her granddaughter, lifting her head to make sure she understood. "I know, Grandma." "One day, he asked me to go over to his apartment. He wanted to go shopping. So I fibbed to my parents to use the car and went to his apartment. That's when he told me that what he was playing that day I intem1pted was part of a musical he was writing. He played me parts of it and showed me the lyrics he had written. Then we went shopping. I was impressed with his decorating abilities. He was a bachelor, after all." With that statement, two figures appeared in the door. "Did you ever doubt my decorating abilities, dear?" a man's voice asked, as the two figures walked through the door. Isabella lifted her head and sat up straight on her grandmother's lap to see who the voices belonged to. "Are you having Grandma tel1 you that same story again?" tenÂ year-old Alex questioned his sister. "I love this story," she said sternly. "No, I never doubted your decorating abilities. It's just that I had never been in a young man's apartment before." Alex and his grandfather made their way to the couch and sat down. "Did you two spot anything?" Grandma asked the two men sitting on the sofa. They had just come in from the mountain. They were spotting deer for the upcoming hunting season. They did this every 31

year at this time, even though when they went out, they never caught anything. They just watched the deer and talked. Who would have ever guessed that a ten year old boy and a sixty five year old man would have anything in common. "Yeah, we counted eight in a half hour!" Alex said excitedly, sitting up tall on the edge of the sofa. "So then you may catch something this year?" "Jeanine, no matter how many deer we see when we spot, they know when we come with our rifles. They run and hide. We never catch anything." "Good, I'm glad," Izzy said, settling back down in her grandmother's lap. "I never want to see a dead deer. Those poor creatures, what did they ever do to you? Continue, Grandma." "The summer was coming to a close, and I wanted Grandpa to be mine more each day. Finally the last weekend came. I knew something was about to happen that weekend. After the performance Sunday night, we went back to the hotel and played pool. We had such a great night! After a few games, we left the pool table area and were walking through the hotel, and that's when he ... " She was interrupted by Isabella, who sat up straight and said loudly, "That's when he kissed you !"-sticking her tongue out at her brother. "Gross!" Alex replied. .. "What's wrong with a kiss?" Grandpa asked. "That's just gross," Alex respo'nded. "That summer was the beginning of our lives together. Just think, if we never met, the four of us woulďż˝n't be sitting here together," Grandpa said. "I'm glad you met. I love having grandparents hke you," Izzy said, as she kissed her grandmother on the cheek. "Alright, it's time for bed, you two," Grandma said. Izzy jumped down off her lap, ran over to Grandpa to kiss him good night. "I will be up in a few minutes to tuck you both in." The two children ran quickly upstairs, changed, and hopped into :their beds. "I'm glad we met, too," Jeanine said to Alexander. "Me, too," Alexander replied, pulling her close to him and kissing 32

her on the lips, the same way he had forty-five years ago that very night. -Rebecca Morrell

To Avoid the Inevitable Desperately seeking anything that would convince her parents to change their minds, Caroline abandoned her tactical plan and resorted to pure emotion. "What did I do to deserve this?" she blurted out, obtrusively disrupting a rare moment of silence at the dining room table. Caroline felt both tired and cold, drained from weeks of agonizing conflict with her parents, and freezing from the draft of a house far too big to be kept warm. April had arrived and even the birds flocking back to New England after their Southern excursion knew that the time had come for warmth to fall upon Connecticut. Yet, the Barret house felt as cold as ever: cold and vacant. The house, though huge and filled with meaningless collectibles, still managed to fee] utterly empty. "Caroline, honestly," her mother replied, dropping her fork to her plate and looking up at her beautiful 14 year-old daughter with exasperation. "Are we really going to have this discussion again?" "Well, as far as I'm concerned, it's still not resolved." Caroline traced the edge of her crystal water glass with the tip of her delicate finger, unwilling and unable to return her mother's glance. Although her finger moved slowly and deliberately, her mind raced as she desperately searched for the right words to say. She sought anything that would force them to see past their deep-seated ignorance. Anne prepared herself for the impending conversation, for she knew it would be the same one that she had had with her daughter every night at dinner for the past week. "Why do I have to go away?" Caroline continued. "What? Did I do something wrong? All of my friends are here. I don't want to go to some stupid boarding school!" "Listen, darling, I'm sick and tired of-" "Oh, please don't call me darling! God, you are so patronizing!" "Caroline, Caroline, fine. There! Are you happy now? Listen, Caroline, it's time you realized that sometimes your father and I just know what's best for you. I would have done anything for this kind of opportunity when I was your age. How can you be so ungrateful? We've worked hard to provide you with everything you have." "But, mom, I'm not you. Why can't you miderstand that? Just 34

