Folio 39

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FOLIO 39 STAFF MARGARET DEFELICE Editor-in-chief AMANDA GURECKI Assistant Editor IRENE KLOSKO Editorial Consultant WARREN HOPE Editorial Consultant CHRISTOPHER PAHNLICK Layout Design Consultant DENNIS MILLAN Faculty Moderator LIZ MOORE Faculty Moderator PARTICIPANTS Saima Ali Joy Anderson Larry Goldberg Dominic Kenkelen Patrick Murray

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Table of Contents Poetry “Unspoken Words” Jazmine Babuch “To Graduate” Francis Bitting “The Cold Flip Side of a Pillow” Jan Cook “A Who” Jan Cook “A Bird Lullaby” Jan Cook “Cloud Poem” Jan Cook “Sweet Memories” Sister Doloretta Dawid “Letting Go” Sister Doloretta Dawid “Definitions” Lawrence Goldberg “Beware” Rosa Gonzalez “Beowulf's Funeral” Warren Hope “Time” James R. Huber “Rhino Eyes” James R. Huber “Lavender Buds” James R. Huber “Input” James R. Huber “You Were There” Patty Kerwick “Night Dialect” Andrea Martineau “Today’s Forecast” Andrea Martineau “Perfumed Portraits” Andrea Martineau “The Doctor” Andrea Martineau “DSM-V(Dielectric Spectroscopy; Star-Crossed Science)” Yousuf Mohammad “Phantamasgoria “ Patrick Monteith “The Glimmer” Caitlyn Olszewski “Sit With Me” Nicole Ridgeway “With you? I Do” Nicole Ridgeway “Did I Know?” Nicole Ridgeway “The Bargain” Sherry Teti “Black Crow of June” Sherry Teti “Eulogy for Jim Morrison” Sherry Teti “Give it My All” Joseph Valerino “Musings from a Southern Beach” David Whelan “Journey With Me” David Whelan “Eyes are Upon You” David Whelan “Photographs” David Whelan

5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 16 17 17 18 19 20 20 21 22 23 24 25 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

Prose “The Tree” Patrick Bampfield “Armored Heart” Margaret DeFelice “Isle of Hope, Isle of Tears” Amanda Gurecki “The Ultimate Sacrifice” Amanda Gurecki “Lucky” Dayna Howitz “The Ballroom” Megan McDermott “Sweet Auburn and the REA” Donald Moore “The Road to Fantasy Lane” Saba Mufti “E” Mimoza Muskaj “Relationships Can Break” Meghan Rakus “Learning to Move On” Marissa Rosario “An Angel Named Daisy” Mary Sarpong “Tomorrow” Lyndsey Smith “And the Snow Begins to Fall” Linda Thompson “First Assignment” Char Webster “My World in Black and White” Brianna Zimmerman

37 38 40 41 42 43 51 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 61 66

Writing/Artwork Collaborations “Flake” Taurai Augustin “Taking Time to Stop” Nicole Fortuna

69 70

Art “Timeless is This Love” Valery Cadet “Bruce Wiegner of The Weekend Riot” Rachel Everman “The Weekend Riot” Rachel Everman “The Girl and the Dreamcatcher” Rachel Everman “The Smallest Feet Make the Biggest Imprint on our Lives” Rachel Everman “Leaving” Carolyn Gulliver “Rudy and Natacha” Maria Johns “She Who Has Lost” Adam Lee Price “Here Now” Marin Renée “Leaving Sun” Nicole Ridgeway “Master of Time” Marcel Smith “The little boy and the tree” Janice Xu

75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 86 87 88 89

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Poetry

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5

Unspoken Words Jazmine Babuch There are things that I should have told you, things that I should have said sooner but didn't because I couldn't find the courage to But I found the strength to say them, so here goes nothing You should know how gorgeous you are, both inside and out, with a big heart to match You should know how beautifully crazy you are, such a lover of life and a free spirit, never letting the world drag you down You should know how strong and intelligent you are, always putting your best foot forward But above all, it is important that you know how much you mean to me because without you, I am nothing

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6

To Graduate Francis Bitting To graduate It is a college freshman's only thought Yet as it becomes close we no longer want to part Sure the work has become overdue But the memories we have still seem new Our four years used to drag, but have gone in a flash We now worry about jobs and houses and the importance of cash We worked hard all week in class, and made sure our weekends were a blast Now we fear all we have done, the fun will vanish and no longer last Well that does not have to be true for me or for you Look not on the memories as over, but as freshmen again to the world in a different way Let us not forget our memories of college but treat graduation as our real world “first day” I have decided to put in place for myself some ground rules To help keep in touch and make sure who I am is brought with me and not left at school Rule 1: when I can, to sleep in late like the satisfaction of a canceled class I will value sleep because it can really be great.

Rule 2: never let traditions we made in college lower or stagger even if it means coming back to take a trip to Three Monkeys or Taggarts Rule 3: sometimes make dinner a cup of ramen noodles or easy mac just because we will be financially stable, the taste of these two will never lack

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Rule 4: take time for myself when needed just because exams are over, it doesn't mean Netflix cannot help us when feeling defeated

Rule 5: treat every task in life as a final exam in jobs, life, we may get behind like we felt before finals, so remember it's ok and just like finals do what you have to and cram, cram, cram If you follow these rules, the law of my guidelines College will always be with you and your real world life will be just fine

College was hard, we can all face that fact But the real world will be harder you can count on that Life is changing all around you and I It is changing faster than the blink of an eye As we cross this stage Our life’s story will turn the page As our books change to clients or patients Our school bags will change to briefcases Remember who you are today, who you want to be, and who you were four years ago Remember college for the good the bad and never let it go The world is now ours, the real world is ours for the taking And our families, loved ones, and Holy Family University, we have to thank for our making Congratulations class of 2016

7

The Cold Flip Side of a Pillow Jan Cook Of all the inventions God has wrought it’s been my occasion to ponder the cold side of a pillow flipped about is God’s deepest wonder.

I can name a few others if you’ll indulge cars with rubber tires that keep lightning from killing me, water filters taking the chlorine away thus delivering me, clear egg cartons that allow a glimpse of brokens—and Charity! all tokens—if you ask.

These are all good inventions and for this, God, I heartily thank you.

A few others…

Air travel that lets me spy down on clouds coral reefs that explode once a year at night for Lassie the movie and Flipper the movie buoyant rafts on twelve foot waves words like—farout and groovy!!!

All good, and really the stuff of rapture!

Though at the end of any day when my lids pull heavy and cost is put aside I bury into blankets fret and toss about There is nothing but the cold flip side of a pillow when all sensations cease crash into a Clorox white God’s purest invention again and again the cold flip side of a pillow.

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8

A Who Jan Cook

I think I’ll look up a Who today And maybe a Where and What If a Why comes by I’ll talk to the Why Maybe too, Why Not

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9

A Bird Lullaby Jan Cook

The bird he were a note

Now when I look up

on the sky he wrote

at the clouds without the birds

On the linen sky

how silent it is

he flew a lullaby

not to hear their words

The stars were guitars the clouds treble-clefs

But then! He gathers up!

Dreams they were the streams

a note upon the sky!

breezes the riffs

A song follows him!

Percussion and string

a bird lullaby!

trees trumpeting

And lush are his notes

On the mountaintops

no better symphony

volcanoes blew their rocks

I find that no note is

The bird he called his friends

More sweeter than he!

they danced upon the sky Patterns of their wing chorus of their cry They filled my heart light like a plate of apple pie Spilt milk and burst their music on the sky!

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Cloud Poem Jan Cook She wore the fleetest white heavens ever sewn Touched by softer silver, bounding to unknown She tore her skirts easy blue, tresses rampant go Devoured, tore past slower ones, blurring those too slow She was not long waiting, soaked through of sun, threw apart her insides to keep on the run The writer thought his skill a trace harnessed his pen but she—too high swept away—left on a whim an afterthought an etch of blue a hollow delft of sky the writer might’ve captured her instead held alibi.

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Sweet Memories

Sister Doloretta Dawid Looking back on days gone by memories fill my heart bursting with joy and love

Thanksgiving – wonderful aromas especially the best treat of all homemade hot apple pie

Long train rides glancing out at glorious New England scenes

Sweet memories go on and on they come to mind because one special person in her caring way Shared her gift of love to others

Visiting family in a quaint country home eating meals in a big warm toasty kitchen filled with laughing voices Sleeping upstairs In an icy cold bedroom snuggling under a handmade down-filled comforter Roaming through tobacco fields watching, learning how the leaves were prepared for drying Back in the city standing in a crowded line waiting for the pool to open Learning how to swim

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Letting Go Sister Doloretta Dawid

When one has learned to love much Then one can let go of that love The Master speaks: “it’s all right You can let go of what you love” “such love,” He says, “is the work of a lifetime” “such growth,” He says,

“for each of us is different” Yet letting go This certainly does challenge To love others more than myself To be vulnerable, risk all In letting go We move toward the mystery of God

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Definitions

Lawrence Goldberg

Some people try to define me by my work Some by what I do for fun Some by my gender Some by my income STOP trying to put me in your box of what you think I should be STOP with the labels, learning disabled, Asperger’s, gifted I am who I am .

I don't just think outside the box, where ever this box is, I LIVE OUTSIDE THE BOX Don't confine me, don't restrain me, love me or hate me for who I am, not who you want me to be, not who society expects me to be I embarrass you!!! Too bad, get over it, move on, don't force me to fit in your box, don't force me to fit what your definition of a normal person should be You don't define me, and you never will, and if I can't have traditional success by fitting in then like the person who does live outside the box I will look for non-traditional success To define that in one word: HAPPINESS!!!

So go out, live your life and I will live mine, and we will all be fine when we realize that life can be better when it is no longer something we have to DEFINE!!!

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Beware Rosa Gonzalez What’s left to discover when all is explored The desire for more is kept behind a door No access, no further venture, unmarked territory But this is no ordinary place, this is the heart There are things it wouldn’t want you to know Because it isn’t your right to Privacy is the defense of the problems or solutions unseen But what happens when privacy is invaded There is a further mechanism that keeps others away These are called secrets Private thoughts that go unspoken for many reasons But the main one being: You will never truly understand Because once the secret is out, you can’t take it back What plays out cannot be reversed The deepest secrets are the most personal Those are the ones locked up the tightest Because those are met with rejection and close mindedness So behind the layers, they hide A new secret forms from that rejection Something else kept under guard One more thing weighing on the shoulders A murmur through the silent tears It hurts

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Beowulf’s Funeral (Translated from the Old English of Klaeber’s Beowulf, 3rd ed., lines 3169-3182) Warren Hope

Around the mound the brave in battle rode, The sons of noble sires, twelve in all.

They would lament their loss, cry for their king, Utter a sorrowful song, speak of the man: They praised his prowess and his work in war, Deemed him most daring.

It is fit for man To honor with his words his friendly lord, To love him from the heart when he must go Led from the body-home.

And so bemoaned All of the people of the Geatish tribe, Those hearth-companions mourned their dear lord’s death: They said of him that of all kings on earth He was the mildest and most gentle man, The kindest to his kin and the most eager for fame.

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16

Time

Rhino Eyes

James R. Huber

James R. Huber

Time is a turtle

There is no failure,

on a fast moving train

Only failing

Ever so slow

And trying again

yet swift

To find the strength

just the same.

And see the new vision To dream on.

Like looking at white storm clouds In a summer sky And discovering that The big bad buffalo Was really

A rhino to ride.

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17

Lavender Buds

Input

James R. Huber

James R. Huber

Lavender buds bloom in art

Input Input Input requested.

Against the April blue sky Framed with white clouds.

Tall yellow tulips reach for the sun Swaying like gospel singers In God’s gentle breeze.

A curious robin vested in orange Hops on the new green grass

Input Input Input rejected.

Don’t confuse the mask with the ask.

When “What do you think?” is really “You must!”

The illusion of choice becomes the erosion of trust.

Near the dogwood tree.

Listening for worms and looking up He studies the patient poet Smiling back at him From the kitchen window.

Without a word Two brothers bird On a beautiful spring day.

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You Were There Patty Kerwick "I'll be at your graduation" You lied You didn't make it You promised you wouldn't give up You said you'd come no matter what 3 months before graduation and that's when you give up your fight?

You didn't let me say bye You could've stayed longer But you didn't Why now?

At your funeral someone told me you were there How did they know?

Who are they?

During the hallelujah you put your hand on my shoulder Why didn't I feel you?

Why did it take a stranger to tell me this for me to know?

Where are you now?

Now, when I need a hug and a story about the crazy priest at Roman You're gone But you were gone before You haven't been here in a while Now, you're physically gone too The only person that understood

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And you're gone But it's ok You tried You read my note You'll always be here But it's not the same I keep looking for parts of you in my dad But you’re not there The only thing that's the same are the bottles of Jack He's gone too This isn't my dad When you left you took a part of him You took a part of me Nothing is the same "Move on" they say "He's in a better place" Don't they know?

It's not that simple 9 months later and I'm not over it Why can't you come back?

Why didn't you come to my graduation?

But you were there

19

Night Dialect Andrea Martineau Enter stage right.

Sheets cover your body like a curtain blankets a stage. Hiding under the covers won’t protect you from the monsters of your mind, a ritual remnant of childhood. The house lights go down.

You are alone in this theatre with your unconsciousness.

Wicked little thespians lurk inside the roots of your psyche, promenade across this potent platform, litter this once grandiose space with black sand traps— coherency and logic drained into unreachable voids.

They encircle, taunt you with the voices of loved ones minus their mentalities. You choke on this language, your tongue shrivels at its pungent taste. The glowing exit pirouettes away as the costumed hellions loom in front of you, snatch your voice, leave you a stranded siren on this sinking cinereal shipwreck. Daylight will never again direct this stage.

No exit.

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Today’s Forecast

Perfumed Portraits

Andrea Martineau

Andrea Martineau

I construct my quilted nest of fleece and flannel, to barricade against winter’s bite, hair sparked with static clings to my face, neck, sweater shedding a trail of frizz.

My skin, a cracked Sahara, faded to a sickly pallid olive, lacks melanin, warmth. My eyes, rubbery boiled eggs, sunken into my face—parched. Flakes fall as airlines offer escape for aged snowbirds and trust fund babies. But us mere mortals are left grounded in this icy existence.

Temperatures collapse on the unprotected prairie, a high of bleak snow and a low of no end.

