Wingspan 2012 by Jefferson State Community College

Wingspan

Fall 2012

Volume 12 Fall 2012 Jefferson State Community College Editor: Sharon DeVaney-Lovinguth Production & Design: Greg McCallister Assistant Editors: Mary J. Doss, Sydney Savannah Pritchett, Tyler Rockwell Front Cover Art: Painting by Ashley Kitchens Back Cover Art: Drawing by Stacy Scott

Editorial Policy Wingspan is an annual literary and visual arts publication of Jefferson State Community College in Birmingham, Alabama. Its purpose is to act as a creative outlet for students, faculty, alumni and residents of the surrounding area, thus encouraging and fostering an appreciation for the creative process. The works included in this journal are reviewed and selected by a faculty advisor on the basis of originality, graceful use of language, clarity of thought and the presence of an individual style. The nature of literature is not to advance a religious or political agenda, but to raise universal questions about human nature and to engage reaction. Therefore, the experience of literature is bound to involve controversial subject matter at times. The college supports the students’ right to a free search for truth and its exposition. In pursuit of that goal, however, advisors reserve the right to edit submissions as is necessary for suitable print. Appropriateness of material is defined in part as that which will “promote community and civic well being, provide insight into different cultural perspectives and expand the intellectual development of students.” The opinions expressed are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of the college administration, faculty or staff. Letters to the editor or information on submission guidelines can be obtained by e-mail at lovinguth@jeffstateonline.com All rights revert to the author/artist upon publication.

Volume 12 Fall 2012

Sigma Kappa Delta is the national English honor society for two-year colleges. The purpose of the society is to reward and encourage outstanding student achievement in English language and literature. Sigma Kappa Delta provides opportunities for advancing the study of language and literature, developing writing skills, meeting scholars and writers, attending conferences, submitting work for publication, and winning scholarships and awards. Students also receive recognition of their membership in Sigma Kappa Delta on their transcripts and at graduation by wearing honor cords. As Wingspan Editor, I would like to thank the members of Sigma Kappa Delta English Honor Society who served as assistant editors this year. Their editorial work brought a fresh, student perspective, and their excellent and thoughtful contributions shaped the magazine in new and important ways.

Poetry

“Tangueray” - Stacy Scott 5

Butterfly’s Lament Inside this chrysalis I look out, but venture no where. I am liquid, you see. I was once a crawling, curling caterpillar, desiring every leaf, now my body has created this container, a web wrapped tight around my hunger and my sorrow at my caterpillar downfall. Cocooned, I hang here in the garden, hidden beneath the parsley. Amorphous, aware, from eyes and mouth and feet, I am a mass of jelly, secured, but unable. So, I observe the world around me drawn to the red flowers, and the lyrics that the birds singIn this land of life and dying, in this land of health and ill, in this land of laughter crying you don’t know yet who you will be. Songs of transforming as they glide along on wings. While I remain suspended, and there is no way to leave I am a compact case of lightning enclosed in silken threads. I am bound in my own cell, while the night the cicadas singIn this land of life and dying, in this land of health and ill, in this land of laughter crying you don’t yet know who you will be. My self’s a mass of undistinguished goo. I find that there is nothing I can do, but know this smear of greens, and long for scarlet lilies.

Greg McCallister

A redbird troubadour shares tales of a creature with jeweled wings, so light afoot that she can enter, even the most delicate of blossoms, and drink the liquid gold from deep inside. His ballad leaves me a jelly mold of desire, but I doubt that I will ever be freed from inside this chrysalis, inside this chrysalis, inside this chrysalis. Laura Secord

The One I Love to Hate

Lighthouse

I have loved you from the beginning Whether you believe it or you don’t I have given you my everything, and done things most won’t.

A ship that sails across the seas A voyage lost in eternity It seems a mishap of your own fate As you search for the golden gate.

I have shown you every side of me the sides most people don’t see I have pledged my love to you forever and eternity.

Fog and smoke block the mind And it seems bottom rocks is all you find Notice the pirate standing there Waiting for you to parish here.

I have always been there for you and have been faithful all along I have told you, you are right even when I know you’re wrong. I have poured out my heart and soul for you as the tears fall too. I have stuck with you through everything to show how much I love you.

He’s posing like a humble crook But taking all that can be took. He hopes you remain lost at sea To steal everything but memories.

But now you’re leaving me forever or that’s how it seems so let me say this note that my hearts been dying to sing. I will not be faithful or love you for all time I will not cook another meal or give you another dime. I will not stick to my morals or put you as my first I would rather be heartbroken than love you at your worst. I will not shed another tear no matter what you say I will not ever hold you again or waist another day. So darling if you love me you better start acting right, because by the time you realize you do you’ll be missing me that night.

Life’s bad choices pull you under Hurricanes haunt you in your slumber The lighthouse is what you must find To reach the golden gate in time. Only you can control your ship And no crew member can help with it. You must find your way back to the light And stay in the direction you know is right. The gate is here, and here to stay And life’s too short to ride the waves. It’s there for anyone who seeks it Look towards the lighthouse in times of weakness.

Anger, Pain, Etc. Rage. The strongest emotion of all. Revenge. The sweetest of all down falls. Anger. The only thing she felt inside. Hatred. Was with her until she died. Pain. Medicine to the emotionless. Suffering. What her brain constantly lived with. Hurt. Something her appearance did not show. Death. The only thing she got to know. Elise Mikell

“Love At Sea” - Vero Vanblaere 9

American Literature Writing Portfolio Literary Movement – Puritan

Mary Schiermann

Pilgrim Anne Bradstreet, well educated and happily married at 16, wrote poetry despite society’s restrictions regarding what was acceptable ‘women’s work’. With typical Puritan humility, Bradstreet never sought to bring her works into public light, but her brother-in-law purloined her poems and arranged to have them printed, resulting in Bradstreet, a woman none-the-less, becoming the first American published poet. Bradstreet wrote many poems that followed the typical sacred traditions of the time, although she did break away from all the stereotypes by utilizing humor and, upon occasion, writing poetry that placed the love of her husband over her love of Christ.

More than riches, more than fame More than any worldly thing Thou art to me. More than the land, from whence I came More than the songs I may sing Ye shall ever be. And as the days pass And we shall grow old Our love shall hold fast And ne’er grow cold. More than the sun, more than the moon More than the heavenly stars that shine And all I see More than the lake, and the cry of the loon More than any other could find My love for thee.