because something might have been good for you doesn't mean it's right for me. I don't want the same things as you and dad." Using what little strength she had left, Caroline fought to hold back tears that formed behind her steel gray eyes. She refused to cry in front of her mother. Neither of her parents had ever condoned weaknesses, and tears would only make her mother feel more resolved about the issue. "Trials are what make us stronger," she would always say. "They build character." Anne turned to her husband who had been sitting quietly at a loss as to what to say. So rarely did she feel his presence that half the time it seemed as if he wasn't even in the room with them. "Are you going to help me out on this, or what?" Silence. Caroline, knowing that her father would have no say in the final decision, anyway, continued to plead with her mother. "Honestly, why can't you just try to see my point of view on this? Do you always have to be so close-minded?" "Are you criticizing me?" her mother said while contorting her face into simultaneous expressions of surprise and disgust. "Well, that does it! I've had just about enough of your lip. Now sit here quietly and eat your food or excuse yourself. As far as I'm concerned, this conversation is over." Caroline had already left the room before her mother had even finished her sentence. Now painfully aware of the fact that no resolution would be reached, she humbly admitted defeat. Caroline recognized that trying to avoid the inevitable only filled her vulnerable heart with false hopes. Iri the absence of her vivacious daughter, Anne felt the room become even colder. Anne turned to her husband once again, trying to see past his vacant stare, pretending that he actually heard her. "We have made the right decision." Anne didn't know who these words needed to convince more ... her husband or herself. "I mean, honestly, the girl doesn't know what's best for her." Anne ached to hear the deep voice of the man who sat beside her, but it remained silent. "I mean, honestly, darling, she'll have everything she needs. She'll do fine. She's a very pretty girl, so I'm sure she'll have no trouble 35

making friends. We can forward a generous bit of money to her school account every week. And the dorm-master will be there for her. Right, Caroline will have everything she needs." Having sufficiently convinced herself, Anne returned to her dinner. It was then that Anne felt a large warm hand placed upon hers and heard the voice of her husband. "Anne, Anne," he whispered. His voice grew louder. "Anne, Anne, wake up. Wake up." Anne opened her eyes slowly, afraid to let in too muchÂˇof the sun's cruel light. The glare further irritated her already red and swollen eyes. She bad been crying all night again and saw in his face that her husband had been as well. Autumn had come and the house was freezing. "Get up, Anne, we have to get ready to go. It's almost time." Anne could barely bring herself to get out of the bed that she had spent the last three days in. Good God, she thought to herself. I don't even have anything black. -Elizabeth Ann Lehman

Hunger

Thy loving gift will surely hail the love-gift of a fairy tale -Lewis Carroll

He arrived at the patched, screen door Wearing glazed, wing-tip shoes Carrying a hard selling song In his leather satchel. Flagrant fumes of cologne Rose up as he led the family, High steppin' shoes, Out of the living room into The only other room. Sticking to a worn out chair He stared at hunger In the children's eyes And quickly chimed to their mother, "Books are the key!" His ringed fingers Unfold brochures Arranging them like place mats On the teetering table. A warped oval mirror looked on Shameful shelves Clinging close to the wall Dressed only in cans of Corn, peas, and beans. "Books are the key! Knowledge to feed 37

To the children from A-Z Oh, and if you order now I will graciously discount The classic fairy tales." Smiles shined As she marked on the dotted line. The priceless box arrived Each book The deep dark color Of intoxicating wine With golden letters of the alphabet Embossed upon its spine. The youngest, The brightest eyed Brought to her mother Hans Christian Andersen. Once upon a time ... The opening of the book Together they could only Look at black-ink letters Groups of words Twenty-five fairy tales Never to be sung, Never to be heard.