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Lilacs along the back fence weaving throughout the barricade blocking out the cranky Rottweilers and the deadbeat’s dead grass form the view of her play time sanctuary.

Lilacs in plastic paint cups lining the low classroom windows gifts for her teacher remnants of recess escapades.

Lilacs lining the edge of the driveway, offering a scented embrace after the first boy broke her heart for the fourth time.

Lilacs along the valley park path slightly wilted from the warm, hazy Saskatchewan sun freed from the confines of the branches to become her amethyst crown.

21

The Doctor Andrea Martineau I take him home from the hospital not to their home, but to mine.

“Grandma, what does the doctor mean they did their best?”

The pulse of the earth, the hum of bugs dreaming, the alarm clocks of nightcrawlers going off— happy things, I hope.

Each night he slumbers as well as any orphan can.

My grief is caffeine conscripted to keep me from rest— I check on him hourly, for them.

He hopscotches through the cucumbers, stops to snuggle the smaller ones that look cold, reassures the tomatoes that there are no monsters underneath the flowerbed he cannot defeat.

On the third night I hear his door creak open around midnight, bumpy footsteps ambling down the hall like a baby chimp.

I slip on my bifocals, and pursue his escapade.

He submerges himself in the toy bin crashing about like a cat thrown in a bath until he unearths a plastic stethoscope.

He waddles outside, his blanket, a duckling, following close behind.

I stop the screen door from slamming.

He buries the end of the stethoscope in the damp soil.

To think we buried them only a few weeks ago.

I’m not sure what he’s listening for.

My strawberries are burnt from the sun, picked apart by robins, like a desert corpse defaced by miniature vultures.

“You know what? You’ll be alright.

You just need a nap and some of Grandma’s soup.

You’ll perk up soon.”

I wish his advice applied to us, to the gaping negative space in our home, our hearts, in our family portrait.

If only this could all be mended with some soup, a nap, a hug.

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DSM-V (Dielectric Spectroscope; Star-Crossed Science) Yousuf bin Mohammad

This is a chocolate worth the Chocolate!

When evenings grow out of dusk and the chocolate covers the skies...

Or has it covered my eyes, nearing an ecstatic death?!

How broad is the Broadband? And how the dielectric could be a single entity they be, while being so opposite!

So is it a cruel joke on them?

Or has it been growing upon my soul for infinity and tonight, in a moment of epiphany it had come to complete the purpose of my Chocolate?

And how does Spectroscopy ever even claim to know them if, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar!

So where is psychology?

Beyond the questions of how? and why?

I want my heart to speak!

As questions of science, and signs of progress could not speak as loud as my heart!

And if I eat all this sinew noodle what would be left in a twisted world for you to eat tonight?

So let the manatee upon his melancholy hill thus be...

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23

Phantasmagoria Patrick Monteith Wow What beautiful Colors I encounter on this Ascending kaleidoscopic Elevator Rising so high as The wind lightly brushes My face Butterflies filling my Stomach and rising to my Head in an unparalleled Euphoria Slowly rising to the Pinnacle of this Escaping White light as it Runs away from Prismatic confines

Now Reaching the apex of this Luminescent rainbow Palms sweaty Forehead beading Excitement contained as it is Ready to let Loose In unencapsulated glory And slowly beginning to Slide down this Eternal and Incomparable beauty Speed picking up Nerves running rampant Rush of blood to the ...

Eyes open and Head rises up while my Hands clench the back Bed post as Perturbed Realization Sets in Left wrist to eyes with Luminescent watch showing Early morning numerals Head back Down Face pointing up Work starting soon Eyes falling shut As alarm awaits to Sound off Tick tock Tick tock

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24

The Glimmer Caitlyn Olsewski A girl stands Broken and bruised She wears a scar for every agonizing encounter She is clothed in all black that effuses a dark omen A forbidding mist surrounds her and all her shattered aspirations Pieces of her calamitous past fly past her very eyes Her hopes shine gloriously before her Only to shine so bright that they burn And crumble to ashes A single tear descends from the corner of her eye And splashes into an ocean of sadness That has been slowly filled over the years The light drop can be heard for miles Across the deserted place named despair

Despair is a lonely place Where one goes to bury their yearnings The girl stands Broken and bruised Shovel in hand She holds the power to let despair overpower her Life is dark Lonely Hopeless

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A single glimmer appears before her eyes A glimmer the size of the tip of a pin A glimmer that doesn’t appear to be burning Or crumbling to ashes As she waits patiently for it to die out A glimmer that appears to be persistent

The glimmer lands upon her shoulder The girl’s black and lonesome shoulder The glimmer begins to grow Spread Until it encompasses her body from head to toe The shovel drops

The glimmer lands upon her shoulder The girl’s black and lonesome shoulder The glimmer begins to grow Spread Until it encompasses her body from head to toe The shovel drops om It seems a glimmer she had left behind Found its way back to her

A glimmer of hope.

25

Sit With Me Nicole Ridgeway Dad, sit here with me teach me about life there’s things I need to know before I become a wife

You set the best example my standards are high of how a man should treat me you’re the ideal man, that’s why I’ll always be your little girl even during our first dance I’ll cry because I’m lucky Raised by you was perfect chance You’ve given me guidance and helped me to grow so sit here with me, Dad and never let go

With you? I do Nicole Ridgeway

Some say we aren't old enough But we will call their bluff We can show how we grew And all that we go through Together we are strong Our love will last lifelong I tell everyone how I feel Because I know this love is real In front of our friends We will tie the ends Soon we will start a new life I'll be your navy wife You'll say you love me so I'll whisper how I know I can't wait to stare at you And lovingly say "I do"

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Did I Know Nicole Ridgeway Feeling sad and alone Thinking I can't be on my own People telling me to go with the flow It's part of being a military wife, but did I know?

Missing him every day Wishing he could stay People telling me our love will grow It's part of being a military wife, but did I know?

Praying for a safe deployment trip Hoping he won't get sick on the ship People telling me not to feel low It's part of being a military wife, but did I know?

Waiting days for a one minute call Trying my hardest to stand tall People telling me I give a somber glow It's part of being a military wife, but did I know?

Looking forward to our life Dreaming to be the perfect wife People telling me "when you love, you know" It's part of being a military wife, and love, I know.

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27

The Bargain Sherry Lynne Teti

Dorian cried “Yes!” Pearls wrap in rancid canvas.

Soul is devil-kissed.

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28

Black Crow of June Sherry Lynne Teti

The young farmer boy’s face fills with joy, as he performs a grueling list of daily chores.

Exploited by his parents, he remains grateful for being born.

A soldier has returned home no longer able to use his limbs. Now a burden to his family, memory of his courageousness haunts him.

Oh, Ancient Being that rules the universe, do you see the loss of Goodness and yet remain stoic and perverse? Amid the warm balmy winds of summer, the black crow speaks – haw, haw, haw.

The momma bedridden with cancer, looks at the sunlight and imagines dancing free. She is tortured by the fear that her babies may drown in life's sea.

A father suffers another job loss; literacy is key! Remembering past play-dates in the park, children once loved he thinks of resentfully.

Shall we consult with the Oracles of Greece? How am I to witness, and keep my soul from breaking into pieces? Amid the warm balmy winds of summer, the black crow speaks out to me.

The hungry coyote ravages the carcass of a defenseless house-cat that has strayed. Innocence and loyalty are consumed by neglect and decay.

A girl walks along a highway on which a crazed trucker cruises. Mother’s indifference is not a fair price for a life ended in a few bruises.

Let us admire the beauty of Earth and Sky. Must our hearts harden and darken like bark, in order to stay alive? Amid the warm balmy winds of summer, the black crow speaks – haw, haw, haw.

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Eulogy for Jim Morrison, Lead Singer of the Doors Sherry Lynne Teti

During those troubled awkward teenage years, your cherub-like face I adored.

Without the crutch of background music, a true Poet should strive to be able to read poetry dryly from the lines appearing on the written page.

Do, be, and feel the artist that you are – tend to the plants of your garden in quiet steady faithfulness.

Looking at the horses writhe in pain, in their thunderous gallop feel the power to seize your Destiny!

Back in the days of Helter-Skelter, I was merely a small child just learning to walk.

To this day, the lush flowers of the earth conquer the lands; I am now a matured woman.

What about the meaning of being a Hero?

Is it to rise above one’s circumstances in a struggle against environment, in order to achieve some kind of greatness?

I now stand alone and suddenly feel ten feet tall.

Toward perfection, commit to mastering the noble artwork of your lives!

Magical symbols of medieval forests prophesy an ordained choice celebrated in ecstatic dance!

In my strong forceful voice, from the mountaintops I shout, “Jim, How did you die?”

Despite all of your gifted moments in life, you were unspoken for and left to an isolated End. I will learn the lessons and will keep my eye on the Eagle’s flight; this is my promise to you.

There will be no more tears; for you had said that Death would make you an angel…

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Give it My All Joseph Valerino Life goes on, without much to give The sun, oh it begins to dim The only person on my mind was you But now I sit here with a grin.

You’ve told me that I needed to grow up I’ve gone through life southbound Difficult for me to erase I feel that I’ve been walking round and round And my life with you that I think of Is falling down And coming down Again and again You have to take me to my home Give me your word I’ll give it my all, my heart is heard.

You can give your all to your heart But you can give your heart to all Obstacles break us apart Could we keep our distance small?

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Then you have to look for your love But everyone has hate All you find is a frozen pen And a dark empty crate Everything has taken away your hope Still, you keep on trying for and praying for and trying for again and again You have to take me to my home Give me your word I’ll give it my all, my heart is heard I’ll give it my all I’ll give it my all Give it my all My heart is heard

31

Musings From A Southern Beach David Whelan The sun comes up as I look out my door, Calm waves lapping toward the shore.

I think, I pray, I wonder, The gnawing of the hunger.

So you push people away.

I do that to everyone, I say.

For me, who gave his heart, it gets lonely.

Who thought I had my one and only?

Betrayed again. Hurt. Deafening silence.

Capture the mood of the mind, so dense.

For a year I pray for wisdom from above, Hoping for stronger, more committed, love.

Dragonflys begin to mill around As they do daily.

And the lights fade as old sol peaks through the clouds.

Do the twinkling lights mean hope?

Does the sun mean renewal?

Or does the miracle of a new day signal my loss clear and loud?

There are so many problems facing the world.

Why do humans focus on themselves?

Are we selfish?

We emphasize our own troubles, mistakes, wants and needs.

Miserable, I am no different in thinking of myself.

Early morning, before the sun comes up.

Lights shining in the distance.

A lone eastern star sits in the dark sky, Waves gently push back the sands’ resistance.

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Journey With Me David Whelan Dance with me, hold me tight, Take my hand, let’s fall in love every day of our lives.

Smile with me, cry with me, Run with me through the wind and the rain.

Let me show you my world, and you can show me yours.

Let’s embrace all we have, all we are, and all we came from.

Sway with me in the sunlight, hide with me in the darkness.

Feel the world with me one day at a time.

This I ask, a pledge to stay by each other’s side through our separate journeys.

Let us melt into one.

Take my hand and let us swim in the oceans and run through the open fields.

Let us gaze at the stars at night from wherever we are, And know that we are together under this vastness.

I want to smile my smiles with you, and cry my tears with you As we fly through life.

Hold me now, hold me forever for the rest of my life.

I will give you all of me, the best of me, the worst of me.

You can have as much love from me as you are willing to accept.

Just open your heart as I have mine, and journey with me into the unknown.

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Eyes Are Upon You David Whelan I remember when I used to see The twinkle in your eyes When they looked into mine.

But I haven’t seen them in a long time, Never mind sparkle!

Now they look at another, And who knows if they light up When you look into his?

There is so much I miss, So much I miss about loving you, But you took away my heart and my trust.

I can forgive, but you don’t know what the word means.

I remember when I used to twirl you around the dance floor.

You always loved to move like white girls do.

Despite your façade and your defenses, You are still with him.

Someday, perhaps, You will remember twinkling and twirling With the one who will love you always.

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Photographs David Whelan I open the gallery of my smart phone.

It’s not so smart!

Because when I open up the pictures, All I see is you.

In every folder I look through, My finger slides them by.

I look and cry, for all I see, Are more images of you.

You and me, me and you, You, and me, and families, You alone, smiling just for me Like you always did What I don’t have, I’m happy to say, Is one of you most recent.

One where your cruel, insensitive words, Broke me down that day.

Of course I could delete them, I do believe, At least move them to a different place.

But I don’t know how to do that, Like I don’t know how to grieve.

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Prose

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37

The Tree Patrick Bampfield I see this tree with yellow and orange leaves. It is just turning fall. The weather is so rough. The clouds are gray and white. The grass moves with the direction of the wind and tree branches slowly bend. As the wind hits me and stings my face I feel a chill run up my spine. In the midst of all that I can possibly take in through my senses, I come to the realization that I am alone, in a field. Alone, in a field? What do I do now? This day is different than all the others. It is quiet, yet loud from the movement of nature. I sit down under the tree and think. What do I think about? Life—my life, to be exact. You see, this tree is how I feel. This description is inside me. I don’t feel green; full of life like a spring tree. No, I am an early autumn tree, already starting to wither. The wind that stings my face and chills my spine hits my heart and mind. I feel cold and alone. My search for happiness has led me to this tree deep in myself. Slowly withering away in defeat of the natural elements set before it; set before me. It is not all gloomy by the tree. I do see the sun, in which the tree can regrow its once green and vibrant leaves. As I can be reborn in the warmth of others with me.

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38

Armored Heart Margaret DeFelice

Tears are bodily fluids that cleanse the eye of external invaders. They are a response to physical pain; chemical reactions within the brain correspond to an emotion. The trouble with tears is that, even under the umbrella of emotions, it takes some psychological digging to figure out the cause of them.

Happiness? Anger? Sadness? Spicy Food? Ultimately, tears are a sign of weakness. In poker, showing happiness or triumph over a good hand can cause a player to lose the game and who knows how much money. Displaying anger in any situation allows an opponent to know his or her adversary’s psychological debilitations. Sorrowful tears are the most deadly. A creature in sorrow is cradling its heart in its hands because it cannot bear harboring all the wretched feelings. At least, that’s what I believed for a long time.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” my mom once told my sobbing, frustrated, younger self. I can’t recall what happened to put me into that state in this particular instance. I just know my mom’s usually effervescent green eyes turned to ice in the presence of my throat straining rage. Despite this, I thought that was something to be proud of. That’s how relationships work.