“Charcoal Girl” - Stacy Scott 11

Dancing in the Rain Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s always been a dream of mine to dance in the rain. To live in that moment, away from my shame. I want to feel the rain run down my face. And all my doubt be erased. As I felt the drops land on my hands, I would feel alive, and I would dance. And as they ran down my fingers, All the pain would no longer linger. And as I danced without a care, I would feel the rain run through my hair. As my hair stuck to my face, I would dance some more with vivid grace. And as it poured all around me, I would look up for my Father to see. That through the shame, doubt, and pain, I danced in His glorious rain. Whitney L. Echols

Erica Glover 12

Greg McCallister

Kimberly McWhorter

“Me, Myself, and Not You” These tears on my pillow aren’t for you. I won’t let you break my heart. I’m not sorry I’m not perfect or that I can’t make you happy. The truth was a cover, A shield for my eyes. I won’t let you decide how I feel or make me think there is something wrong with me. I won’t let you make me doubt me or wish I lived another life. I won’t let you make me. These tears are for me. They’re on my face. They remind me I’m fragile. But this pain in my heart is for you, Because I would never do that to myself. You can have that. Sharon Carter

Random

Randomness

I can’t Move a mountain Stir a heart Carry a tune.

I Save me from this wretched fate My mortal wounds cast faithless eyes I mourn the drops of olive dreams Cast in a passion play.

I won’t See through the tears Welcome the years Accept my fate. I can’t Reach a cloud Touch a child Keep a memory I won’t Receive a prayer Return a stare Live a dream I can’t Wish on a star Stray too far Heal my wounds

II It kills only by instinct. To survive is to completely miss the point And after it’s over It’s overwhelming how difficult it is To remove the stained shavings of dead power. III Learn how to suffer That you may become impassive Learn how to die That you may be come immortal Learn how to restrain That you may become worthy of obtaining your desires.

I can’t. Painful End I’ll think of you When it rains, and lightening fills the sky. You loved me then as I love you now. I’ll think of you When it rains, and the day we were trapped under that bridge The smell of fresh damp earth, waiting for the storm to pass I’ll remember you When it rains. How you protected me from the cold. How you laughed at as I confessed my fear of losing you. I’ll think of you When it rains. And how it poured the day you wished me well. Susan Yager

Heart: A Poem in Two Voices We don’t wear our hearts on our sleeves anymore. Doesn’t that seem a funny image: suits with concave chests and hearts sewn to the wrist, pumping, pumping, like a stress ball gone awry. Too much blood to clean up. Can’t you see how it falls in pools at their feet, how their shoes turn crimson at first, but then fade into a sickening brown, more deadened than leaves, more deadened than wood or earth, a color that could only be manufactured. Besides our hearts And their lungs, their lungs will fall at their feet. And there they will be grasping for breath, for clarity, in those offices, as the world spins around them, with nothing to grab their eyes and hold them still. fall into our hands. our hands, always our bloody hands… And we can’t stop squeezing: Squeeze-thump, squeeze-thump, squeeze-thump. And the heartbeats: they are the harsh beat of a breaking metronome, of a sputtering clock of the tide the day the moon blinks out of existence. Helen Companion

Greg McCallister 16

The Moon Looks Down: A Pantoum

How to Write A Sestina

Snow keeps warm by pressing against earth, charred wind bristles ash branches, shadows sleep under the moonlight, the leaves sing their charcoal song.

In order to write a sestina, you must start by being unsure, quickly switching from cold to hot to cold and to hot again, the temperature being like a cat in the Sahara desert at dusk.

Charred wind bristles ash branches. A man huddles against the moonlight. The leaves sing their charcoal song, he digs his hands deeper in his pockets . A man huddles against the moonlight. The wind attacks his face, he digs his hands deeper in his pockets, his boots make tracks in the snow. The wind attacks his face, another snowstorm is coming, and his boots make tracks in the snow, he sits and huddles against an ash tree. Another snowstorm is coming. The snow is wet beneath his pants. He huddles against the ash tree, but the wind still claws at his face. The snow is wet beneath his pants, it bites through the cloth, through his skin. The wind still claws at his face, he turns his back. It bites through his cloth, through his skin. He wants to lie down, but feels frozen in place, he turns his back, closes his eyes, and wishes for warmth. He wants to lay down, but feels frozen in place. Shadows sleep under the moonlight, and they close their eyes, wish for warmth. Snow keeps warm by pressing against earth.

Sit on your porch at dusk, watch the clouds create their sestinas. As you watch, allow your cat beside you, her tongue lapping unsurely from a cup. Look up again, wonder if milk would be hot if left out. It is hot; There is a heat about dusk. Forget. Forget about the poem again, Look around. Everywhere, there are sestinas. Not just in the cool, unsure ripples your cat makes, the gentle clink clink your cat’s teeth make as she tips her hot tongue against her cup. In unsure clouds, sestinas. Not just in dusk either. And mosquitoes make stinging sestinas. Crumple a sheet of paper. Again. Now throw it out, again and again. Eventually, sensing a toy, your cat will chase it. Wonder what a sestina really is. The pen will feel hot in your hand. Take some paper. Dusk is now ending; Be absolutely sure this time you will write it. Surely, you will crumple it up again. Don’t get a flashlight, it’s still dusk; the lines are blurry. Your cat will inspect you, her paws hot against your arm. Write. This sestina won’t write itself. No sestina does. Surely by now you know that, how hot the pen feels, how again you are unsure. And when dusk is over and your cat is bored it will be done. Helen Companion 17

Nettie Say, do you remember Aunt Nettie? Yeah, the big gal that used to live with us. She’s over at the university now… I thought you knew. A job? You might call it a job... she is being put to use. Don’t mention this, you know how people talk, Nettie was donated, gifted ... you might say, to the university. They even sent us a check. It’s the truth, on my honor. I saw her the other day, over at the university (hanging like a smoked ham in a big stainless steel tank). She didn’t look much like herself. .. like the Nettie we used to know. You can imagine how it is, her being a cadaver and all. Not “cadiver”! C-A-D-A-V-E-R ! It’s a corpse med-students cut on. I thought you knew ... Nettie died. You didn’t? Well, it’s the truth. You can see for yourself, over at the university. William Squires