-Diane Sahms-Guarnieri

I Love Snow The phone rang. "Young's Pharmacy. Can I help yoi1?" "Hey, Michelle!" "Hi, Drew! What's up?" "We're all hangin' out tonight. Meet us across the street when you get off." "Okay." "Alright. See you in a bit." "Okay, bye." Michelle hung up the phone, and twenty minutes later, her shift ended. "Anything else you need me to do, Rick?" she asked the pharmacist. "Nope, I think we're good. Have a good night." Michelle grabbed her coat. "Thanks, you, too. I'll see you tomorrow." "Drive carefully. I think it's supposed to snow tonight," he said with a cute smirk. Michelle hurried to her car, got in, and cranked up the heat. She pulled out of the parking lot just in time to get stuck at the red light at the comer, but the radio announcer kept her entertained. "There is something about this town and snow. Every year it snows. Yet, every year people act as if they have never seen it before. As soon as that first flurry falls, the whole town has the mind of a kindergartner," she muttered. Michelle arrived at the diner, got out of the car, and took in a whiff of the cold, crisp air. "Hey," Drew yelled from the other side of the parking lot, "smells like snow." He walked toward her with a childish grin on his face. She exhaled, excited to see her breath. "Yeah, it's getting pretty cold out here." Michelle pushed her car door closed with her hands tucked inside the sleeves of her coat. Tara pulled up and Dave came in right behind her. They hurried out of their cars. "It's gonna snow tonight," Tara yelled as she skipped from her car to MichelJe and Drew. "The news guy on the radio just said it. 39

Wahooo!" The four of them instantly jumped with excitement. "Let's go inside," Dave suggested. 'Tm freezin' and I really gotta pee." They entered the diner and sat in their regular booth. They took off their jackets, opened the menus, and Dave returned from the rest room. He scrolled down the menu. "Hmmrn ...What do I feel like having?" "I don't know if I'm hungry for food-food or if I just want ice cream or something," Tara pondered. "Yeah, me neither. I didn't really eat dinner, so I should probably get a little something," said Michelle, convincing herself. . "I want a chocolate milkshake. Should I get a chocolate milkshake?" questioned Drew. The four looked up from their menus and glanced at one another as smiles stretched from ear to ear. "Every time we come here, we do this, and no matter what, we get the same thing." Dave started to laugh. The waitress came to the table. "Let me guess," she said with a smirk. "One chocolate milkshake, a cup of coffee, two cokes, and two double orders of mozzarella sticks." They looked at the waitress. "Yup." "Okay, I' 11 be right back with your order." As she turned away, the four of them leaned back, Dave with his arm around Michelle and Drew resting his on Tara's shoulder. Nobody said a word. They didn't have to. They could sit silently together and walk away as though they've bad an entire conversation. They knew one another that well. The waitress returned shortly. "It's starting to snow, guys." She put down the plates of mozzarella sticks and handed out the drinks. They all gasped, looked at one another, and ate faster than a bunch of little kids told they could have chocolate cake if they finished their dinner. They paid the bill, left the tip, and bundled up to go back out into the cold evening air. "Thank you," they said as they passed the waitress and went out the door. "Have fun kids." She smiled and watched them leave. 40

They ran out into the parking lot to find that the cars and the ground already had a coating of snow. They scraped up as much as they could to make snowballs. Drew threw the first one right at Michelle. "Ahhh!" she yelled and threw one back. Tara poked her head up from behind her car and launched one at Dave. "Missed," he said as he jumped out of the way. He ran toward her, both hands filled with evidence of winter. She laughed and ran around to the other side of the car. Drew ran at her, too. "Michelle, help me," she yelled. Michelle ran after Dave, laughing. She jumped on his back, knocking him over. "Pile up!" Drew grabbed Tara's hand and ran toward the other two. The snow intoxicated them. Nothing else mattered. They didn't care about how ridiculous they must have looked to the other people in the diner. They didn't think about anything else. Footprints covered the parking lot in no time flat. They discovered that running around like idiots directly after wolfing down twentyÂ four mozzarella sticks may not have been the greatest idea. They slowly started to calm down. Still laughing, they made their way around to the grass behind the parking lot. Dave collapsed to the ground and let out a sigh. "I haven't laughed that hard in weeks." "Me neither," replied Tara. "This is great," Michelle added, trying to catch her breath. They all leaned back and looked at the tiny white dots falling down upon their faces. It was snowing harder. "It's good to be seven again," Michelle cried. Dave agreed, "Yup, it is. I love snow." -Lisa Salto