Not hiding your heart, but offering it up to others. How naïve I was. It did not take long for my classmates to exploit that frailty of mine. I was bullied by some, ignored by most, and liked by few.

I was a hunted monster in a bad horror movie when several girls approached me in the recess yard. I’m aware the term “recess yard” seriously ruins the drama of the scene I’ve set up, but that’s the place where they came up to me in groups of three or more to verbally attack me in the hopes of getting a reaction out of my stoic face. On one occasion, there were about five girls who hemmed me in against the fence that ringed the Convent.

There was no way out. I panicked. My face got so hot it felt like I just downed an entire cup of tea fresh from the kettle. If you don’t drink tea (or any hot beverage for some bizarre reason), it feels like your insides are trying to become your outsides because it’s simply too hot for them to remain within you anymore. At the time, I was too terrified to break free of the pack of hunters that surrounded me. They invaded my space. There was nothing I could do but let my organs stew in my hot anger and fright and silence.

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In hindsight, I see that those few that liked me I pushed away because the cruel ones cultivated an instinctual distrust in me. “If you’re being bullied, try not to react. If they see it doesn’t bother you, they will get bored and stop.” This was advice I was given from I don’t remember how many adults who were sympathetic to my plight. So, my sleeve heart was fitted for its first set of armor.

The few tears I was naturally inclined to shed hardened and fell less and less as I refined my emotional armor. A subconscious chant began in my mind: “Don’t let them see it bother you. Don’t let them see it bother you. Don’t let them see it bother you.” During my stay in grade school, I rarely smiled and rarely spoke as I devoted my attention to my books. I had no time to be the bullies’ prey. I leaned against the fence, in my space that I unofficially claimed by the small patch of grass, and never looked up. Not if I could help it. I was too busy reading. I fought the wind that tried to take the words away from me. Cars driving by gave me the perfect soundtrack to drown out my enemies’ violent jibes.

The stories pulled me away from my reality and made it easier for me to soothe my anxiety and fear when I was the cornered monster. However, they could not make me shed my armor as, after some time, I was unable to rid myself of the protective metal. The hinges had rusted with my unshed tears and would not let me make myself vulnerable again. I could almost hear the metal itself cry with relief when I begrudgingly hugged my classmates in false affection when I graduated and moved onto the opportunity of emotional freedom.

High school: the land of adolescents. You can probably imagine that my stay in here was more promising than my time in grade school; otherwise this sad story would just be outright depressing. My classmates were not just classmates, cruel or otherwise, anymore. Some were willing to make the journey past all my defenses to meet me. Some eventually relieved me of my then repressing armor, even if they didn’t realize that they were doing so. I was allowed to talk about things without being mocked around every turn; gone were the tricksters luring me in with false promises of friendship and camaraderie.

39 I joined clubs. I talked to people. I even shared what feels like a million inside jokes that I can’t describe here because you wouldn’t understand them; you had to be there. A group of us gathered every morning in front of our maroon lockers to complain about school work or discuss whatever exciting thing was happening that day. Something as simple as a morning ritual made me feel that I was crawling out of my confining protection faster and faster with each person that treated me like another person, rather than a grotesque servant to help get an easy “A” on a group project. I remained terrified. Terrified of the impending witch hunt in the early days of high school. I didn’t know how to have friends; I’d frequently overthink insignificant incidents and come to the conclusion those I talked to hated me in reality. Someone who told me they couldn’t hang out was telling me they didn’t want to be friends. I walked a tight rope between my previous despair and happiness that I never thought would be possible.

This remained my reality for quite some time, though not nearly as long as the time where I was suffocating within my own metal security. You see, I was to come to my liberation faster than I dared hope; I’d tip off the tight rope into the impossible happiness of possessing the ability to be a friend. To truly comprehend this, you must know that I have a particular obsession over a musical with a masked man as the star. I cannot pinpoint where this obsession exactly began. This Phantom just appeared in my memory, like he has always been there waiting for me to discover him. I found a fellow monster in this man; he knows what it’s like to be hunted, to dress oneself in an armor of intelligent superiority and apathy, to feel trapped within the secure metal.

The Phantom lurked within my consciousness as I hummed his music while traveling through the halls to class; the melodious sounds worked together to soothe my worries in times of stress. To this day, I cannot fully process what it is about the music that gives it the ability to reach past my rigid armor to touch my shielded heart. It was like the Phantom himself reached for me through his music, beckoning me, calling me, to him. I answered the subconscious summons.

I was desperate to experience the show in person. Despite my parents’ confusion over my sudden desire to go to New York to visit my monster, my Phantom, I went. Despite it being mid-July, the heat was not oppressive. The crowds, of course, were. The Majestic Theater is indeed majestic, styled in a similar dramatic style as the opera house in The Phantom of the Opera is decorated. I lugged both my and my aunt’s bags while we waited in the buzzing line of people to gain entrance into the theater. Photography flashes made the line into a red carpet event as everyone wanted their picture taken with the portraits of the play’s characters that were hung up in a perfectly symmetrical fashion upon the beige walls that contrasted with the surrounding greys. As we walked out of the smoky scent of the city, we entered the alcohol perfumed cloud that was contained by walls that were too dark to be red and too light to be black.

Giddy from the beginning, I traveled down to the depths with the Phantom, out of my world and into his. All alone in the end the lonely monster cried, his face twisted in agony crying out with his strong voice, lit up by countless lights. The person who functioned as my guide for so long disarmed himself and cradled his heart in his hands. He held it out for us to see, in all its vulnerability, broken and bleeding. It was in this moment that my armor was removed so fast it seemed to disintegrate before my eyes and disbelieving heart. And I cried.

The release within me was overwhelming. I could hear others in the audience sobbing. All I could think was, “I’m not alone.” These creatures were offering up their hearts to the world. I can think of no greater weakness than that offering and yet no one was taking the opportunity to attack them. I thought nothing could compare to the dramatic display I was privy to, but I was wrong. For the first time I was not descending a staircase to hell, nor was I trapped in the purgatory of observing others’ happiness without being able to fully share in the joy. I was no longer a wretched thing, debased for my feelings. Despite the clear disbelief my aunt held in beholding these people weep at a fictional story, I was able to join my guide in removing my armor and held out my heart like I was made to do.

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40

Isle of Hope, Isle of Tears Amanda Gurecki

America. The land of freedom and opportunity. The country where the streets were paved with gold. The place where everyone was rich. It wasn't home, though. Home was poor, yes, but it was full of family and friends. Here, Annie was alone. Her family could only afford the one ticket when they bought it and her friends were too sick to travel, even if their families had had the money for a ticket. She knew it was for the best though. Her family was relying on her. They needed her to get a job and send money home. The money was going to be used to buy a ticket for her little brother. It was a large burden for a young girl to carry, knowing that the future of her family was in her hands. She was only twelve, after all. She was scared, but knew she had to be brave. If she was scared, she wouldn't be able to answer the entrance questions properly. She was lucky. She had been coached on the journey over. A man and his wife had taught her the correct answers to all the questions. Yes, she could read and write. Yes, she had some money – $25 to be exact. Yes, she was going to get a job as soon as possible. The man and his wife had told her to be brave - that if she was brave, she would do fine. Annie took a deep breath, picked up her bag, and smiled.

She was brave.

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41

The Ultimate Sacrifice Amanda Gurecki

The steady wail of bagpipes drifts across the empty field, breaking the afternoon silence. A small group of people, their black clothing clashing with the bright green of spring, stands quietly awaiting the arrival of their friend and brother. Slowly, steadily, the horse-drawn hearse approaches, the clip-clop of hooves on cement sounding out of place. Reverently, the honor guard steps forward, stiff and ceremonial in their freshly pressed uniforms. The bagpiper ceases to play, the sound being carried away on the breeze. As the casket is brought to the graveside, a sob pierces the air, the sound of a young wife now made a widow. Her husband—like so many other men and women throughout time—was brought down in the line of duty, performing the job he loved nearly as much as life itself; protecting his fellow citizens.

Those gathered on this day shuffle to surround the casket as the priest begins the service. Voices are lifted to the Heavens and prayers are offered for the repose of his soul; prayers which none present had ever dreamed would be said so soon.

Sprinkling the casket with holy water, the black-robed priest steps back as the honor guard once again approaches. A far off trumpet sounds, echoed by another, as the flag covering the casket is lifted. Held aloft, its edges flutter in the gentle breeze before being stilled by glove-covered hands as it is folded. As the final trumpet notes sound, the flag is presented to the young widow, a lasting monument to the man she loved.

The crack of rifles sounds as the casket is lowered into the ground. Firing a second time, then a third, the service draws to a close as the honor guard salutes their fallen brother. All present bow their heads in a final moment of reflection. As the mourners slowly disperse, silence reigns once again.

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42

Lucky Dayna Howitz

The sun has almost completely disappeared now. It almost reminds me of something you would see in a movie with the sky full of yellows and oranges, pinks and purples. Another day is done, and what a day it was. We spent all day on a beach with white sand and crystal clear water, with the sun shining bright overhead. It was the perfect beach day. I’ve never been a fan of the water, but he didn’t care. He picked me up and carried me in, and, for once, I wasn’t scared. I knew he wouldn’t let anything hurt me and, if I didn’t let go, he wouldn’t either. We just spread out on our towels to dry, feeling the sun evaporate the water on our skin. Walking hand in hand, we left the beach and would return for the sunset. Now, as I feel the salty air on my face and the wind from the ocean blowing my hair back, I can feel his arms tight around my waist. I never want this moment to end, but I know if it doesn’t, I can’t have another even better. He places his chin on my shoulder and I feel his warm breath on my ear as he whispers, “How did I get this lucky?” Never taking my eyes away from the sun, I correct him, “How did we get this lucky?” His jaw muscles shift and I know he has a wide smile on his face. “I love you.

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The Ballroom

43

Megan McDermott “James is coming back Thursday,” Lauren casually remarked one sweet, spring April afternoon.

“Really? What for?” replied Mrs. Atwel, whose curiosity was now engaged.

“Mrs. Clarke said he’s finishing up his tour around the world and wants to take some time off to relax at home,” continued Lauren. “Said it was about time her grandson paid a visit since leaving.”

“Gosh,” exclaimed Mrs. Atwel. “It’s been what, eight years since that boy left? Erin, did you know about this?”

Erin, sitting quietly in her cushioned window seat with pencil and sketchbook, was very much aware of James’ return – although what day that was she had not known. James Clarke, or “Jimmy” as she once called him, was Erin’s closest friend growing up, and many of her cherished childhood memories were of the times she spent with him.

“I did hear he was coming back, but I didn’t know when,” replied Erin.

“We should have him over for tea,” Mrs. Atwel suggested with a twinkle in her eye.

“Really, Mom? Tea?” scoffed Erin.

“What? What’s wrong with tea?” retorted Mrs. Atwel. “Everybody drinks tea.”

“You don’t drink tea,” Lauren reminded her. heading. “James is visiting his grandparents whom he hasn’t seen in a long time. He’s been gone awhile, and I’m sure he has a lot of catching up to do with Mr. and Mrs. Clarke. Give him some space.”

“So you’re not even going to say ‘hi’ even though you two were best friends for pretty much your whole lives?” questioned Lauren.

“Of course I’ll say ‘hi’ if I see him. But I’m not going to sit here waiting with bated breath for him to stop by. If James wants to call, he’ll call. I’m not going to bug him. So you two can stop going Jane Austen on the matter.” Rising, Erin gathered her things and headed for the room’s exit.

“Where are you going?” asked Mrs. Atwel, a bit perplexed by her daughter’s strange attitude.

“I’m getting some tea,” replied Erin as she casually made her way to the kitchen.

“Ooh, make me some too please!” Lauren exclaimed.

“And bring me a cookie or two…or five, okay? Erin? Erin!”

“Okay! Jeez,” shouted Erin from the kitchen.

Satisfied by that response, Lauren then questioned her mother about her older sister’s strange indifference toward James’ return.

“What’s up with Erin? You’d think she’d be excited and happy to see Jimmy after all these years.” “Well, how about dinner?” persisted the girls’ mother.

“Mom!” Erin interjected, knowing where the conversation was undoubtedly heading. “James is visiting his grandparents whom he hasn’t seen in a long time. He’s been gone awhile, and I’m sure he has a lot of catching up to do with Mr. and Mrs. Clarke. Give him some space.”

“So you’re not even going to say ‘hi’ even though you two were best friends for pretty much your whole lives?” questioned Lauren.

“Of course I’ll say ‘hi’ if I see him. But I’m not going to sit here waiting with bated breath for him to stop by. If James wants to call, he’ll call. I’m not going to bug him. So you two can stop going Jane Austen on the matter.” Rising, Erin gathered her things and headed for the room’s exit.

“Where are you going?” asked Mrs. Atwel, a bit perplexed by her daughter’s strange attitude.

“I’m getting some tea,” replied Erin as she casually made her way to the kitchen.

“Ooh, make me some too please!” Lauren exclaimed.

“And bring me a cookie or two…or five, okay? Erin? Erin!”

“Okay! Jeez,” shouted Erin from the kitchen.

Satisfied by that response, Lauren then questioned her mother about her older sister’s strange indifference toward James’ return.

“What’s up with Erin? You’d think she’d be excited and happy to see Jimmy after all these years.”

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44 “Well, it has been a while, and I don’t think they’ve talked much since high school,” replied Mrs. Atwel. “Things change sometimes.”

And Erin’s mother was right; things had changed.

Despite what she said, Erin’s coldness toward the matter was not truly directed at James. Rather, Erin’s distant demeanor was her earnest attempt to disregard the unmistakable feeling of hopeful anticipation which was slowly surfacing in the pit of her stomach. It was the distinct nervous-excited feeling that swells within the heart which Erin wished to avoid. All of these conflicting emotions had been brought on by Erin’s realization that she may very well see James again, and she desperately wanted to make them all stop.

And so, desiring to keep a cool head, Erin resolved to let matters play out without her interference. It was just as she told her mother: if it is meant to be, it will be.

As Erin casually situated herself on a weathered, wooden rope swing under a sturdy maple tree, she quietly reflected on all that had happened since those carefree and happier years. It was a unique story that began many years ago.

James and Erin first met on a cloudless summer day during the Clarke’s annual neighborhood summer party. Helping themselves to cool, sweet beverages, the two twelve-year-olds politely began to talk of this and that. Their casual conversation quickly grew into engaging chatter in which the young strangers discovered their many similarities.

During the following months after their introduction, James began to spend more and more time under his grandparents’ care.