“Steammuertos” - LaGina Mathis 19

Honeysuckles Honeysuckles waiting on the hill. They are like lanterns in the daylight With flowers in hues of white and yellow Guiding all who come near. They call out, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Come and drink of us!â&#x20AC;? For their desire is to help society With their tasty honey and sweet smells Those who stop and smell their sweet aroma are truly blessed! For it is as if they have received a scent from HeavenSo sweet and refreshing! If only it could be bottled upTo have in season and out. But it would not be free and wild-as it is now. And the pure splendor and bliss of it would be lost forever, Along with its endearing charm. Erica Glover

Greg McCallister 20

There is no Eraser like that of Nature There is no Eraser like that of Nature To ease the Pain and Sorrow and bring about a new Tomorrow Lie in a field of Flowers and simply pass the Hours Watch the Breeze blow against the grass and think no more about the Past Listen to a Waterfall and find new wherewithal Smell a storm coming and, suddenly, find yourself humming â&#x20AC;&#x201C; along Fall asleep in the Rain as it washes the Pain down the drain Then, to wake in the Morn and feel no more Scorn As you dance in the Rivers that formed â&#x20AC;&#x201C; while you slept. Rachel Hague

Art

“Bottles”-LaGina Mathis

“Painting Testing”-LaGina Mathis 23

“Lisbon I”-Ashley Kitchens

“PatchworkPanda” - Stacy Scott 24

“Nail Polish Elephants” - Stacy Scott

“Maiden of Imagination”-Erica Glover 25

Greg McCallister

“Rhaja” - Stacy Scott 28

“Attack of the Monkeys” - Erica Glover 29

Steven McCallister

Greg McCallister 31

Greg McCallister

Fiction

Steven McCallister

Damascus Road Sarah Lyons nervously tore her napkin into a hundred little pieces as she sat in the booth at Al’s Diner. She stared out the window as the sun was disappearing behind the tree line. She breathed in deeply inhaling the mixed aroma of cooking bacon and cigarette smoke. A large man was behind the counter cooking and sweating as he flipped meat over the hot grill. The diner’s electric yellow colored walls and hot pink seats gave the room an unusual brightness. Sarah hummed along as the neon-lit juke box played “Unchained Melody.” The waitress came over and poured a cup of coffee for her. The small diner was empty except for an elderly couple in the corner booth. The little old lady was dressed in a nice green dress with a string of pearls. Her silver hair was tightly curled against her head. The older man had on a dark blue Sunday suit with a bowtie. Sarah watched them as they ate their meal smiling and seemingly enjoying each other’s company. She found the idea of them getting dressed up for a date night at Al’s Diner to be endearing. Watching this couple was a nice distraction for her. She had been dreading this day for weeks. Sarah heard the sound of the diner door opening, and she saw John’s tall slender frame standing in the doorway. He stopped and looked around and comically pretended he didn’t see her. He was always trying to make her laugh. She smiled at him. She thought he looked tired, like he hadn’t had much sleep and his clothes were wrinkled. His wavy blond hair touched the tip of his eyebrows. She looked into his deep blue eyes and her heart pounded with anticipation as it always did when she saw him. He slid into the booth. “Hello, beautiful.” he said as he brushed her brown hair away from her eyes. Sarah felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “What’s this?” he said pointing to the pile of torn napkin pieces. He scooped them up and put them in the trash. “You’re late.” She said with a smile. “This takes time,” he said as he gestured to his body. She laughed. From the moment she had met John a year earlier in a philosophy class, they had an instant connection. They quickly became friends. They shared a love of philosophy and literature. John intrigued Sarah like no one else ever had. John was agnostic, and Sarah was a Christian. She had never met anyone before who did not believe in the existence of God. Sarah felt it was her Christian duty to persuade him otherwise, so she tried all sorts of arguments to cause him to change his mind to of no avail. He had told her the only way he would believe in God would be for God to reveal Himself to him the way He did to the apostle Paul on the road to Damascus. Sarah and John began to spend all their free time together and eventually, they fell in love. Something inside of Sarah told her she should back away from him, but she found him to be irresistible in every way. She wondered why it was that what she wanted the most, she couldn’t have. “Are you all packed?” Sarah asked. “Yep, I’m out of here after this. California or bust,” John said resolutely. “Stanford won’t know what hit ‘em.” She half-heartedly joked. They ordered pie and soon they were laughing as they reminisced about their last road trip together to Atlanta for a U2 concert. They had gotten lost on the way and missed half the concert. They finished their pie and coffee and stood up to leave. John paid the check and asked Sarah to go on one last walk with him. They walked to a nearby park with a lake. They had come here often over the past year. The night air was brisk. The sky was filled with beautiful deep pink and orange hues. They walked hand in hand around the lake for a while. “Do you fear the future?” Sarah asked John. He stopped and thought for a moment. He stared at the ground kicking at the grass with his shoe. “I thought we had something special, Sarah. I can’t understand why you’re willing to throw it all away just because of religious differences.” 45

Sarah stared out at the moon’s reflection on the glistening lake. They continued walking in silence. “I need to get on the road,” John said breaking the silence. “I made this for you,” she said handing him a cd. “It has all of our songs on it.” They slowly made their way back to the parking lot of the diner. When they reached John’s jeep, he leaned back against the door and pulled her close. The familiar woodsy smell of his cologne always a comfort in the past, was now bittersweet. She buried her head deeply in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. She didn’t want to let go. She could no longer hold back her tears as they freely flowed down her cheeks. He tilted her chin up and gently wiped her tears away. “Don’t cry,” he whispered softly. “Promise me you’ll call when you have your Damascus road experience.” “If I do, you’ll be the first.” Sarah felt a flood of emotions. She wanted to tell him not to go. She wanted to tell him maybe they could try to make it work again. Maybe love was all they needed. She wanted to say all of this and more, but her mind overruled her emotions and she said nothing. She stood motionless as she watched him drive away. She watched until his taillights disappeared down the road. All that was left of him was the lingering smell of his cologne on her shirt. When she turned to leave she saw the little old couple leaving the diner, their arms linked together. The man opened the car door for his wife, helped her in and kissed her on cheek. Treasure Clolinger

Sulakshi_Danapala.