The Park ".. .In other news, another gruesome murder has police baffled. The body of the victim, a woman in her early twenties, was found early this morning by a man walking his dog in Copperpack Park. The victim had been raped before being brutally beaten and strangled. This brings the total to five such murders in the same area of the city ... " Shuddering, Gretchen turned off the television. "That's enough bad news for one day, wouldn't you say, Princess?" she said, stroking the kitten curled up in her lap. Placing the kitten on the floor, Gretchen pushed her chair away from the kitchen table and took her breakfast .dishes to the sink to wash them. She was about to drain the sink when the telephone rang. Gretchen wiped her soapy hands on her TÂ shirt and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" Gretchen said. "Gretchen, did you remember to change Princess' cat litter?" Gretchen rolled her eyes and suppressed a laugh. "Yes, Mom," she said. "I did it last night when you asked me. How's the weather down the shore?" "Oh, it's nice," said her mother. "If you run out of bread, there's some money in the kitchen cabinet; you can run down to Wawa." "Okay, Mom. Is Daddy there?" "He's still sleeping. And don't forget to water the garden." "Okay, Mom." "And fertilize your roses." "Okay, Mom. Anything else?" "Hm. No, I think that's about it." "You're sure?" asked Gretchen. "I think so. You're still going to Marianne's graduation party tonight?" "Yes. I'll be fine. I'm a big gfrl now, Mom. I can take care of myself," Gretchen said. Have fun and be careful, she thought. "Have fun and be careful," her mother said. "Okay, Mom. Have fun at the shore." "Alright, sweetheart. Bye now." 42

Sweetheart, Gretchen thought as she hung the up phone. She has to call 1ne sweetheart. That's what Ryan used to call me. The phone, barely in its cradle, rang again, interrupting Gretchen's thoughts. Sighing, she picked it up. "What now, Mom?" Gretchen asked impatiently. "Uh, Gretchen, I'm not 'Mom."' "Oh, sorry Marianne," Gretchen apologized. "My mom just called, and I thought it was her again." "Are you still coming tonight?" asked Marianne. "You bet," said Gretchen. "Who else is going to be there?" "Let's see," said Marianne. "Chris, Joe, Amanda, Mike, Tim, Sue, April, Ryan-" Gretchen groaned. "Ryan? He's coming?" "Well, I invited him before you guys broke up," said' Marianne apologetically. "It seemed kind of rnde to uninvite him." "Whatever," said Gretchen. "I just won't talk to him. I don't want to get into any fights at your party. What time do you want me to be there, anyway?" "Oh, eightish, I guess." "Eightish?" repeated Gretchen. Marianne was notorious for not giving specific times, then wondering why people were always either early or late. "How's quarter after eight sound?" "Works for me," said Marianne. "See you then." "Bye," said Gretchen. "Bye." * * * * * "Marianne, did you get any non-alcoholic beverages, or do I have to drink water again?" asked Gretchen, searching Marianne's refrigerator. "No, I got you some iced tea," said Marianne. "But I almost forgot to. It'd be a lot easier to shop for parties if you would drink something besides iced tea and orange juice." "Well, when you develop cirrhosis of the liver-" began Gretchen. "I know, I know," Marianne cut in. "Don't come crying to you. You've been saying that since high school. It's a wonder none of us has killed you yet." "It's a wonder none of you are dead of liver disease yet," retorted 43