Erin would later learn that her new friend had been left to the guardianship of the elderly Clarke couple as a result of his mother’s unfortunate death from cancer. And although James’ father was very much alive, he was never really around. James hardly spoke of his parents to Erin, but what she did come to learn was how fond he was of his mother, and how terribly he missed her.

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Beginning on that casual summer day, the two young neighbors slowly fostered a friendship that would grow into a bond few people have ever had the privilege of knowing. It did not fade with time, but instead matured as they entered adolescence. To Erin, that precious past seemed like a lifetime ago.

Looking back on it now, having Jimmy as a genuine friend helped her get through some tough times, especially during her arduous adolescent years. Because Erin was a rather plump child, she was sadly the object of several bullies’ spiteful teasing. Although the many years of endless taunting deeply hurt her, Erin managed to keep her head up, thanks to Jimmy’s unfailing friendship. Whenever the two were together, Erin could almost completely forget about her self-consciousness and just enjoy being a kid. From exchanging thrilling adventure stories to exploring the outdoors, whatever Jimmy and Erin did together was always more important than looks and appearances.

Jimmy Clarke’s comforting companionship became even more invaluable when Erin’s parents separated. Occurring towards the middle of Erin’s sophomore year of high school, this somber split was the result of the countless years of her father’s continual drunkenness and vituperation. Matters did not go over well, and for some time the Atwel’s lives consisted of school, home, and the dreadful courts. It was a difficult and stressful time for everyone, especially Erin’s mother.

During the separation process, Mrs. Atwel’s own family slowly began to distance themselves from her and her daughters. At first, Mrs. Atwel thought her family’s behavior was their way of allowing her and the girls some space in the midst of all the chaos. But after everything surrounding the separation had concluded, the mother of two came to see that she was truly alone. No matter how many times she tried to reach out to her family, Mrs. Atwel was continually shunned. She quickly came to realize she would now be raising her daughters alone, and that frightened her. Why the family turned their backs on them, the Atwels would never know.

45 It was during this period that Erin developed her struggle with trust. The people who she thought would always be there for her – no matter what – had come up short and betrayed her. Erin’s faith in people had been shaken, and it would not be so easily restored.

At a time when everything was changing, Jimmy’s friendship remained steady. And that helped her pull through.

“Sometimes you just want everything to stop,” Jimmy told Erin one day when she was particularly upset. “Sometimes you get so overwhelmed that it gets hard to breathe. You want to close your eyes and wake up from this nightmare to see everything all better.”

Seeing his silent friend still without hope, Jimmy continued, “Wanna know what I do? I close my eyes and take a deep breath and then let out all the bad feelings and troubles with one big ‘whoosh.’ I let it all go. And for those few minutes I feel better. Then I open my eyes, ready to push on.”

A small smile crept on Erin’s sun-lit face as she recalled Jimmy’s simple yet heartfelt words of advice. It helped her then, and any time she became anxious thereafter.

The next few years or so had its share of difficulties, but Erin and her mother and sister got by together as a family. Slowly but surely, life returned to normal.

Graduation, which was an exceptionally pleasant blue-sky morning as Erin recalled, soon came and went. In the midst of the graduate’s merry celebration later that day, Jimmy remarked, “Hard to believe we’re done high school, huh?”

“Yes,” Erin replied. “Seems like yesterday that we were all excited about graduating from eighth grade.”

“Thought we were on top of the world,” he recalled.

“As opposed to now?” teased Erin.

“True,” her companion laughed. “And now we go off to start something new.”

Excited about their promising future, the graduates then went their separate ways as James appreciatively accepted a substantial scholarship to a distant, reputable college while Erin continued her academic pursuits close to home. Later that year, as the world prepared for another festive season of Christmas, the two friends returned home and wasted no time in reconnecting. While Erin decorated her house with warm holiday lights and fresh pine wreaths, she and James swapped pleasantries and brief recaps of college life. Then James continued with some exciting news following Erin’s inquiry of “What’s new?”

“Actually, I sort of got my first professional job.”

“Really? How’d you manage that?” Erin playfully questioned.

“Well, this guy was visiting my school and happened to see my work that was still on display from the gallery contest,” Jimmy began.

“The one you placed at?” Erin asked, having heard of James’ achievement from a very proud Mrs. Clarke.

“Yep,” James replied. Continuing, he explained, “So he comes over and we start talking and I tell him what my goals are for the future. And then, out of the blue, he offers me a spot on his audiovisual team! Turns out this guy’s made a name for himself in the photography and cinematic industry, and his work is widely recognized.”

“Talk about being in the right place at the right time,” interjected Erin, pleased at seeing how excited Jimmy was.

“I know, right?” said Jimmy. “And he’s also published some bestselling travel books and produced a few documentaries about the places he’s been.”

“Right up your alley,” Erin commented. “So what will you be doing as a part of his team?”

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46 “Well, I’ll be accompanying Mr. Kent – that’s his name by the way – on his new project, Our World through a New Lens, as a production assistant and junior photographer,” explained James.

“Said it would be about an eighteen-month project. But the best part is that we’ll be going all over the world visiting places few have seen and even fewer have been allowed access to.”

“That’s great, Jimmy. When do you start?” Erin inquired; she was a bit taken aback upon learning about this lengthy departure.

“The second week of January,” he replied. “I’ll be able to continue with school along the way so I can graduate on time. It’s a pretty sweet deal.”

With a gentle smile, Erin said, “Well, just remember to send a postcard every now and then.”

“Definitely,” James promised. But few came.

As late morning turned into a cloud-filled afternoon, Erin finished reminiscing, departed from her swing, and headed for her bedroom. Pulling out a small, worn, and personalized wooden box (which still had the pleasant smell of pine), she gently rummaged through its contents until coming to the set of aged postcards Jimmy had sent from his travels. There were ten in all: ten postcards with short sentiments from the prosperous photographer over the past eight years of his adventure.

In truth, Erin wasn’t sure how she felt about James’ return. On one hand, he’d been away for so long without much contact, and having him back with his grandparents would be a grand sight to see. But on the other hand James was gone eight years, and his return seemed rather strange. Their steadfast companionship as children was so long ago, during a time when things were simple and carefree. Was that friendship now only a remnant of the past?

She wasn’t sure.

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Erin then considered for a moment that her conflicting feelings might be somewhat juvenile, but she soon dismissed the notion. Her fast friendship with James was something that she held close to her heart, and that bond was hard to let go. And Erin wasn’t completely sure she wanted to put the memories of that meaningful past behind her. It was a decision she would have to make, but Erin did not want to think about it any further. Breaking thought, she returned the contents to the wooden memory box and left to make that cup of tea.

The next few days proved uneventful. The weekend arrived and had Lauren and her mother packing up their belongings for a short beach trip which they had planned with some close friends.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to come?” questioned Mrs. Atwel for the fourth time.

“Yes, I’ll be perfectly fine,” Erin replied as she jotted down some fresh ideas for her new story. “I don’t mind the quiet.”

“Well, alright,” concluded her mother. “There’s plenty of food in the fridge.”

Hearing the car horn, Erin walked her mother to the car. “Have a good trip Mom,” bided Erin. “Don’t do anything foolish, okay?” she teased Lauren as the car pulled away.

“When have I ever done anything like that?” her sister sarcastically shouted back. And with a final sounding of the horn, they were off.

Erin truly did not mind being alone. Unlike many, she wasn’t fond of the beach.

And while her mother and sister were enjoying the sea, Erin could take advantage of the quiet and continue writing her newest novella.

The peaceful stillness of the Atwel house, accompanied by soft sunlight which crept in through the windows, created the perfect atmosphere for silent contemplation. Over the next several hours, Erin kept herself busy with the creative bustling of her thoughts. She relished times like these and was, in that moment, content.

That evening, overcome by a sudden wave of nostalgia, Erin decided to bring out one of her oldest creations that had been retired to the back of her closet for some time. It was an elegant gown which she had delicately sewn over the course of her adolescent life. Having purchased a simple dress she discovered in a small antique shop many years back, Erin gradually embellished the garment to her own unique liking. The gown was a gorgeous blue color, like a cool lake reflecting a cloudless sky. And onto this dress she skillfully embroidered a beautiful silver rose pattern which was just subtle enough to catch the light of the room.

To most, the dress would be nothing more than a piece of stitched fabric. But to Erin, it was much more: it was a reminder of what she had been through and all she had overcome in the last fifteen years. Erin knew in her heart that those years had been the most crucial in her life. It was during that period that Erin discovered the quiet strength which she possessed and also who she was as her own person. The last fifteen years had taken Erin on a journey filled with trials and tribulations. It was a daunting period in her life when Erin would face the world without the comforting companionship and support of Jimmy. This fateful journey began not long after her first year of college.

During summer following her freshman year, Erin suddenly collapsed one morning to the frightful shock of her mother and sister. Although she was soon revived, her troubles were far from over. Whatever had caused this sudden episode would be the start of a series of agonizing ailments which Erin would unfortunately have to endure.

Within the next few days following her collapse, Erin became very sick. Doctor after doctor examined her. Each ran lengthy, complex tests and analyzed her strange condition. But none could figure out what was wrong. From constant nausea, to terrible joint pain, to severe headaches, Erin was in a great deal of discomfort for several months.

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Mrs. Atwel one evening.

“She seems to be suffering from some kind of disorder that is causing her body to attack itself,” the doctor coldly replied.

“Can’t you give her something to make it stop?” pleaded the mother.

“We can give her some medicine to numb the pain, but that’s about it.”

47

“What about all those blood tests you ran?”

“They were inconclusive. I’m sorry, but we just don’t know what’s causing this illness,” “But she will be okay, right?” continued the worried mother.

“Hard to say. She may be able to pull through if she lasts the night.

And even if she does, she probably won’t regain her mobility due to the enormous stress her system has been under lately.”

“Oh goodness,” quivered Mrs. Atwel. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Prepare yourself,” he replied. “You can pray too; that’s what most people usually start doing about now.” And with that, the apathetic doctor left Mrs. Atwel alone and fearing for her daughter’s life.

Towards the early hours of the following morning, Mrs. Atwel woke suddenly from a dreamless sleep to find a nurse calmly examining Erin.

Fearing the worst, she approached the bed prepared to say good-bye, only to find Erin breathing easily. Apparently, sometime during the night, Erin’s mysterious illness began to lose severity, which was later confirmed by the doctors. And within a week, to the bewilderment of those in charge of Erin’s care, she was well on her way to making a complete recovery.

But the illness, whatever it was, had left her body scarred. Nothing was life threatening, thankfully, but her health would have to be monitored for the rest of her life. And because months of joint pain inhibited her from serious movement, Erin would have to undergo therapy to rebuild her strength.

That was no easy task. This new challenge would prove to be a trying period for Erin. Day after day, she struggled to accomplish tasks which were once so effortlessly achieved. While Erin fought to place one foot in front of the other, James was halfway around the world trekking through the crisp, snowcapped mountains of the stunning southern island of New Zealand. Little did he know of Erin’s troubling condition. Little did he know how deeply she longed for his company.

As the long weeks dragged by with little improvement, she became discouraged and slowly gave up hope. It was as though Erin’s illness, in its departure, had robbed her of her will to fight, and had crushed her lively spirit. But unlike most medical professionals she had come across, Erin’s quiet physical therapist, Dr. Matthew Shepherd, would not give up on her without a fight. And on a breezy afternoon, nearly a year after her illness had faded, Dr. Shepherd confronted Erin with one final attempt to convince her to keep trying.

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48 “I know this road you’re on isn’t easy, and I know you think there’s no point in trying. But Erin, you can win this battle.”

“The doctors say I probably won’t be able to walk like I used to,” Erin dismally reminded him.

“Yes, yes they did. But they’re the same doctors who said you wouldn’t survive this illness or make it out of the wheel chair.” Dr. Shepherd’s words were then met with sullen silence from his forlorn patient. In all honesty, Erin didn’t know what to do. If she could overcome this obstacle, she didn’t know how to find the strength to do so. The odds were not in her favor, and so far fate had not been very kind.

“Look,” continued the doctor. “I am here to get you through this. I can help you regain your strength, but you need to meet me halfway. I can provide the means, but you have to bring the will to try in order to win this fight. Erin, do not let others set limitations on what you can or cannot do; they don’t know what you’re capable of and perhaps you don’t know right now either. I want you to want to fight, to win. Please don’t give up. I can’t promise it will be easy, but I can promise you that giving up now will ensure a lifetime of misery and regret. Will you fight this battle with me?”

Doctor and patient sat in silence for a good while as Erin contemplated what was just said. The small piece of her that was still willing to fight had not been quelled, and in fact was now beginning to grow. Dr. Shepherd’s words were sincere and genuine, and seeing that he was not going to let her give up so easily was encouraging. After a long while of deliberation, Erin agreed to meet her challenge head on.

With the new found determination to overcome this obstacle, and with the help and support of Dr. Shepherd, Erin was able to completely turn herself around. Within a year, she not only recovered from her sickly state, but was able to achieve a level of health few thought possible. For the first time in her life Erin came out on top. For the first time she was comfortable in her own skin. Dr. Shepherd’s support and friendship would never be forgotten. He had given her hope when she had none and, because of his persistence, Erin could now look to a promising future for the first time in a long time.

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But no sooner had Erin claimed victory over her illness when another obstacle presented itself. Before resuming her college studies, Erin first returned to her job which had been held for her while she recovered. It was a well-paying job, which enabled Erin to attend school without financial worry. But to her dismay, Erin soon discovered that there was no longer a position for her. One of Erin’s co-workers, Faith, who received a promotion in her absence, had hired someone to replace Erin’s vacant position.

Confronting her, Erin was astonished at her friend’s complete change in character.

“But I was told I could have my job back once I got better,” Erin explained. “I was promised.”

“Well, that was before I was put in charge,” Faith coldly responded.

“Things needed improvement and we couldn’t wait forever for you to get better. This is a business, not a charity.”

“But I need this job,” pleaded Erin. “I have medical and school expenses to pay.”

“I’m sorry,” continued the sales associate. “But there’s nothing I can do.” And with that, Erin’s once friendly co-worker heartlessly turned and walked away.

Not wanting to worry her mother, Erin desperately searched for employment. Coming to the upsetting reality that her daunting medical expenses would inhibit her from returning to school, Erin soon took on two jobs. The hours were long, the workplaces were unpleasant, and the individuals Erin had to deal with on a daily basis were rude and inconsiderate. The jobs may have prevented her from living a jubilant life, but they brought in money, and Erin managed to push on for the next three years.