What You See Is What You Get Characters Barney Edward Bartender Scene: Edward is throwing darts in a dirty, hole in the wall bar. He occasionally walks over to a window and looks out. The floor is littered with empty peanut shells. The bar is scattered with empty beer bottles. Edward is well-dressed in a suit and tie. Barney is dressed in dirty jeans and a t-shirt with holes. Barney walks in and is surprised to see Edward. Barney: What are you doing here? Edward: Your mother told me I would probably find you here. They sit down at a table. Barney: You could’ve called, you know. Edward: I did- 7 times! Barney: Yeah, well uh… my phone’s been acting up. I need a beer, you want one? (sarcastically) Oh, that’s right, you don’t drink. Edward : Just get me a Coke. Barney walks over to the bar to get their drinks. While he is away, Edward’s phone rings and he answers. Edward: Hi honey. Yes, I’m at the bar now talking to him. Yes, I’m going to be nice. Darling, you have nothing to worry about. I love you too, bye. Barney returns to the table with Edward’s coke and a fifth of whiskey with a shot glass for himself. Edward: (Points to the bottle of whiskey) Barney, it’s not even noon yet! Barney: It’s five o’clock somewhere! (He holds the shot glass up and then downs it.) What’s going on in the world of Edward? Edward: Work is going well. I’ve been working on a new project for corporate. I’m overseeing the installation of a new software database for all our local offices. It’s a big job, but they’ve got confidence in me. How is your job search going? Barney: I’ve talked to a few people. (He pours himself another drink.) Edward: Really? How many jobs have you applied for? Barney: Well, my buddy Mike works down at the steel plant. He told his boss about me and he’s supposed to give me a call when they have an opening. I also talked to the manager at Tire Pro who told me they might be hiring in a couple of weeks. That reminds me, I need to give him a callEdward: Ok, let me clarify. How many jobs have you actually walked in and filled out an application for? Barney: Let me think…one. It was for a shift manager position at NAPA Auto Parts. Pays 25 g’s a year. I should be hearing back from them any day now. Edward: Good grief, Barney! You have to be more proactive than that. Barney: It’s a tough economy out there, Edward. (He pours himself another drink.) Edward: You need to be out there every day looking for a job. Barney, you’re thirty years old. How long do you plan to live with your mother? Plus, I really need to get that money you borrowed back. Barney: And here I thought you were actually concerned about someone other than yourself. I told you I’d get the money to you and I will!

Edward: (Exasperated) When?! You told me you would get to me 2 weeks ago. Barney: Some stuff’s come up. The transmission in my truck went out again, and I had to take my dog to the vetEdward: There’s always some kind of excuse! I should have never loaned you money! What was I thinking?! If you weren’t Katherine’s brother, I’dBarney: (laughs) You’d what? (makes a gesture with his hands to “bring it on”) You’re all talk! I don’t need a sermon from you! My sister could’ve done so much better than you. Edward: Yeah, If she’d married someone like you?! (laughs) Someone who can’t hold a job, and still lives with his mommy who still cooks all his meals and does all his laundry. Someone who never finishes anything he starts, and who is a lazy, irresponsible drunk! Barney: (angrily stands up and takes a swing at Edward and misses) You self-righteous S-O-B! You think you’re so much better than meEdward: I am! (Edward throws his drink in Barney’s face. Barney lunges at Edward knocking his bottle of whiskey over. Edward picks up a chair to hold Barney back. Bartender walks over.) Bartender: Knock it off you two or I’m calling the cops! They sit back down. Barney: At least with me what you see is what you get. Now you…..well you’re a piece of work. You’ve got your fancy car, nice house, high paying job, good family. You’ve just got it all together, don’t you? Edward: This isn’t about me! Barney: (leans forward, closer to Edward’s face) What if…just what if you don’t? Edward: What are you getting at? Barney: Let’s just say I ran into a friend of yours…. Edward: What are you talking about? Barney: Let me tell you a little story. I was sittin’ right over there (points toward the bar) the other day when in walks this pretty lady, and she sits down next to me. I can see she’s crying, so being the sensitive person that I am, I ask her what’s wrong. She starts telling me about how her boyfriend just dumped her. She’d been with him for 2 years and he dumps her out of the blue. She says she loved him, and she was pretty torn up, so I say, “What kind of jerk would treat you that way?” She says, “A married one.” I say, “Sounds like he used you.” She said, “I don’t think he used me, I just think Edward’s confused.” I asked her, “Edward who?” And she answers, “Edward Sterrit.” Edward: So what? She’s not talking about me. I’m sure there’s plenty of other people named Edward Sterrit around here. Barney: No, actually there isn’t. I checked. Besides she knew where you worked, where you lived, and she even knew Katherine’s name. Edward looks uncomfortable. Barney: The way I see it, you’re in a whole heap of trouble. I’m sure this would all be very interesting news for Katherine. Edward: She won’t believe you. Barney: I’ve got some pretty damning evidence. I’ve got Candace’s number, and I just bet she’d be happy to talk to Katherine. Edward: You wouldn’t! Barney: Well….let’s see…maybe we can work something out. Treasure Clolinger

Greg McCallister

The Right Price Maggie fidgeted in her chair as she rocked the plastic canvas back and forth between her fingers to make the red and green JESUS focus in and out. Though it was September, and the air conditioner still rattled incessantly and the green-yellow leaves on Sugar Maples out front still clung tightly to their limbs, her mom’s Sunflower Sunday school class was crafting Christmas presents for homebound saints or those who’d be in the hospital then. She took a quick look at her watch: 9:50, “Terrific,” she mumbled under her breath, then threw Jesus on the table. The Old Biddies, as her mom sarcastically called them, were already gathered around the long folding tables, cackling. But it wasn’t a Tuesday morning craft and hen session that brought them by today. No, today was Thursday, and her mom had invited the Biddies here for another reason, a more important reason. More important even than every Christmas tree and Jesus they could nail down to plastic. Maggie felt her cheeks flush as she watched her mom flutter about the room, serving coffee and pound cake. She and the Biddies giggled like four-year-olds having tea with Barbie, and the more her mom fluttered, the hotter Maggie got. But she knew, no matter how mad she was or how red her ears burned, she couldn’t leave. And why couldn’t she leave even when her mom had tricked her into attending this little party? Maggie, of course, knew the answer, even as she asked the question; most good lawyers did. She was trapped by a higher law. Correction, Maggie thought, the highest law: Propriety. A Southern Lady simply couldn’t violate the twisted, tangled messy obligation to behave even when good sense and psychological preservation demanded she misbehave. So even though her mom had tricked her, and even though she was supposed to be in her downtown office prosecuting criminals instead of staring at a life size cut out of Bob Barker pointing at a homemade banner stretched across the wall above the Fabulous Big Screen Television saying, “Come on down, Maggie Adams, you’re the next contestant,” she couldn’t leave. Maggie dropped her head on the table. Of course, the irony of this warped, Salvador Dali moment was that the cross-country drive to California had been all her idea, a surprise for her mom’s seventieth birthday. Ever since Maggie’s divorce, The Divorce, her mom whispered, when she referred to it at all, the two had been in some sort of relationship fog. Maggie didn’t know if her mom blamed her, or felt sorry for her. Either way, they didn’t talk to each other about it or for that matter about much of anything else. It was amazing, really. They could be in the same room, literally sitting next to each other, yet unable to communicate or understand one another on the simplest level. Maggie wanted to shake things up, so she had thrown their suitcases into the trunk of her silver Bimmer and said, “Let’s ride, Mama.” Lizzy Adams had dropped her plastic shopping bags next to the passenger door and took off her sunglasses to clean them. She stared at Maggie while circling the dark lenses with Kleenex. “Honey,” she said in a sweet southern drawl, “it’s is such a long drive. Are you sure we shouldn’t fly? You know, it’d be easier on everyone if we did.”