Gretchen, throwing a bag of potato chips at Marianne. "Got any apples in this house or is it all just greasy crap that' 11 rot my teeth out?" "Y'know, for all the healthy eating and exercise you do, you'll probably be the first one of us to die," said Marianne. ''I'd rather be dead than fat, ugly, and carting around a oxygen tank when I'm forty," said Gretchen. Marianne fell back against the kitchen counter and clutched her chest in mock horror. "Oh, anything but that!" she wailed. Then she grinned. "But not to worry. I'm going to marry a plastic surgeon, and he'll keep me young and beautiful forever!" Gretchen laughed. She found an apple in Marianne's refrigerator and was about to bite into it when she saw Marianne looking at her questioningly. "What? What is it?" asked Gretchen.. "I was just wondering," said Marianne. "Why did you and Ryan break up? Neither one of you ever really said anything about it. I mean if it's, like, a taboo subject or something just let me know, but I was getting curious." Gretchen sighed. She and Ryan had met on the first day of their freshman year at college. He asked her what time it was, she told him it was time for him to get a new watch, and they quickly became the best of friends. A few weeks later, they went on their first date. "I guess we were both at fault. He got too pushy and possessive, and I let him get away with it for too long. Sometimes I remember all the good times we had together, and I just want to give him another chance, but then I remember how jealous he was and think I'm better off without him," said Gretchen. "And he would keep doing things he knew I hated. Like whenever we were out late walking somewhere, he'd drop behind me a few paces and hide behind a car or something. When I finally noticed he wasn't there, I'd have to go back for him. He knew I scared easily, but he never seemed to care. He'd wait until I passed the car he was hiding behind, and then sneak up behind me and say, 'I've been waiting for you' in this really creepy voice. It was just some stupid line that he picked up in a really bad movie, but I swear to God, it scared the hell out of me. I'd start screaming and smacking him. One time I punched him so hard I gave him a bloody 44

nose." "Served him right," said Marianne. "Yeah. I told him that if he kept it up one night I would stab him to death with my house keys." "You know," said Marianne, "you could actually kill someone like that." "Yeah, right!" exclaimed Gretchen. "With a dinky little house key?" "No, I'm serious," said Marianne. "It's a self-defense thing someone taught me once. You make a fist and hold your key between your middle and index fingers. Like this," Marianne demonstrated with her house keys. "You can do some serious damage if you punch someone like that. You could probably even kill someone if you hit them in the right place hard enough." "Well, Marianne, it's a comforting thought that you know these things," Gretchen laughed. "Don't laugh," warned Marianne. "You never know when you might need to defend yourself, what with that rapist still running loose." Gretchen groaned. "You sound like my mom. And thanks for brightening my evening. I'd almost forgotten about this morning's news." "Look, if you want a ride home tonight, I won't drink," offered Marianne. "Thanks for the offer, but no," declined Gretchen. "What kind of party would it be without you puking your brains out?" "Ha, ha," said Marianne, tossing a sleeve of paper cups at Gretchen. "You are just too funny tonight." 'TU drive you," offered a third voice. Gretchen and Marianne turned around to see Ryan standing at Marianne's screen door and exchanged a glance. "How long have you been there?" asked Marianne. "Not long," answered Ryan, opening the door. Turning to Gretchen he asked, "So do you need a ride home?" "No, thanks, Ryan. And I'll take your keys now before you have anything to drink," said Gretchen. Ryan hesitated and looked at Marianne. Marianne shrugged. 45