A few months saw Mrs. Atwel back on her feet and even an advance at her job. And life continued to improve. Lauren, who was particularly gifted with academics, discovered she was to be awarded a considerable scholarship to an acclaimed college for molecular therapy following her high school graduation. Erin also came across some good fortune as she soon found a suitable occupation that would allow her to finally continue her education.

Within a few years, Erin not only earned her desired degree, but saw her first story published. This exciting publication would then launch a successful line of literary works from the new talented author.

49 Over the course of those trying years, Erin came to learn that with every victory, no matter how small, there would always be another obstacle to overcome. And it was in those eventful years that Erin learned that she could not let fear get the best of her; she had to look fear in the eye and keep going. It was up to her to fight her battles and stand firm when forces were against her. It was Erin’s responsibility to work diligently for what she wanted and not quit when things got tough. And although there were many times when she wanted to run and hide from her distressing reality, Erin always found a way to stay strong.

One thing that helped her through troubling times was turning to paper and pencil. From stanzas to sketches, Erin used her creative skills to cope with frustration, sadness, and any other emotion she felt. That’s how the dress came into being. On one somber, moonless night, in an attempt to distract herself from the chaos surrounding her parents’ separation, Erin started to casually sketch a dress on the corner of a smooth piece of cream-colored paper. She slowly guided her pencil to softly outline the drawing and then playfully added a touch of color to complete her creation. What began as a simple design soon transformed into an elegantly illustrated gown. And it was that modest drawing which would later be fabricated into a fully fashioned frock. For nearly fifteen years the gown would remain on its stand. But now, that was about to change.

With her mother and sister miles away, and the house all to herself that night, Erin removed the fabric from its stand and quietly stepped into the comely gown. She gently let down her long brown hair, removed her glasses, and slipped on a modest pair of comfortable white flats.

After all those years of waiting, Erin could finally wear a flowing gown of her own without worry or embarrassment. She looked wonderful, and there was a quiet beauty and happiness resonating within her. Content with the necklace she’d worn since she was thirteen, Erin headed downstairs and out into the cool evening air.

The starry night’s soft, silver moonlight gently shone down on Erin as she made her way to the fragrant flower garden’s window-studded hall.

She called this hall her ballroom and had done so because that is what she was convinced it was as a young, imaginative child. Illuminating the room with nothing but candlelight, Erin stepped back to soak in the lovely sight: a peacefully lit room complemented by cool beams of moonlight that poured in through the large crystal-glass windows. With the familiar sound of crickets chirping and knowing no one was around, Erin began to dance just like the way she dreamt of since she was a little girl.

Gracefully, she floated around the room, letting her beautiful gown gently swirl about her with each passing step. As Erin happily continued her dance, she

allowed a quiet smile to remain on her peaceful face. Little did she know he was watching, pleasantly amazed at her secret delight.

Having spotted a curious glow in the Atwel’s garden during his silent nightly stroll, newly-returned James Clarke decided to investigate. Passing through a gap in the shrubbery that separated the neighbors’ attractive properties, James sauntered through the Atwel’s moonlit garden toward the ballroom, secretly hoping to meet Erin. Approaching the ballroom, James stopped abruptly and then quickly took to the shadows, for he had stumbled upon an amazing sight: Erin, grown up and at peace, changed and yet unchanged.

He had never seen her like this, his friend so at ease and not afraid to let go. Seeing this unique side of his childhood companion was truly beautiful. James’ affectionate gazing was then interrupted by a faint, sweet sound of a pleasant melody Erin had started to hum. Carefully timing his step, James quietly made his way to join Erin in her dance.

Alarmed, she stared in astonishment as a sudden rush of a million emotions surfaced. Here stood Jimmy, her dearest friend.

Here he was after eight long years of exploring the world. Erin continued in hesitation but was soon reassured by Jimmy’s genuine grin of “hello.” And without missing a beat, they continued their quiet dance on the ballroom floor, which was now like the purest glass, glimmering in the cool moonlight.

Neither uttered a sound as they swirled about the room; neither really sure how to start. Words could not begin to describe what Erin was feeling. But despite her emotions, which had been collecting for nearly a decade, she chose to remain silent and embrace this precious moment.

Accompanied by nature’s peaceful orchestra, they gracefully glided around the glowing room. Being in each other’s company once again brought the two young dancers immeasurable joy.

Nothing seemed to matter, and this tender moment was too precious to be interrupted with lost words. Time seemed to stand still and neither Erin nor James had any desire of ceasing their rhythmic steps.

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50 After a good while they concluding their dance and departed the ballroom for a stone bench by a small, tranquil garden pond.

Finally, Erin broke the silence by politely asking James how he was. Following his response, she then inquired as to where he would go next as a now well-known professional photographer and producer. James replied, “Nowhere. I’m going to open up my own business nearby and focus on local projects.” Surprised, Erin then asked, “You don’t want to travel anymore? I thought you loved that.”

“I do,” James answered. “The past eight years have been amazing. I’ve seen so many incredible sights and met some great people. I’ve had opportunities few will ever have. I’m very grateful for my experiences and I will never forget them. But all this time away has made me realize how much I miss home and how much the people here mean to me.”

Erin could see the honesty in his earnest eyes and was at a loss for what to say. The fact that her dearest friend, one of the few whom she truly trusted, could be a part of her life once again was greatest news she could be told. Hope rising, she was determined to keep a composed demeanor and calmly replied, “I’m sure your grandparents will be very happy to hear that.” Erin knew she certainly was.

James had been told by his grandparents about what the Atwels, and especially Erin, had been through since he left.

Although he was immensely proud of what Erin had overcome, James was plagued with guilt for not being there for her when she probably needed a friend the most. So he continued, “I owe you an apology, Erin.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“We were best friends growing up and stood by each other during good times and bad,” James explained. “But I sort of blew that friendship off when I left, thinking nothing of it. I was so absorbed in my travels that I never stopped to check back and see how you were.”

“You sent some post cards,” Erin reminded him.

“A real friend can do better than that,” he confessed.

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“James, you were halfway around the world for the better part of eight years, and doing some incredible things as your grandmother enjoyed telling me,” Erin replied. “We went our separate ways to live our own crazy, busy lives. I don’t think you have to apologize for the success you’ve had.”

Erin was a bit surprised at her own words. She had missed James tremendously and had even been a little angry at his neglect. But Erin had come to realize that things cannot always remain the same and that change was sometimes necessary in order for relationships to mature into something beautiful. Her childhood friendship with James did not need to be forgotten in order for her to move forward with her life. And letting go of the past did not mean letting go of the memories she cherished.

“The truth is Erin,” James continued, “Even though I traveled the world and made many friends, I missed having someone I could talk to about anything, someone who’s known me my whole life. I took our friendship for granted and it took me eight years of being away to realize just how much having you as my truest friend meant to me. I know you have had a difficult road during the past years and I know people you’ve trusted have hurt you.”

“Life leaves scars, James,” Erin calmly interjected. “Everyone has them. Learning how to move past my difficulties was a trying challenge, but I do believe I am stronger because of it.”

“All the same, I am sorry to have been one of those people to have caused you pain,” said James. “I cannot express to you how truly sorry I am for not being there for you. Can you forgive me?

Can we start over?”

“Of course James,” Erin serenely responded. Her genuine grace of propriety was humbling and James knew he was with the person who he never wanted to be parted from again. Seeing that their friendship had a chance at a new beginning, James continued, “Erin, I want to be part of your life again, now and always.” Fighting back tears of joy, Erin answered, “I would like that very much.” And with that, she gave James a heartfelt embrace for which she had waited eight long years.

For the first time in Erin’s life she was truly happy. For the first time she felt safe and secure. In that moment Erin began to trust happiness and allow it a comfortable place in her careful self. And it was in that embrace that she decided she may very well give hope and happiness a chance.

51

Sweet Auburn and the REA Donald Moore In ways far beyond my understanding at the time, 1936 was a year of considerable importance to my country and to my hometown, Auburn, Kansas.

Our governor, Alf Landon, became the Republican nominee for President that year, which was a great thrill for everyone I knew in Auburn because everyone I knew was a Republican.

Landon's opponent, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, was in the fourth year of his first term in 1936. The much-despised Roosevelt was demolishing everything that we Republicans held near and dear with his hated “new deal.”

It was in 1936 that Roosevelt created the REA, the Rural Electrification Administration.

It was also in 1936 that I became an eight-year-old.

This is what the other boys would say then: “Do you know why Roosevelt refuses to get into an airplane?”

“Because he is afraid of Landon.”

Alf Landon lost the 1936 election with the largest electoral-vote deficit in presidential election history. He didn't even carry Kansas.

It is an important lesson for an eight-year-old to learn that things don't always work out well.

The REA reached Auburn in 1937, and it turned out to be a good thing, even for Republicans.

For the first time, we had an electric pump down in the handdug well. We had “running water” in the house. The Saturdaynight washtub was retired. And the “outhouse” was gone. No longer could there be any adolescent pranks like putting the privy on the roof.

Auburn was about 15 miles from the southwest city limits of Topeka, the state capital—a city of about 120,000 people, then and now.

There were fewer than 100 people living in Auburn in the 1930s.

The town comprised one main north-south street, with about three smaller parallel streets and one large street running west out of town to the cemetery. The town proper was half a mile long, less than that across.

At the south end, there was a two-room grade school—first to fourth grades in one room, fifth to eighth in the other. Toward the north end, the high school was on the west side of Auburn Road, and the Presbyterian Church was directly across the road. There were, I suppose, only about 25 houses. Even now, I can remember about 10 houses where I knew the people in them.

The house I grew up in was about a half mile east of town. We had 32 acres, not enough to be thought of as a farm. My father was the mail carrier.

My brother, Paul was five years older than I. The younger of my two sisters, Janice, was seven years younger than I. Paul must have been in the upper of the two grade school rooms when I was in my first, second and third grades. Janice must have been in the lower room for a year or two before I went on to high school. But I don't remember.

My sister Mary is only 15 months younger than I. When I got to second grade, she was in first grade. Therefore, she was in the same room with me for six of the eight years of my grade school education.

We walked right from the beginning. Almost exactly one mile from our house to the grade school, a bit less than a mile from home to the high school.

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52

We walked, but not together, of course. Jim Birtell, a close neighbor, would walk with me most times. Mary walked alone or with some other girl. It was not until sometime after my eighth grade that I liked the idea of being close to a girl.

It was a direct, personal thrill for me that the REA set up a circuslike festival in a pasture across the road from my house. There were tents. There were operating clothes-washing machines and dryers.

Dishwashers. Refrigerators. Demonstrations and lectures to enlighten the country folks.

The hay crop in that pasture was ruined that year by the parking of some dozens of Model A and Model T Fords, but no matter.

Auburn was at last electrified.

Fast-forward 15 years or so, I was a newspaper reporter in Topeka. I was sent to report on all kinds of meetings in the city. Alf Landon was at the dais many times. He remembered, often, that Carl Moore had been the mail carrier at his home sometimes. He remembered that I, like my father, was a smoker. And every time I saw the 1936 Republican nominee for the United States presidency, he bummed a cigarette from me.

Further decades later, in 1979 or thereabouts, it was easy for me to persuade a United States senator, Nancy Kassebaum, to come to speak at the New York Chamber of Commerce and Industry when I was the organization's president. Our Nancy is Alf Landon's daughter. And she remembers the mail carrier.

There were many times in my early life when our automobile bringing us home

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from Topeka would crest the hill just above our house and we could see the whole of Auburn with the twinkling lights—because of the REA. When that happened, my father would sing out the first few lines of the Oliver Goldsmith poem, “The Deserted Village.”

I would be in the back seat, of course. I was asleep on many such occasions, I suppose.

The car would coast down the hill, and my father would intone: “Sweet Auburn, the loveliest village of the plain...”

I don't remember any of the rest of it. But I am fairly certain that he had memorized a good part of that poem. He was like that.

53

Road to Fantasy Lane Saba Mufti Erza Walker: a name of no importance. Who is she, and what is she to the world? This is what Erza asks herself as she sits in her bedroom with walls full of vibrant colors and inventive drawings. She is a lonely girl with nothing to do but visualize her own adventures. Her creativity of the mind is so oddly unique that most people find it strange, which is why Erza only relies on her imagination to give her company. “Where should I go today?” Erza wonders. Suddenly, in a blink of an eye, Erza’s surroundings change from her bedroom to a mysterious place filled with cherry blossom trees and a scenic river that looks as if a snake is meandering in the grass. In the sky is moonlight that shines upon a breathtaking castle so awe-inspiring that it feels as if it has some kind of hidden power inside. As Erza takes her time admiring this charming setting, a strange and ominous feeling surrounds the place. Without any warning, she hears the thunderous footsteps of a sapphire dragon. The footsteps grow louder and louder when all of a sudden… “Erza! Your food is ready!” Erza is back in her old bedroom when her mother interrupts her adventure. “I’m coming, Mom!” This adventure will continue tomorrow from where I left off, she exclaims to herself excitedly. Until next time! This is a story of how Erza spends her time having fun; each day is a new adventure for her. Her imagination is her road to Fantasy Lane.

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54

E Mimoza Muskaj As I hear the escalating doors open and close below the crimson E, I walk with him side by side, hand in hand, slowly but surely, holding my breath. My heart is beating furiously in my chest while praying the Hail Mary on my soft pink colored rosary, vigorously grabbing onto the hard, chipped beads, is if they themselves contained bliss. I am overwhelmed with my own thoughts, barely being able to remember the religious words that I was taught. Shivers start to creep up my delicate spine as we steadily approach those clashing gates towards health, wellbeing and sanity. Those gates of simple tinted gray metal many may overlook but in my eyes, they beam greatly of light and a tiny faintness of hope. I try to help him with every fiber of my being; I try to guide him along to an ivory colored painted room of healing. I walk with him every step and along beside him matching my petite foot with his as we carefully glide on and above every chiseled piece of cement, cracking a faint smile every now and then. I know here is the answer, just along those metal gates and brittle, ivory rooms. I brush my hands silently along them, leaving invisible impressions. I try to bring him closer to my idea of sanctuary. I try to bring him here at the emergency room as I always do ever since I learned how to write complete sentences.