Maggie lifted her sunglasses up on her head and stared back from the driver’s side just long enough to size up her opponent. She stuck out her thumb, an old prosecutor’s trick, “One, you hate flying,” then came her index finger, bang, “and two, the point of the trip is for the two of us to spend some time together.” The cleaning stopped, and out popped Lizzy’s thumb, “One, give me a Valium; I’m good to go,” quickly followed by her index finger, “Two, we can spend time together once we’re there.” POW, a direct hit! 50

Maggie’s soft, green eyes narrowed, as she placed her fingertips on top of the closed sunroof. “You’re not going to miss that show, Mom. You’re not going to miss any of the four shows for which I got tickets.” She realized her tone, let out a breath, then calmly tucked a stray auburn curl behind her ear. “I promise. I want to spend some time with you. We’ll do some fun things along the way, ok?” “Hell’s Bells, Maggie, why didn’t you just say so,” her mom said, as she put on her sunglasses then piled into the front seat with her shopping bags. “I was just making a suggestion, that’s all. I can’t help you drive once we get out of town. You know, I don’t see as well as I used to,” she said, shutting the car door. “I know you’re tying to help, Mom,” Maggie sighed, while opening the drivers’ door, “but we’ve got plenty of time.” She started in, then spotted the nest of plastic at her mother’s feet, “Why don’t you let me put those in the trunk?” Her mom looked down at the bags, then threw her head against the black, leather seat. Her white hair turned into a mangled helmet that covered half her face. The sweet drawl was gone. “Maggie, I just want to have some snacks along the way, if that’s ok? I’m not gonna trash your pretty little car, and if I make a mess, I promise to clean it up.” Maggie dropped her head against the door. What the hell had she been thinking? The living room was quiet now. So quiet, that Maggie remembered her surroundings. She lifted her head and her mom was sitting in the Lazy Boy; the theme music rose. The Biddies left the tables and piled together on the sofa and loveseat near the television, snacking on pretzels and cheese curls as they excitedly waited for the main feature to begin. Her heart pounded; it always did before opening arguments. The announcer’s voice was like a fog horn, “Michael Roberts, come on down.” Her ears throbbed. The horn made another blast, “Wendy Warner, come on down.” This is crazy, she thought. It wasn’t that bad. Blast. “Linda Stutzman, come on down.” After all, she won lots of, “fabulous prizes.” Blast. “Maggie Adams, come on down.” Frozen like a rubbernecker surveying human wreckage on a roadside, she watched the camera pan back and forth across the studio audience. Her face burned because nobody came on down. “Where is she?” Ida Cummings wanted to know. Her mom laughed, “Just wait.” Blast. “Maggie Adams, please come on down,” the announcer pled. The camera jerked frantically back and forth and the horn blasted, “You’re the next contestant.” Suddenly, her mom squealed, “Look!” Maggie felt her heart pound in her head, as she watched the panning stop. The camera had found its mark: a screaming, white haired woman hopping up and down, while pulling the collar of her pale, shrunken victim, cowering in a heap of disbelief. “Look at her,” Caddy Stansfield hooted, “she’s white as a sheet.” Lizzy slapped the armrest; “My poor, baby girl was froze up tighter than a bull’s ass at fly time.” “Well, who’d thunk it,” Ida couldn’t let it go, “she can demand the death penalty, but she can’t move her feet to ‘COME ON DOWN’!” The camera finally pulled back as Lizzy yanked her scared little girl to her feet, and as Maggie watched herself stagger toward the empty slot on Contestant’s Row, she found it harder to control her rage. The lawyer inside, however, knew if she didn’t get hold of herself and the situation, the show wouldn’t be on television. It’d be here in her mom’s living room, in front of the Biddies. She swallowed hard, then bellowed, “Hey, guys, ya know, I’m sitting right here.” Caddy spoke right up, “Sorry, Maggie. We’ve just never seen you so out of sorts.” Maggie forced a smile, “Well, Caddy, I must admit it did take me a few minutes to find my sea legs.” 51