"Keys," demanded Gretchen, holding her hand out to Ryan. "Now." Ryan rolled his eyes as be pulled the keys out of his pocket and dropped them into Gretchen's hand, then left the kitchen wordlessly. "That could have gone better," said Marianne. "Yeah, I know," sighed Gretchen. "I just hope he doesn't start anything tonight. You know how he gets after he's had a few." * * * * * As Gretchen had hoped, Ryan stayed away from her at Marianne's party, except to ask her if she'd like him to walk her home. He seemed genuinely concerned about her well being, and for a moment Gretchen felt bad about breaking up with him. However, she stood her ground and was proud of herself for not relenting. As she left, she told Ryan the same thing she'd told her mother: she was a big girl now and could take care of herself. Just in case, though, she decided to put Marianne's key-dagger theory to the test. Putting her front door key between her index and middle fingers, she made a fist and swung the key out in front of her-and shattered a car's passenger-side rearview mirror. Feeling guilty, she looked around to see if anyone had witnessed what she'd just done. Something-or someone-moved in the distance behind her. Suspicious, but not yet worried, she turned around and continued walking home. For the first few minutes, she remained calm, but then an uneasy feeling took hold. Was that another set of footsteps she heard behind her, or was it her own steps echoing against the trees in the park? The park. That's where the murder victims had been found, Gretchen remembered. The park. It's cold and dark in there. Who knows what-or who-might be lurking in the woods, watching her from behind a tree, waiting ... Gretchen lengthened her pace and walked faster. Faster now, she took her feet off the ground, faster now, she put them back down, pulling herself ever closer to her house, where the darkness was a familiar friend. Home was less than a block away. But right now she was still outside, still vulnerable, still alone. Now walking, now jogging, now running, she vaulted herself over the low garden fence that surrounded her yard and spriti.ted to her front door without once 46

looking over her shoulder, afraid of what she might see if she did. She fumbled with her keys, dropped them, scooped them up with trembling fingers, and finally unlocked the door. Once inside, she flung the door shut and leaned back against it with her eyes closed in the cool, familiar darkness of her living room. She waited for her heart to stop pounding and her breathing to return to normal before turning around to lock the door. As she did so, she glanced out the window and saw ...nothing. Now she laughed at herself for allowing her imagination to run away with her. All that talk of murdering rapists with Marianne that night had taken over her mind. Nothing like that had ever happened on Ash vale Street, and probably never would. Jingling her key ring around her thumb, she reached out for the light switch and flipped it on. The room remained black. She flipped the switch a few more times, hoping the lights would come on, but all the power in the house was dead. Turning to the window again, she looked out and saw lights on in other houses. Hers alone was dark. Maybe she had blown a fuse. Maybe a light bulb needed changing. Maybe .... A sick feeling knotted Gretchen's stomach. She tightened her grip on her keys as the familiar coolness descended into coldness. Her pulse quickened and her chest heaved as she breathed in darkness and breathed out fear. Then she asked the question, even though she already knew the answer. "Who ...who's there?" she said hesitantly, fumbling with her keys in the blackness. Somewhere behind her, a voice slunk out of the darkness. "I've been waiting for you," it said.

-Freda M. Terrell

Things a Teen Knows What does a teen know? Latest styles Clothes in piles School dances Taking chances Hair and make-up And the time it takes up Girlfriends Boyfriends Movies, parties Being tardy Crying Lying Sharing Caring Freaks and geeks Violence, drugs, and sex 70 dollar checks School But most of all Being cool -Maria Valentine 48

Contributors George Golding IV-currently a Junior at Holy Family; English-Education major. Diane Sahms-Guarnieri-cunently a graduate student at Holy Family; her poetry has previously appeared both in these pages and in Limited Editions at CCP. Cecelia Johnson-a graduate of Holy Family and former contributor to Folio;she haďż˝ published novels and poetry on a professional basis. Regina (Clawges) Johnson-a graduate of Holy Family. Meredith Kahn-currently a Senior at Holy Family; she is an English Education major and previous contributor to Folio. Elizabeth Ann Lehman-currently a Junior at Holy Family; she is an English-Art major. Raebel McClain-currently a Sophomore at Holy Family; she is an EnglishÂ Communications major. Rebecca Morrell-currently a Junior at Holy Family; she is a History major. Frank Nicoletti -a Holy Family graduate, poet, and former contributor. Maria Rybicki-currently a Junior at Holy Family; she is an English Literature major. Lisa Saito-currently a Senior at Holy Family; she is an Elementary Education major. W. H. Smigiel-currently a Junior at Holy Family; he is a poet and former contributor. Freda Terrell-a graduate of Holy Family and f01mer chief editor of Folio; Freda is presently teaching in the Philadelphia Archdiocesan School System April Thompson-currently a Senior at Holy Family; she is an English Literature concentrator. Maria Valentine-currently a Freshman student at HaiTy S. Truman High School in Levittown, PA, and winner of the Folio High School Contest Kristina Weise-currently a Junior at Holy Family; she is an English Literature major.

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