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55

Relationships Can Break Meg Rakus Relationships are all around us. Whether it is the relationship you have with your best friend, your boyfriend, or that guy you have liked since the second grade. But what happens when that relation breaks? When that long time crush has a crush on someone else or your best friend finds a new best friend? A lot of us don't have to wonder what it's like to go through this because we already have. You question what went wrong. What you did. Then, you stop questioning it. You stop doing things to fit in or to be liked and you learn to be the best version of you. You meet new people and your new friends accept you for you. There's no need to put on an act anymore.

You’ll doubt whether you're living the life a teenager should live because your life is nothing like the ones you see on MTV. You struggle with never finding the weight that's not fat but also not anorexia. The struggle of not having a boyfriend because that's all that matters in the world. But all you have to do is turn to those friends. Who needs thigh gaps or a reality show when you're you and you have your friends. At the end of the day, there's nothing more unique and gratifying than that. You will find the people that are there for your bad days just to get to see the good. Relationships can break, but the ones that matter won't.

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56

Learning to Move On Marissa Rosario What is the worst pain people deal with everyday? Death. It never seems to stop surprising families and friends when receiving the heartbreaking call. Everyone says it will pass, but the truth is that it never does. People learn to live and move on with the inevitable truth. Family and friends are left with memories. The memories always find a way to surprise you. The tears follow not long after due to the longing you feel for the person or even animal. A loss is a loss no matter how you try to define it. A feeling of loneliness will always be with you during the times only that person or pet could do to make all the small pains disappear. Learning how to wake up and function the same again never seems to be real until days, weeks, even months pass by and you realize, I can keep going on. Your loved one’s birthday still seems to remind you that there is a missing part of your heart that has not healed and may never. When the anniversary of their death arrives, you start to relive every moment as if you found out that very second. As you begin to accomplish goals that you and your loved one would dream about, you catch yourself thanking them for helping you reach them. When the milestones come, you must just look and smile because you know that is what he/she would be doing in this moment. Keep going.

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57

An Angel Named Daisy Mary Sarpong There once was an angel named Daisy. She was a beautiful creature. Her hair was golden like the sun. Her eyes were blue like the ocean. Her skin was soft like a blanket. Her wings were white like snow. She was a great sight to see. Besides her looks, she possessed a talent that was extraordinary. This talent was her amazing singing ability. Daisy had a voice that was enchanting. Her voice could cheer anyone up in a matter of seconds. She was able to get into people’s hearts through her songs. She was able to bring heaven and earth together with just her voice. Heaven and earth coming together allowed Daisy to protect both worlds. She wanted to protect the people not only in heaven, but on earth, too. Daisy felt like she needed to shield them from evil. If the people turned evil, then both worlds would be corrupted. The thought of this scared her. She wanted everyone to follow God’s path and not Satan’s. However, for Daisy, the thing she feared the most would actually come true. The people of heaven and earth fell for Satan’s tricks. Their minds were poisoned.

Their hearts were full of hatred. They could no longer see the light. This made Daisy upset. No matter what she did, the people could not be saved. The thought of this sickened her. Daisy decided to get away from all this madness that was happening. She went into seclusion and was never heard from again.

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58

Tomorrow Lyndsey Smith Every other night I fall asleep within ten minutes, but not tonight. I need sleep, but I cannot contain my excitement. I am like a child trying to fall asleep on Christmas Eve. It is impossible. Tomorrow is the only thing on my mind. Tomorrow is the day every little girl dreams of when playing dress up with her friends. Please do not let it rain tomorrow. Do not let it rain. Tomorrow is the beginning of forever. Tomorrow, the stress will fade into happiness. Tomorrow, I will experience a roller coaster of emotions. Tomorrow I will feel excited, nervous, happy, and hopeful. Tomorrow, I am the center of attention. Tomorrow, I will walk down the aisle and see him. Tomorrow, all eyes will be on me. Tomorrow, I will pledge my love to my future husband in front of everyone we love. Wait, where did I put my vows? Tomorrow, I will be a wife. Tomorrow, I will have a husband. Tomorrow, I will begin my life with the man of my dreams. Tomorrow, I will wake up early and get glammed up with my best friends. Tomorrow, I will cry many, many times. Tomorrow, I will enjoy my day. Tomorrow, I will wear something old and something new, something borrowed and something blue. Tomorrow, I will have my first dance with my soulmate. Then tomorrow night, I will smash cake in his face. Tomorrow night, I will dance until my feet bleed. Tomorrow, I will say I do.

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59

And the Snow Begins to Fall Linda Thompson A taxi races through a cold December night, its driver desperately hoping he can safely and quickly deliver his fare to St. Joseph’s hospital in time. She seems so young and terrified as she cries out in the early stages of labor. At least he and she hope it is the early stages, because the traffic is unrelenting, and the traffic light unyielding to their anxious travels.

“Please hurry,” she pleads. “I am so scared and all alone. I have no idea what I am doing.”

He feels so worried for her. “Don’t worry. You will be in good hands soon. You just have to have faith,” he assures her. She closes her eyes and prays for strength. She opens them as they pull into the hospital drive, and as he helps her out of the car, the snow begins to fall.

It is November, and already frigidly cold in Wichita. It has been a hard year of constant travel, endless nights in nameless motels. She holds the sleeping baby as she waits for the taxi to arrive to take them back to where they started, where she will have to face the shame of her failure. She wanted to believe he could make a life for them, but it just wasn’t his nature to live encumbered. He brings her a cup of coffee as the taxi pulls into the station. He kisses the infant goodbye and watches as they drive away. As the figure becomes just a shadow in the distance, the driver looks into the rear view mirror and thinks there is something familiar about the haggard young woman holding a baby in the back seat.

“Going home for the holidays?” he asks innocently.

“I don’t know if I have a home anymore,“ she replies with tears in her eyes. “I am so scared and all alone. I have no idea what I am doing.”

“Don’t worry. Your will be in good hands soon. You just have to have faith,” he replies, as he smiles at her in the rear view mirror.

She gives him a quizzical look as if something he said had jolted her.

The driver pulls into the drive of a modest ranch home where he sees an older man and a woman step out onto the porch. The young woman looks down at the sleeping baby and prays for strength. As he watches her being led into the house, she turns and nods at him. The door closes and as he pulls away, the snow begins to fall.

The taxi pulls up at the airport terminal and a young woman hands the driver her bags. She asks the driver to take her as quickly as possible to St. Joseph’s hospital. He can’t help but notice the sadness and fear in her blue eyes. Strangely, they are eyes that look familiar to him. He pulls up to the hospital entrance and she seems to be waiting to exit the car. Something about her hesitation makes him believe she was praying. As she looks up at him, he is reminded of a cold day in December so many years ago.

Without hesitation he says, “Don’t worry, you just have to have faith.”

The young woman smiles and says, “Funny, that is what my mom always said.”

She watches her mother sleep. It has been a long winter of hospital visits and anxiety-filled nights. The woman before her looks so frail and weak, just a shadow of the force of life that she called mother all those years. She made so many sacrifices and compromises for her daughter, and now at this moment, she is lost to know how to make this easier for the one who gave her life. The woman wakes, and turns to the daughter at her side.

“I am so scared,” she whispers. “I have no idea what to do.”

The daughter reaches out and takes her hand. “Don’t worry. Your will be in good hands soon. You just have to have faith,” the daughter replies, as tears stream down her face.

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She kisses her mother’s cheek as the last breath leaves her body. She turns to the window to pray for strength, and the snow begins to fall.

It has been 20 years since she lost her mother, and yet today, that loss is so fresh in her mind. She spends so much of her days now remembering the life that she was blessed to be given because of the sacrifices that her mother made. As she faces the end, it all finally makes sense to her. All those years her mother felt so scared and alone were not about weakness, but about strength. She taught her how to stay strong for her children. She taught her how to stay fearful for her children. She had just enough faith and hope for her daughter to bring her peacefully to this moment in time.

The nurse comes in to check on her and to make sure she is comfortable.

“Everything all right?” she asks, with the kindest of smiles. Her smile so often seems familiar and comforting in a way that she cannot explain.

“I was just thinking about my mom,“ she replies.

“Yeah, I lost my dad recently. It is hard. He was the greatest man. He taught me so much about faith and love for others,” the nurse says with a soothing smile. “He may have just been a lowly taxi driver, but he was my strength.”

“Is that your mother there?” she points to a picture frame beside the bed.

“Yes. My sister brought that for me,” the woman replies.

“She was beautiful,” the nurse comments.

“She was my strength.”

“But now, they are,” the nurse points to the sleeping children on the sofa.

She turns her head and sees her children sleeping in the chairs next to her bed.

She smiles one last time at them, knowing she had the best of lives because she was never alone. She prays for strength for her children, as the nurse whispers in her ear, ““Don’t worry. You will be in good hands soon. You just have to have faith.”

She takes her last breath, and the snow begins to fall.

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61

First Assignment Char Webster

Four Years Ago: “Ha! Take that,” Ryan yelled, jumping up, doing a victory dance. His hazel eyes lit up.

“Dude, you’re cheating!” Jason yelled, throwing a softpretzel bite at his friend playing him in the video game. He ran his hand through his light-brown hair and shot his buddy a look.

“Hey! What’s wrong with you? Don’t throw food at me,” Ryan complained as he got pelted with several more pretzel bites. He shook bits of food from his dark-blonde hair and settled back down on the couch to resume the game.

“You’re cheating! You can’t use a modified controller,” Jason shot back, green eyes glaring at him.

“You didn’t say anything about the controller. You just said that you could beat me at this game. You didn’t specify any rules,” Ryan smirked and worked his turbo-charged remote.

“That’s so not fair!” complained Jason, who got a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, and it was fair that you already beat the game and didn’t tell me when you issued your challenge? We’re on even ground here, Jay,” Ryan countered as he started shooting arrows at maximum speed with his super controller.

All of a sudden, Ryan was moving a lot slower and his remote controller was not helping him win any longer.

“Hey! You’re cheating now. You can’t use your gift on me,” Ryan yelled but was standing up slowly because Jason was slowing down his motions.

Jason started to laugh, feeling very satisfied with himself.

“You said there are no rules.”

Ryan shot him a look and pressed a button on the underside of the remote. His character went into hyper-speed and won that level easily. “Take that,” Ryan said.

Ryan laughed when Jason tossed down his controller in defeat. He threw a handful of pretzel bites at Ryan as he walked past.

“Hey!” Ryan shouted, standing up and brushing pretzels and salt from his clothes. The floor and couch were littered with what was left of their afternoon snack.

“Oh, man, guys, why are all the pretzels on the floor? I didn’t even get one,” Robert muttered as he walked into the room and spotted the mess.

Ryan immediately pointed to Jason. “He did it.”

“He cheated,” Jason blurted at the same time.

Robert shook his head, brown hair falling into his eyes.

“You guys better clean that up before Nick comes home,” Robert told them.

Robert walked into the kitchen, and he could still hear the guys bickering. Jason was calling Ryan a cheater, and Ryan was telling Jason he was a sore sport. The two of them loved to bicker with each other. There wasn’t anything they liked more.

Robert pulled down a glass, filled it with ice and water from the refrigerator, and sat at the breakfast bar. He watched the other two guys cleaning up their food-fight.

They were still bickering.

“I shouldn’t have to clean this up. I didn’t throw any pretzels,” Ryan complained.

“No, you just cheated.”

“Guys,” Robert called out. “Have you done anything today except play video games?”

He smiled at the silence. Robert knew that his friends were celebrating their graduation from the Association's Elite Academy by doing absolutely nothing.

“Yeah, we just cleaned up,” Jason told him with a big grin.

“It doesn’t count when you make the mess, Jay,” Robert told him.

Jason frowned and muttered, “Oh.” “Nick called a few minutes ago and told me to meet him here.

He said that he had some good news,” Robert told them. Ryan and Jason settled on stools at the breakfast bar as well.

“Why didn’t he call us and tell us to meet him here, too,” Ryan asked, feeling left out.

“Because he knew you two losers have been here all day playing video games. He knew you'd be here already,” Robert said with a laugh. Robert ignored the grumbling from his two friends.

A few minutes later, Nick strolled into the apartment with a huge grin on his face. Everyone could see the excitement in his expression. His dark-brown hair was windblown, giving it that purposefully messy look that girls seemed to love.

“Why do you look like you just got away with pranking the losers from the back-up team?” Jason speculated.

“No, he looks like he did when he scored with Rachel Greer,” Ryan commented.

“Actually, he looks like he did when he talked Professor Gowan into passing him in Calculus II,” Robert corrected.

Nick just smiled at his friends. “Are you guys done yet?”

“No, we could continue. You tend to get that look when you're up to no good, and you usually end up dragging us into it with you,” Robert shot back.

Nick grabbed a Gatorade out of the refrigerator and sat down with his friends. He purposely took his time opening the bottle and taking a long drink. He knew they would get impatient waiting for him to tell them his news.

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Robert raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Jason wasn’t that patient. “Dude, are you going to tell us?” Ryan smacked him in the back of his head.

“If you hit me again, you’re going to wake up covered in pretzels,” Jason warned him. Ryan shot him a look. The apartment was only two bedrooms, so Nick and Robert shared a room and Jason and Ryan shared the other.

Nick decided not to delay any longer. “We have our first assignment!”

Three days later, Robert pulled up in front of their apartment building in a new black SUV. He immediately began to wipe the sparkling-clean dashboard with a soft cloth.

Nick walked up and pulled the back door open to throw in several bags of equipment they might need for their assignment.

He closed the back of the vehicle with a slight slam of the door.

“Dude, watch it. Amy’s sensitive,” Robert called to Nick.

Nick gave him a look as he climbed into the passenger seat with a backpack he placed on the floor in front of him. “Amy?” he asked. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?”

“Don’t go hurting Amy’s feelings.”

Nick rolled his eyes and turned to look for Jason and Ryan.

Reading Nick’s thoughts, Robert asked, “Where are those guys?”

“Ryan is gathering up every piece of computer equipment he owns and Jason took off a half hour ago. I have no idea where he went.”

Ryan stumbled out of the building with two large black cases with various wires hanging out of them both. He bumped the truck as he struggled to open the door with the heavy cases.

“Ry! What is it with everyone? Watch the vehicle,” Robert scolded.

Nick laughed. “Yeah, Amy might get upset,” he added.

“Amy?” Ryan asked.

“He named his car,” Nick explained, rolling his eyes.

“Seriously? Amy?” Ryan commented. “Wasn’t that the name of the girl you had a crush on in the academy that kicked your butt in defense training?”