“That’s all right Maggie May,” her mom sang out, “cause once you did, Baby Girl, you found em good.” What, Maggie’s brain popped, as she turned quickly toward the Lazy Boy. Her mom’s tone had caught her totally off guard. She watched her mom watching the television, stretched out and smiling from ear to ear. Every angry wrinkle was gone; her skin smoothed with delight. She was positively glowing. “Ya’ll watch now; Bob tries to throw her off by picking at her, but she won’t have any of it. He had his fun, but my Baby Girl showed’em, like she always shows em.” You’ve got to be kidding; Maggie thought as she fell back in her chair. Did she really hear what she thought she heard? Was her mom proud, actually proud? This was insane. She honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but knew she could do neither, being trapped in her own corner of propriety hell. Besides, she couldn’t be mad at her dear, old mom, could she? After all, mom might actually, finally be proud. Now, was Lizzy proud when her baby girl graduated in the top five percent of her law school class? Well, maybe on the inside where it really counts. How about when Maggie argued before the State Supreme Court, or when she finally broke through the glass ceiling to become the first female, Deputy District Attorney of the Felony Division in Madison County, Alabama; was her mom proud then? Well, if she was, Lizzy didn’t say. Maybe her mom was afraid saying so would cause her baby girl to rest on her laurels. And really, what’s law school or being the Deputy District Attorney compared to stumbling your way into a “Fabulous Showcase?” Maggie pushed herself away from the table and headed for the kitchen. She needed a drink, a real one. She knew it was a long shot, but when her dad was alive, he kept an old bottle of bourbon hidden in the back of the pantry for special occasions, or especially bad days. This certainly qualified as an especially bad occasion. Her trembling hands quickly rummaged past the instant noodle soup and various dented and disregarded canned goods to the back corner of the top shelf. “Please, be here,” she whispered. After a few desperate moments, she felt the cool, long bottleneck. Bingo! She looked over her shoulder and saw the Biddies cackling about the television. No one even noticed she was gone. She quickly grabbed the prize, poured the elixir into a large Styrofoam cup, then returned the treasure to its hiding place. She took a small sip, as she headed for the fridge, smooth and hot. “Yes,” she said, quietly, while grabbing some ice. A little ice, a splash or two of water, and in a few minutes, she’d be able to handle anything. “Hey, Maggie,” Caddy called from behind, nearly exposing her plan,”Why you hiding in here?” Startled, Maggie turned to find Caddy leaning over the open bar counter into the kitchen. “Nothing,” she slammed the freezer door, “I’m just getting a drink, that’s all.” Caddy’s soft eyes turned hard for a moment, as she studied Maggie. Then, just like that, they were soft again and she smiled. “How come you always bid a dollar?” “What?” Maggie was confused. “On the show,” Caddy’s voice became loud, like she thought Maggie wasn’t paying attention. “Every time, Bob asked for your bid, you bid one dollar. Why?” “Oh that,” Maggie sighed, as she headed toward the kitchen sink. She twisted the faucet knob like a seltzer bottle, shooting three quick bursts of water into her cup, then rocked it back and forth, before taking a big gulp. It was just the way she needed it, sloshed not stirred. The cool liquid warmed her as it went down, making her shiver and giving her goose-bumps. “Well,” Caddy demanded. Maggie took another sip, then turned toward her, remembering. “Ya, know Caddy, Bob wondered about that too.” She could almost see his sneer as she mocked him, mocking her, “‘let me guess, one dollar.’ “That’s right, Bob. My Mama always says when you don’t know the price, bid one dollar.” 52

Caddy smiled, “She does that, doesn’t she!” Maggie took another sip. “All the time!” Then, she pointed the cup toward the wide screen, “You’d better watch. I’m on stage.” “Oh,” Caddy said, then quickly left. Alone again, thankfully, Maggie made a mocking toast to herself before taking another drink, then heading toward the sliding, glass doors overlooking the backyard. The Big Screen reflected in the glass. She heard the Biddies’ cackle, but somehow, suddenly, it didn’t matter. It was kind of funny seeing herself up on stage, standing there like a sullen, scared wooden Indian, embarrassing herself on national television. Maggie quietly laughed as she watched herself staring at Bob as he tilted the wooden price metronome backward and forward, demanding to know if she was “coming or going.” Back and forth, the price clicked, clicked, clicked, while the audience shrieked. “‘Well,’ he finally insisted, ‘what does your mama say?’ “Well, Bob,” Maggie finally cracked, “Mama always says it’s better to be coming than going.” Then, she popped the wooden plank backward, snapped the price into place, and damn if she didn’t win a trip to “Sunny, Los Angles, California,” airfare included, the perfect companion to a Big Screen television. Who the hell knew? Your mama, that’s who, Maggie felt the flush of creeping rage and quickly took another drink. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, hoping the bright sun would melt away the anger the bourbon had missed. She marveled how this feeling could worm its way into her mind when she least expected it, wrecking havoc and instantly changing her into a weak, little girl. She didn’t understand why it mattered what her mother thought or didn’t think, and hated that it did. After fifty years, Maggie was getting tired of counting the cost, so for today at least, she figured she’d numb the pain. After a little while, she noticed how good the radiated light and heat felt to her, and her body relaxed. After a few more moments, her thoughts and even the Biddies’ laughter had disappeared into the tinkling wind chimes. She listened for a bit, then knew the wind was coming from the east because the hollow, bass of the bamboo chimes overpowered the airy, soprano of the Balinese. She smiled; still amazed that after all these years she could still tell which way the wind blew by hearing the order of the chimes. “Do you I really sound like that,” Lizzy’s desperate whisper broke into Maggie’s meditation. Maggie’s eyes popped open, and she saw her mom hovering right behind her in the glass. Lizzy’s face reflected in her own, as their green eyes and ruddy, cheeks merged. She swallowed, “What?” Lizzy bent closer, “I said,” she whispered again, “Do I really repeat things all the time? You know, like what you said, I said, at the Big Wheel: ‘Shoot the moon! No guts no glory?’ Do I say that?”

Flushed, Maggie turned toward her mom, then the Big Screen, then back toward her mom and said quietly, “Yes.” Lizzy’s eyes got big, “All the time?” “Yes.” Her mom leaned her head against the glass doors, “Hell’s Bells.” “You say that too,” Maggie said, gulping the bourbon. “All the time.” Lizzy took the cup from Maggie, taking a long swallow. “Ahh,” her body shook. Her eyes narrowed. “How many cups have you had?” Maggie grabbed back her drink and said indignantly, “Just this one.”