“HA! That’s right,” Nick laughed. “Her name was Amy.” Robert was spared from having to defend his choice of names for his SUV by Jason knocking on the window of the vehicle.

He had a big box of coffee tucked under his arm and each hand held giant bags of doughnuts, bagels, and snacks.

Nick hopped out and opened the back door for Jason.

“How long do you think we are going to be on this stakeout, Jay?” Nick asked. “You have enough food for a week.”

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Jason grinned widely. “You can never be too prepared,” Jason told his friends. “We might get hungry.” He settled into the backseat and began to sort through the bags.

“Didn’t you finish off an entire pizza about two hours ago?” Robert asked him.

“That was two hours ago,” Jason explained. “We’re staking out Jewelry Row on Eighth Street in Philly all night long. We’ll get hungry and thirsty.”

“And after you drink all that coffee, where are you going to take a leak?” Nick asked with a smirk.

“There are cups in that bag right?” Ryan gestured toward Jason’s plastic bags.

“You are not taking a leak in this car!” Robert shouted.

Ryan shot Nick a look and laughed. They loved messing with each other.

“Ok. Let’s get moving. We need to be in place to watch three of the jewelry stores. We are not sure which one will be targeted tonight, but if things continue as they have so far, one of them will be robbed tonight,” Nick explained.

“Has the Association figured out how they are getting in and out of the stores without the security systems detecting it yet?” Robert asked.

“No, nothing’s been found in any of the stores after the robberies. The regular City police are baffled. That is part of the reason we were called in. The Association figured it’s got to be one of our race that is doing this. The thief must have some sort of gift that will render security systems useless,” Nick told the guys.

Nick turned to Ryan. “I want you to try to figure out if anyone is overriding the security systems using technology. If so, then we leave this up to the local police.”

“No problem,” Ryan told him.

Nick looked over at Robert. “I need to you scan the area and determine if we are dealing with anyone with a gift and what that gift might be.”

“Will do,” Robert answered.

“What am I going to do?” Jason asked.

“Besides sitting there stuffing your face?” Ryan asked.

“Shut it, Nerd,” Jason called back.

“Jay, you will slow down whoever it is so we can catch him if he is one of ours,” Nick told him.

“Let’s roll,” Nick exclaimed.

Four hours later, they were hidden down an alleyway that was across the street and down a bit from the three jewelry stores they were watching. Robert handed Nick and Jason binoculars and kept the last pair for himself. He turned to Ryan and asked, “You don’t need these, right?” He was pointing toward his binoculars sitting on the center armrest between the seats.

“Dude, I can see better than your toy there. Want to check it out?” Ryan challenged. For the next half hour, the guys tested Ryan’s enhanced vision against their binoculars. Most of the time, Ryan won.

At 3 AM, Jason spotted a small flicker of light in the jewelry store closest to where they were hiding. “Did you guys just see that?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m on it. Tapping into their security feed now,” Ryan told them. “It’s out. I’m not sure how, but it’s not showing anything. All I’m getting is static.”

Nick turned to Robert. “Are you getting anything?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s faint, but definitely gifted,” Robert revealed. “Seems like only one.”

“Good. Ok, let’s move quietly,” Nick told them. “I want to get this guy.”

They exited the vehicle and crept forward, Ryan and Jason turning off to go behind the building from a different direction. As the two guys moved away, Nick could hear Ryan teasing Jason.

“Brush off your shirt, you slob.”

Robert and Nick laughed quietly as they moved toward the building, keeping low and out of direct sight.

The back of the jewelry store faced an alleyway with a few dumpsters scattered around. Some trash and wood crates littered the alley, giving the guys enough cover as they approached. Four burly men were standing around the back entrance to the store. A skinny kid who looked about 14 with unruly dark brown hair was being pulled roughly out of the store. The four men dragged the kid several feet away and then turned him around to face the building.

“Do it now,” One of them said to the boy and pushed him roughly on the shoulder.

The kid looked toward where Nick was hiding, almost as if he could sense him there. He then closed his eyes and raised his arm toward the jewelry store.

Nick looked at Ryan who was studying a small computer screen.

Robert came up close to Nick and whispered, “Only the kid has a gift. Looks like they are making him do their dirty work. I sense some sort of magnet field from the kid. That’s how he is messing with their security systems. The back door to that building has a magnetic lock.”

“We need to follow these guys back to wherever they are going,” Nick told him.

“We can’t risk taking them out here in the alley. Anyone could see us,” Nick told him.

Robert came up close to Nick and whispered, “Only the kid has a gift. Looks like they are making him do their dirty work. I sense some sort of magnet field from the kid.

That’s how he is messing with their security systems. The back door to that building has a magnetic lock.”

“We need to follow these guys back to wherever they are going,” Nick told him. “We can’t risk taking them out here in the alley. Anyone could see us,” Nick told him.

“Agreed. I’ll go get Amy and pick you up.” Robert gestured to Jason to follow him.

“Ryan and I are going to follow on foot so we don’t lose them,” Nick said, motioning Ryan over.

Two of the men flanked the kid on each side, holding his upper arms in their tight grip. Nick clenched his jaw. He needed to rescue that kid and get him out of that situation.

He hated when kids were mistreated.

Ryan was able to stay far back and still observe where the men were taking the teen. Nick and Ryan slowly followed behind, keeping out of sight and staying in the darkest parts of the alleyways.

Ryan whispered to Nick, “They just turned down another side street off of Locust. There are a few side streets that interconnect on that block between 9th and 10th.”

Nick called to Robert quietly over his radio. “Park behind the Walgreens on Locust and 9th and catch up. We’ll wait for you to go in.”

“Got it,” Robert told him. “Be right there.”

Ryan watched the men enter a building on Delhi Street off South Hutchinson Ave. It was tucked away from the busy main streets and was the perfect location to disappear quickly.

Robert and Jason joined the guys around the corner from the building they watched.

“Are we going in?” Jason asked anxiously. He wanted to get into some action.

“We can’t just storm in there without knowing what we are dealing with. We need to get a look inside first,” Nick told them.

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Robert smiled. “On it,” he said as he jogged up to the adjacent building. Robert was the best climber of their group. The guys watched him pull on the gutter pipe and then start to climb up to the roof of the building. From the roof, Robert could see into most of the windows of their target building.

He radioed to Nick, speaking quietly. “Looks like there are only the four guys. They are sitting around the kitchen table. The kid is leaning against the counter off to the side.”

“Ok, we’re going to have to go in there,” Nick told them. Just as they were about to look for a back way in, the men came out the back door and settled on a few chairs behind the building in what would be a gated off parking area. Their building was the most rundown on the street when most of the houses in the area were very nice.

Nick smiled widely. This would be easier than he thought. One of the men carried over a large wooden crate from the corner of the enclosure to use as a table.

Another man produced a large half-gallon sized vodka bottle and the men took turns doing shots and toasting to their good fortune that night.

They began to play poker, and Nick got a gleam in his eye. These guys liked to gamble, Nick thought.

“To the best night yet,” one of the men shouted.

“Yeah, well, their night is just about to get ruined,” Jason said with a smirk.

“Do we have a plan, or are you just winging it?” Ryan asked.

“What do you think?” Robert countered.

Robert, Jason and Ryan all said “Winging it” at the same time.

“Hey, now. Do you guys seriously think I would lead us in there without a plan?” Nick challenged.

Once again, all three said, “Yes” at the same time.

Robert put his arm around Nick and said, “Relax, Buddy. We do our best work winging it.”

Nick shook off Robert’s arm and gave them all a hard look, but he dropped it and said, “Ok, we wing it, sort of.”

All four guys waltzed up to the gate with huge grins on their faces. Nick looked at Jason and said, “Get ready to slow those jerks down.”

“You got it,” Jason said with a huge grin. “They will never know what hit them.”

Nick led the way through the gate and into the small back enclosure. The men immediately stopped and stared at the new arrivals. “What the hell do you want?” the toughest looking man with a scar across his forehead asked.

Jason walked up closer and reached for their vodka bottle.

“We came to join your party.” Just before Jason grabbed the bottle, another of the men snatched it away and said, “It’s a private party. Get lost before you get hurt.”

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Robert strolled over with a big smile, pulled up another crate and sat down with them. The men looked at him as if he was crazy. “So what are we celebrating,” Robert asked.

“Buddy, you are going to be crawling out of here if you don’t get up right now and leave. This is a private celebration,” Scarman told them.

Nick noticed the kid was seated on the back step watching the exchange closely. The kid’s eyes got wider and had a flicker of hope for a second when they walked in the gate. He had recognized Nick from behind the jewelry store. Now the kid just looked concerned.

Nick walked closer. “We were looking for a game of poker.”

Ryan was casually sidestepping toward the kid.

“It’s a closed game. Beat it,” one of the other men told him.

“It’s all good. We lose anyway,” Nick prodded. It looked as if one of the men was going to let them play but their leader stopped him.

I told you guys to leave. Do I need to show you the way out?” he said getting up and pulled Robert from his seat.

Nick walked right up to the man pulling on Robert and said, “How about we arm wrestle? Five hundred dollars says I can bet you.”

The man dropped Robert and laughed in Nick’s face. “You think you can beat me?”

“I know I can,” Nick bragged. Nick looked over to Ryan and gestured with his head toward the gate. Ryan would get the kid out of there while the guys distracted the idiot men.

“Five hundred bucks, you say?” Scarman said. “Show me.”

Nick pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket and fanned it out. “Satisfied?”

“Oh yeah, little man. I’m going to be $500 richer in about five minutes.”

“And if I win?” Nick prodded.

Scarman and his men laughed loudly. “That’s not going to happen, so we don’t need to discuss it.”

“Ok, then, for laughs. What are you putting up against my $500?” Nick inquired.

Scarman looked at his buddies who started pulling money out of their pockets. “I can get $500 together.”

65 “That won’t work for me. As you can plainly see, I don’t need the money,” Nick told him. “You’re going to have to be more creative than that.”

Scarman looked at Nick suspiciously. “What do you want then?”

Nick wanted to say “the kid,” but he knew that wouldn’t work with this crew of thugs. He glanced around the enclosure, searching for an idea, when he saw an older model motorcycle parked next to the back steps. That would be a good distraction, Nick thought.

“That motorcycle,” Nick said, pointing to the slightly worn bike.

“The cycle is worth more than twice your amount,” Scarman told him.

“What are you worried about?” Nick asked. “You’re confident you’ll win, right?”

Scarman narrowed his eyes at Nick but reluctantly nodded his head in agreement. “Let’s do this.” He gestured Nick over to the crate table. The other men moved the shot glasses and vodka from the area.

Jason and Robert moved to stand on either side of Nick, while the other men flanked their leader. Nick noted that Ryan and the kid were nearly at the gate. Ryan had the kid take a seat on the ground just inside the fence.

Nick put his elbow down on the table and opened his hand to grasp the other man. Scarman mirrored Nick’s movements and the contest commenced.

Nick let the other man take the lead for a few seconds before turning on his gift. He directed the energy in his body and around him into his arm and suddenly, he had the force of several men at once.

Scarman’s eyes got huge then narrowed to slits when he realized Nick would not be an easy win.

Nick drew back ever so slightly and then turned on the force and pinned the other man’s wrist to the table with a bang.

The men facing Nick, Jason, and Robert were stunned silent for a moment, which was their mistake. The guys jumped into action.

Nick took advantage of the pause to punch and knock out Scarman, and then went to face off with the two guys stalking toward Jason.

“Slow them down,” Nick told Jason.

Jason slowed the men down enough so that their punches lacked any power or force. Ryan jumped into the foray, assisting Jason in taking out the tallest of the men. Nick and Robert managed to subdue the remaining men in hardly any time.

Grinning, the guys surveyed their work. Jason was busy high-fiving Robert and Nick when Ryan noticed the kid sneaking out of the gate.

He ran over to him and grabbed the back of his shirt. “Oh, no, you don’t,” Ryan said, hauling the kid over to one of the chairs near the table. “Sit.” Robert and Jason tied the men up and Nick called the Association, reporting what happened. They moved the guys to the dark area between the back steps and the house, away from view of any neighbors.

The guys settled on the chairs around the table, waiting for the Association to pick up the men for questioning, and turned to the kid who was looking wary.

Robert watched the teen shift nervously and took pity on him.

“What is your name?”

The boy looked up and answered quietly, “Will.”

Nick smile encouragingly, “How did you end up with those men?”

Will hesitated but answered. “My mom had dated one of those guys for a while,” he told them, pointing toward one of the men.

“George figured out I was different and knew some guy who was looking for kids that were different. He was going to bring me to that guy.” Will dropped his head to stare at the ground.

“I think George killed my mom.”

The guys glanced at each other without saying anything.

“Which one of those guys was collecting kids?”

Will looked confused for a second, but then said, “Oh. None of them. George and his brother Glen figured out what I do to electronic equipment and decided to delay handing me over.” Will shifted in his seat again and kicked at the dirt.

“What are you guys going to do to me? Are you the cops?”

Robert smiled. “No, we’re not the cops,” he told Will. “Do you have any other family?”

“No, it was just me and my mom. She didn’t have any family, and I never knew my dad. She never mentioned him.”

Robert looked at Nick who nodded. “I think I have the perfect place for you.”

“Where is that?” Will asked.

“Well, I always wanted a little brother.” Robert told him with a big grin.

For the first time since the guys met him, Will smiled.

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My World in Black and White Brianna Zimmerman The walls are now a variegated collage of vintage movie posters, dating back as early as 1939, with Rhett Butler holding Scarlett O'Hara in his arms against a flaming orange sky in one of film’s quintessential masterpieces, "Gone with the Wind." I study this mirage of Old Hollywood actors and actresses, long deceased, and wonder in awe at the glamour and elegance they once embodied both on and off screen. I spend my Saturdays curled up in a big comfy chair placed directly in front of a 54" television screen, where I swaddle myself in freshly laundered blankets with a bowl of buttered popcorn in my lap. As images of Cary Grant and Paul Newman flash before me, I once again feel safe and content to be within this scared universe, called cinema. I stare, starry-eyed, as Maureen O'Hara and John Wayne profess their love for one another against a scenic Irish backdrop, in the 1952 romantic-comedy, "The Quiet Man," and feel that sense of familiarity one feels when opening their grandmother’s cedar hope chest and rummaging through memories preserved in time. This little movie theater I have built is a shrine to a forgotten era and my only solace in this chaotic and turbulent world. It is in this ivory tower that I willingly lock myself away, with the hope that one day, the world will return to the innocence and simplicity that can only be found within a generation long gone and an age far past.

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Writing/Artwork Collaborations

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Flake Taurai Augustin All but one All but many All but a few Not feeble but fall is what I do Before spring this is me On the ground or on a tree My minions are out Never shout But a taste for a tasteless taste in your mouth How long before I am dealt A pinch of salt can always be felt Maybe I am cold to the core Or just on a slippery slide need I say more Big mistake Little miss flake I come and I go All but one All but many All but a few.

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Taking Time to Stop Nicole Fortuna “He didn’t even stop.”

These words made their way into every conversation my family and I had when we first learned my aunt, Rosalie Apadula Gugliotta, was struck in a hit-and-run this past summer.

The night of June 13, on the surface, seemed ordinary.

Rosalie and her daughter had just parked their car at 9th St. and Oregon Ave. and were walking to their home at 9th and Shunk Streets. This is an experience South Philadelphians know all too well, as finding a parking spot in the vicinity of your home could very well be an Olympic sport. The driver (“he”) saw my aunt, proceeded to go through the intersection, collided with her, and subsequently fled the scene. As a result of the impact and his neglect to stop, Rosalie was thrown into the air and landed on the median on Oregon Ave. At that point in time, her injuries rendered her unrecognizable to onlookers—her own neighbors—in a place she had called home for over 40 years. This all happened simply because…he didn’t stop.

Unfortunately, hit-and-run incidents in Philadelphia are so rampant that the amount of news coverage and occurrences of these crimes, too, seem ordinary, rote, and worst of all, normal. In fact, according to an NBC Philadelphia report published on Aug. 20, 2015, 22,888 hit-and-runs have occurred in the city since Jan. 2014.

This alarming number not only points to the severity of this social problem, but it also underlines the pervasive lack of regard on the part of the drivers who have caused physical, emotional, and often irrevocable damage to 22,888 victims and their families.

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At times, “hit-and-run” is often linked to “accident,” but this word choice is egregiously wrong. “Accident” is the misnomer and the euphemism for what a hit-and-run truly is: a crime. Using “accident” inflicts its own kind of cultural injury, where a social problem goes ignored, and a guilty driver keeps on going.

My aunt sustained a plethora of her own injuries ranging from internal bleeding, to an insidiously complicated leg laceration, to multiple broken bones, to worst of all, traumatic brain injury. This diagnosis is the most objective way to say that my aunt’s brain damage was severe, permanent, and irreversible, which, for a doctor, translates into giving a grim prognosis; for a family member, it translates into hearing an unwanted truth.

My aunt’s surgical team at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital wanted us to be hopeful but realistic; her trauma surgeon said she had a five-percent chance of waking up.

That night was the start of her nearly five-month long coma, as well as my family’s lifelong grieving. Holding on to that five percent for dear life, as my aunt fought for her own, we, her family, prayed to St. Rita (my aunt’s favorite), St. Padre Pio, St. John Neumann, God, Mary, you name it. We spent hours visiting her at Jefferson’s ICU and Inpatient unit, her eventual nursing home in Bucks County, and then back to Jefferson’s ICU. Repeat.

We shared stories with her, painted her nails (because, comatose or not, she would have wanted to look her best), confided in her, and cried by her bedside, ultimately wishing she would beat the odds and wake up.

71 Unfortunately, at the end of October, that same trauma surgeon said that there were overwhelming and untreatable complications related to her injuries. There was nothing more they could do. She was moved to VITAS inpatient hospice, where she was brought back to the neighborhood so friends could see her one more time. There, she was comforted and cared for. Rosalie died on Nov. 3. She was 52.

We have continued to think about why this happened and why he didn’t stop. But we have also been thinking about something else: how eternally grateful we are for all of the things you—her neighbors, friends, coworkers, good Samaritans, medical team—did that night and forward.

That night, you held my aunt in your arms and waited for an ambulance.

You followed the driver and recorded his license plate number so that the police could find him within 24 hours and make an arrest.

You chased the driver and yelled at him to stop.

You drove to one of our houses to tell us what happened when you realized it was Rosalie.

You continually asked us about her and kept her in your thoughts.

You sent food trays and flowers.

You took every opportunity to pay your respects.

You, St. Monica’s Parish, kept her in your prayers.

You cried with us, reminisced as you looked at photographs of her, and held our hands dearly as you said you were sorry – and you meant it.

Inasmuch as we have questioned the callous nature of that driver, we have been inspired and thankful for your communal altruism, kindness, and solidarity. Over 300 people attended her viewing. You were there. You have, in your goodness, made up for all the cruelty he showed that night. We will remember your actions, and that, unlike him, you took time out of your life…and did stop.

My Aunt Rosalie and I at my old house in South Philly, 1989.

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Timeless is This Love Valery Cadet

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Bruce Wiegner of The Weekend Riot Rachel Everman

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The Weekend Riot Rachel Everman

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Girl and the Dreamcatcher Rachel Everman

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The Smallest Feet Make the Biggest Imprint on our Lives Rachel Everman

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Leaving Carolyn Gulliver

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Rudy and Natacha Maria Johns

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She Who Has Lost Adam Lee Price

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She Who Has Lost Adam Lee Price

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She Who Has Lost Adam Lee Price

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She Who Has Lost Adam Lee Price

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Here Now Marin Renée

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Leaving Sun Nicole Ridgeway

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Master of Time Marcel Smith

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The Little Boy and the Tree Janice Xu

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Author Notes Taurai Augustin is now a sophomore at Holy Family University and is thankful for the opportunity to express his work. He is an affable, hardworking, athletic, creative, and humble individual born and raised on a small island called Saint Lucia.

Jazmine Babuch is a Psychology major with a Sociology minor here at Holy Family University. In her free time, Jazmine likes to write poetry and short stories. In the future, Jazmine hopes to become a psychologist and have her own private practice.

Patrick Bampfield is a freshman studying Management & Marketing.

Francis Bitting is a senior Management-Marketing Major expected to graduate in 2016. In his time at Holy Family he has been involved heavily with Habitat For Humanity, Campus Ministry, Tri Lite, and Folio; he is also an acting associate of student government. Upon graduation he expects to pursue a career in project management and commercial real estate.

Valery Cadet enjoys writing, eating, drinking, listening to good music, exploring, and taking photographs. He was born in New York, and grew up in Brooklyn. He moved to Philadelphia where he decided to study Mass Communication/Public Relations at Holy Family University. In his journey as a portrait photographer, he tries to take everything learned growing up about life, art, fashion, music, and love, and express it through elements of photography in his work.

Jan Cook is in Holy Family University’s Doctoral program for Educational Leadership. She is currently conducting research to learn more about female student veterans and what challenges their persistence in college. Jan looks to the medium of poetry as one form of expression. Ask Jan about the ukulele.

Sister Doloretta Dawid CSFN, professor emeritus of Holy Family University, enjoys writing poetry which centers around the spiritual, family, and nature.

Margaret DeFelice is a senior English major with a History minor. There is not much else to say except for the fact she happens to be Editor-in-Chief of this edition of Folio and hopes to make all the readers proud.

Rachel Everman is a senior here at Holy Family University, majoring in Public Relations with a minor in Social Media. She is an amateur photographer and it is her passion. She shoots everything from bands, to maternity photos, to headshots and portraits. She has even shot one wedding.

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92 Nicole Fortuna has a Bachelor of Arts in English and a Master of Liberal Arts. By day, she is a test development analyst, and by night, a professional English tutor at the CAE. Nicole maintains a blog where she writes about local business and social issues.

This is third Folio that Lawrence Goldberg has been a part of and the first one that he has been on the staff for. By the time the publication is completed, his Master’s degree in Criminal Justice here at Holy Family will be as well. While academic writing is necessary, what properly inspires Lawrence is writing poetry.

Rosa Gonzalez is a poet at heart. She’s been writing poetry for nine years. It is an artistic expression that she favors very much.

Carolyn Gulliver has had a love for photography for many years, and she is well studied in digital and film photography.

Amanda Gurecki is a first-year Criminal Justice major who plans on joining law enforcement after her time here at Holy Family.

When she's not studying or writing, she enjoys reading, and spending time with family and friends.

Warren Hope is the author of First Light & Other Poems (2013). He is also an adjunct instructor in English at Holy Family and tutors in the CAE. Dayna Howitz was born and raised in Collingswood, New Jersey and attended Paul VI High School. She is currently a freshman here at Holy Family University and is a nursing major. She lives at home so if she is not at school she is at Krispy Kreme where she works.

James R. Huber, PhD, is an Associate Professor of Counseling Psychology at Holy Family University. A Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with a private practice for over 25 years, Dr. Huber loves to run in nature and explore new cities with his wife and camera.

Maria Johns received her Bachelor of Science in Nursing from Holy Family University in 2009. She currently practices Nursing and also assists Nursing students with their studies in the Nursing Lab. She enjoys reading classic literature, writing, drawing, and photography. Her submitted piece, drawn in charcoal, depicts old Hollywood icons Rudolph Valentino and Natacha Rambova.

Patty Kerwick is a member of the class of 2019. She is currently an SGA representative for the freshman class and a student ambassador. Her grandfather, whom she called “Pop-pop”, passed away in March. Her submitted piece explains some of the feelings that his death has created.

Andrea Martineau is a third-year English and Psychology student at the University of Regina.

Megan McDermott is a student at Holy Family University studying to attain her bachelor’s degree in English. Upon graduating, she will then work towards a master’s degree in creative writing, and is currently considering UCLA and UC Riverside. Her goal is to secure a meaningful career as a successful writer and possibly involve herself in aspects of film production.

Yousuf bin Mohammad works as a digitization assistant with Juma al Majid Center for Culture and Heritage (the JUMA al Majid Group) while pursuing physics by distance learning mode. He is equally interested in poetry, philosophy, and psychology. Some of his Urdu poems have been published on "Rekhta,” a single Hindi poem on "Swargvibha,” a few English poems on "Visual Verse" and an English ghazal on "The GHAZAL Page.” He regularly contributes issue-based poetry to "The Companion" monthly as well.

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93 Pat Monteith was born and raised in Philadelphia. He is part of Holy Family University’s Class of '13 with a Bachelor’s of Science in Business Administration concentrating in Accounting. He ran Track and Cross Country for all 4 years. He received his Masters of Accountancy from Villanova U. He's currently a full-time corporate accountant and part-time musician/writer. His other works are at http://patinthehat52.blogspot.com/ Donald Moore became a newspaper reporter in 1949 in Topeka, Kansas. Forty-one years later, in 1990, he retired as head of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. He lives in a retirement community in Allentown.

Saba Mufti is a freshman pre-med student at Holy Family University. She grew up and lived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania all her life with her family. When Saba was in George Washington High school, she was part of the IB program. She has a passion for writing creative short stories when given the chance because it allows her to draw out her imagination.

Mimoza Muskaj is a freshman nursing major.

Caitlyn Olszewski is a sophomore transfer student for the 2016 spring semester and is from Holland, Pennsylvania.

She studies Biology and hopes to one day become a successful zoologist, or go on to to become a Veterinarian. Caitlyn has also always had a passion for writing poetry and has taken every opportunity to have her work published so she can share her thoughts with the world.

A senior a Holy Family University, Adam Lee Price comes from a background in creative writing, and has a true passion for filmmaking and the arts. Recently Adam has become intrigued by the idea of telling a story through the lens rather than through language. “She Who Has Lost” is his first photographic narrative.

Meghan Rakus was born and raised in Northeast Philadelphia. She graduated Saint Basil Academy in the year 2015.

She spends her free time with her family and listening to music. She is now a student at Holy Family University and is hoping to graduate with a degree in Education.

Marin Renée is a Philadelphia-based makeup artist. Inspired by colors and chaos, her piece was bred from the desire to make visual what it means to be "here now,” with everything that we cannot conceal beneath the surface, the components of our inner selves making us unapologetically present. Captured by Ritchie King, this is a photograph from one of Marin's proudest works to date.

Nicole Ridgeway is a junior at Holy Family University, majoring in Psychology and minoring in Childhood Studies.

She is unsure of what future career is in store for her; however, she is sure that she wants to make a positive impact on people’s lives through fundraising, volunteering, and her writing.

Marissa Rosario is a current freshman majoring in Nursing.

Mary Sarpong is currently a freshman at Holy Family University.

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94 Marcel Smith is a Nursing student who dabbles in the creative arts during his spare time. Since he attended a performing arts high school, he has a foundation in a variety of visual art mediums. Specifically, he enjoys mixed media and blending the different mediums together. His piece is a mix of gouache paint and oil pastels.

Lyndsey Smith is a freshman here at Holy Family University. She is an Early Childhood Education/ Special Education major. She loves working with children, so she is very excited to pursue this major. She was an Opinion Editor of her high-school newspaper. She enjoys reading and writing.

Sherry Lynne Teti has a doctorate degree in Mathematics from Bryn Mawr College. She teaches at various local colleges and universities. Currently a graduate student in the Education program at Holy Family University, she very much enjoys creative writing. Her poetry mirrors the ancient struggles of the delicate human heart.

Dr. Linda Thompson is a professor of Counseling Psychology and Director of the Counseling Psychology Graduate Program at Holy Family University. She is also a licensed professional counselor specializing in working with couples and families. She wrote this piece in honor of her mother, Frances, the source of her faith and strength.

Joseph Valerino is a sophomore at Holy Family. His major is Secondary Education—History and he is involved with several clubs here on campus. Some of these clubs include Music Ministry, Education Connections, and FEXP student mentoring. He has lived in the northeast Philadelphia region his entire life and has developed a few hobbies such as drumming, reading about history, and writing. So far, his experience at Holy Family has been a great one with a lot of memories. He hopes to keep living it up until graduation day.

Reading and getting lost in a story is one of Char Webster's favorite things to do. She also loves writing, which led to her daytime career in public relations and marketing. After years of writing for others, Char decided to write something for herself. Her debut novel fulfills a lifelong dream. Learn more about her piece at www.charwebsterauthor.com.

David Whelan is an Associate Professor of Criminal Justice. He was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, but has resided and taught in nine other states. He attended Wagner College, Staten Island, NY, on a basketball scholarship, and majored in Sociology with a minor in English.

Janice Xu is assistant professor of Communication at Holy Family University.

Brianna Zimmerman graduated from Paul VI High School in the year 2015. She is a freshman at Holy Family University and is currently majoring in Nursing. She is fond of writing and is greatly passionate about movies and music, both of which have had a profound impact on her life.

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