“Good,” Lizzy whispered as she hurried toward the pantry, “that means there’s plenty left for me.” She looked over her shoulder and out into living room; the Biddies were still glued to the tube. She shrugged. “I like to take my medicine with coke.” Maggie stared as she watched her mama pour, pour again, then pour some more into her cup. “I don’t believe it.” Lizzy stared back then put the bottle in its hiding place. “Your daddy’s been dead nearly two years,” her voice went lower, “You didn’t honestly think you’d find one of his bottle’s nearly full?” She took a sip, winched, then said softly, “I’ve had a few bad days myself since then.” Maggie put her cup down on the counter, “I know you have.” “Do you?” Lizzy said as she mixed her drink. Then, she grabbed some ice from the freezer before sitting down at the table. She took a long drink, cleared her throat then said, “If you didn’t want be on the show, why’d you take a name tag?” Maggie closed her eyes, “I don’t know. Maybe, I thought you’d be disappointed if I didn’t join in.” “I see. So even though, I never asked you to take me on that trip or to that show, it’s my fault?” “No,” Maggie sighed, opening her eyes. “Good,” Lizzy said, then took another drink. She swallowed hard, then fanned herself. “So, the next time I start handing out advice the way Carter’s doles out little liver pills, you’ll just have the common courtesy to tell me to shut up, won’t you!” Maggie blew out a deep breath, like she’d been gut punched, then headed for the table with her cup. She sat down in sunlight right across from her mom, squinting. “I’m not sure I want to do that,” she said, sweetly. “The last time I told you to shut up, I ending up marrying Jimmy, and we both know how that turned out, don’t we?” “Things happen, Maggie. Your Granny Irene didn’t want me to marry Ed. I didn’t listen to her anymore than you listened to me.” Maggie smiled, hoping to break the tension. “But there’s a big difference. You proved her wrong.” Lizzy lifted her cup. “Did I? Cause, you do know there’s more than one way of being divorced.” She took a drink. Maggie’s eyes grew big. “What?” “Ya know, I’m beginning to think your Daddy and me should have fought around you more often instead of hiding out in the bedroom, or in the garden. If we had, maybe you’d know how to count your blessings.” Maggie felt flush again and snapped. “Just what blessings am I supposed to be counting, Mama?” “That law degree you’re so proud of for one.” She shook as she leaned forward to face her mom. “Of course, I’m proud of that degree. I worked my ass off to earn it.” Lizzy leaned forward herself, staring Maggie right in the eyes. “I’m proud of your degree too. Just who do you think worked her ass off to pay for it? Just who do think listened while your daddy complained every time dinner wasn’t ready or the house wasn’t picked up when he got home? Did ya ever think about that when ya had it framed and mounted on your office wall?” Maggie fell quietly back against her chair. Lizzy sat back. “What’s wrong Maggie, cat got your tongue?” Caddy barged into the kitchen interrupting them. “So here’s where you disappeared to,” she said struggling to put on her coat. “Ya’ll missed the showcase.” Lizzy looked at her friend. “It’s ok. We know how it turns out; we were there.” “She won you a truck, and you said, she doesn’t listen to you,” Caddy said as she spun around trying to find the other end of her belt.

Lizzy looked at Maggie and said, “I reckon I was wrong about that.” Then, she got up and grabbed the dangling belt, giving it a yank, “Ya looking for this?” Caddy’s eyes grew big as she snatched the belt back. “I see you’ve been drinking that store-brand coke again.” Lizzy pinched her cheek. “No máam, I got the real thing.” Caddy pushed her away, “Oh, you!” Then, she looked at Maggie, “I don’t know how you put up with her sometimes.” “It’s hard,” Maggie said, wryly while looking at her mom. “But then again, she has to put up with me, so I guess it all comes out even in the wash.” “So, it does,” Caddy said, as she reached into her overcoat pocket. “We made something for you. Here,” she handed Maggie a rectangle, plastic canvas, with a brilliantly yellow stitched JESUS surrounded by an equally bright, blue border. “Did your mama remember your favorite colors?” Maggie took the gift, “Yes.” “I know you think we’re a bunch of silly old coots.” “No-” “Hush,” Caddy stopped her. “Maybe, we are silly; I don’t know. What I do know is that your mama worries about you; we all do. You see so many dark and ugly things where you work. Those things can take your hope if you’re not careful.” She smiled, softly, “Maybe, you could put this someplace and look at it every once and a while just to remind yourself, ya got someone that cares about you.” Maggie felt her eyes water, as she cleared her throat. She looked at her mom, smiling, “Thank-you!” Then, she looked at Caddy, “I know just where to put it.” Caddy’s milky, blue eyes narrowed. Maggie rolled hers, “In my office. I know just where to put it in my office.” The Biddy winked. “We’re heading over to the Cedar Post for lunch. Why don’t you come with us?” Maggie stared at the yellow stitched JESUS, realizing that the whole time she’d been angry about the Attagirl her mom couldn’t give, she’d been missing what her mom could and did give. She didn’t want to miss that anymore. “Well, it’s like Mama always says.” Lizzy’s face melted. “What? What do I always say, now?” Maggie smiled as she got up from her chair. “If you’re in for a penny, you’re in for a pound.” Lizzy laughed. “That’s the spirit,” then reached for her coat hanging on the rack by the door. “I’m driving, though. You had more water than I had coke. “Please! You had way more coke in your cup, than I had water in mine.” “But, I only drank a few sips of coke; your cup is nearly empty,” Lizzy insisted. “Besides, wouldn’t the old boys downtown just love it if the Deputy District Attorney were pulled over cause she couldn’t hold her water.” “Ya know what,” Caddy interrupted them, “neither one of you is fit to drive; so if you want to go, you’re gonna need to ride with Ida and me!” Lizzy’s jaw dropped, “But I want to drive my new truck.” “Hell’s Bells, Mama,” Maggie laughed, as she got her coat and put Jesus in her purse, “You should have thought of that before you poured yourself a coke and a smile.” Then she grabbed her mother by the hand and gently squeezed it. Her voice was much softer. “Come on, Mama, we’ll let someone else drive for a change.” Pam West

“Wereweever” - LaGina Mathis

Greg McCallister

A Second Chance Bobby sat in the middle of his cold, candle-lit shop, feet and hands bound to a chair. It was late afternoon, and he could see Topeka’s darkening streets out his storefront window. A tall, gaunt figure stood over him, waving the barrel of a Colt six-shooter in the air. The man’s tan chaps were worn thin and the spurs on his boots clinked as he paced the dirty plank floor. His wide-brimmed hat was pulled low, concealing his hair and eyes. “I’ve been lookin’ for you for quite some time, Crenshaw,” the man said. “Well, here I am.” There was no point in arguing with a crazy man with a gun, Bobby thought. He’d probably just shoot you for a liar if you tried to convince him of your real name. “So, now that you’ve got me all tied up, what can I do for you?” “Don’t play dumb with me boy. You know what I’m after.” The man shook the gun as he spoke. “Well, if it’s the gem you want, then I’m sorry. I sold it years ago to a trader out of Dallas.” “That ain’t what I heard.” “Well then I’m afraid you heard wrong.” Bobby fidgeted against the ropes and the man backhanded him across the face. Drops of blood dripped off Bobby’s lip and stained his denim shirt. The man grinned. “Last I heard you was usin’ it to transport yourself to another world and bringin’ back these here artifacts and trinkets you fill your shop with.” The corners of the man’s mouth grew wetter as he spoke. Bobby wondered if he might start drooling. “Well now, wouldn’t that be nice. But why, might I ask, would I still be here, tied to this chair, if I had a gem that could transport me to another planet?” “You got it hid somewhere. That’s why. Now, you can either point me to it, or I can turn everything in this shop upside down lookin’ for it.” “If I had it, I would tell you where it is.” “We’ll see.” The man turned to his left and started opening the boxes and cookie cans that were resting on the shop’s dusty tables and emptying their contents on the floor. Bobby winced as his life’s work was scattered and broken. Delicate seashells from the shores of Rodya’s oceans turned almost completely into dust beneath the man’s groping hands. A glass wind chime from Rodina, made to signal the city’s first breeze, shattered. The man moved further down the table, and Bobby had had enough. The chair he was in was old and rickety. It always creaked and twisted when he settled into it. Bobby pushed up with his toes, raising the front of the chair several inches, and then let it fall and rock forward a little. The man was too busy pilfering to notice the movement or the sound. Bobby repeated the process several times, gaining momentum by rocking, until finally the chair tipped over backwards. He flexed his arms and legs as hard as he could against the ropes, and the chair broke into pieces when it hit the floor. His hands were still tied together behind his back, but his legs were free, and he immediately found his feet and hurled himself toward his captor. The man turned to see what the commotion was just in time to get bowled over. Bobby was back on his feet in seconds. He ran to the back of the shop and pushed aside a curtain leading to his personal study. His desk was littered with books and scrolls, as it always was. The shelves that lined the walls were covered with the same. A dim, oil-burning lamp was still lit, casting its liquid glow on his surroundings. He walked around to the front of the desk, pushed his chair aside, crouched down with his back to the drawers, and opened the third one down. He felt his way to the back right corner and retrieved the talisman.

Its polished surface felt familiar to his fingertips, and he could see in his minds eye how it glowed deep green, like the slime on a pond in spring, whenever he held it. The man with the gun was cursing and throwing things around the shop. Bobby closed his eyes and whispered, “paloosa” into the air. He didn’t even have to open his eyes back up to know where he was. Sunlight penetrated the shadows made by his eyelids. The cool darkness of his study had been replaced by dry heat, and the air was no longer still. The breeze carried with it the scent of seaweed and rotten fish. Bobby opened his eyes and inhaled deeply. Memories flooded his mind and washed away quickly with the sound of the waves. The surface of Rodya was mostly ocean. It had many small islands, but only one landmass that could be considered a “continent” by earth’s standards. It was on the southern edge of this continent that Bobby stood, hands still bound behind his back. The landscape was almost completely desert, with the occasional oasis made up of freshwater pools and palmetto-like trees. He looked east and could see Rodina, Rodya’s capital city on the horizon. He made his way there, stumbling occasionally because he didn’t have the added balance of having his arms free. As he approached, the city’s magnificence renewed itself in Bobby’s mind. The walls were high and made of marble, reminiscent of the days when Rodina defended itself against a motley crew of lawless thugs known as the Ving, and they encircled nearly five hundred square miles of roads, houses, farms, and castles. Bobby was met at the front gates by two Ilane guards armed with spears that shot laser pulses out of the business ends. They were fierce looking creatures, with heads like a saber tooth tiger, bodies like a bull, and arms like a human. They reminded Bobby of the mythical Centaur, only a different combination. “Back so soon, Bobby?” Everyone on this planet spoke Clomersa, and Bobby had learned the tongue well over the years. “Yes, I must see Greshall at once.” The language tickled the back of his throat as he spoke. “This will not help your cause, Bobby. Showing up here like this.” The creature on the right motioned toward his bonds as he spoke. “I know. Cut me free, please. I have one final argument to present to His Grace. If it does not sway him, I will concede defeat.” Bobby couldn’t hide the desperation in his voice. “Your friendship has brought much good to our city. My own son was brought from the brink of death by one of your healing potions. It is for this that I will cut you free and not mention it to the king. But be warned, he will know of it.” The creature’s voice held much weight. The Ilane rarely spoke freely. “I am in your debt.” The Ilane guard used the sharp edge of his spear to sever the ropes and then led Bobby to an iron door beside the gate. The hinges rubbed together hard as the door opened, emitting a grating noise, like a train on full stop. A Dinjin ambassador wearing a brown leather cloak lined with indigo brine-fur stood on the other side. His pallid human-like face was blank, emotionless, and his long, tentacle looking arms hung loose about his sqiddish legs. The Dinjin were known for their intelligence, and they usually made their living as councilors and advisors to kings and merchants throughout Rodya. This particular one, Yelmsworth, if Bobby remembered correctly, was one of the chief advisors to the king. “Hello Bobby.” The Dinjin gave a slight bow when he spoke. “I trust you are well, excepting, of course, for the small cut on your lip?” “Why, yes, of course.” Bobby nervously wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “Have you news for the king?” “Yes, I seek one last audience with his Grace before he makes a decision.” “Very well. I’m sure he will be delighted, as usual. He takes great pleasure in your visits. Follow me.” 61

The Dinjin turned and moved smoothly across the stone ground toward the castle. Bobby could feel the eyes of Rodina’s citizens penetrating the composed façade he tried to wear. Hushed voices and surreptitious glances followed him like a nagging dog. They arrived at the castle and were allowed through the doors with no confrontation. The halls were torch lit, and the floors were covered with red satin runners. They navigated around corners, up stairs, and through great rooms with large cypress tables laden with crystal dinnerware. Banners hung on flag poles bearing the sigil of Rodina, a Jungyan warrior, not unlike Greshall himself, bending his knee to Thoros, the god of fire and friendship. The Dinjin paused halfway through one of the great rooms and turned to Bobby. “You must wait here, as usual, while I alert the king.” “Yes, of course.” Bobby spoke and the Dinjin gave another bow before disappearing down a hallway at the other end of the room. Bobby paced the large expanse of the great hall, rather than sit down. His thoughts came and went quickly as he searched his soul for the right words. Persuasive words. His palms were beginning to sweat when the Dinjin reappeared and motioned for Bobby to enter. Greshall sat alone at one of the small, round tables inside his antechamber. His hulking figure was hunched over a plate of a concoction made from fish eggs and seaweed known as gimli. His skin was light brown and looked like the bark of a water oak tree. Two horns, twisted like a ram’s, grew out of his forehead, and his jaw was broad and regal. The rest of his body looked mostly human, but…bigger. He looked up and smiled his broad, toothy grin as Bobby approached. “Why hello my friend. Please, take a seat.” The King motioned toward a chair across from him. “You are early. I assume you have found what you were looking for?” “Well, your Highness, not in its physical form, but I know the evidence will be obvious if you would allow me to...uh, present it...properly.” “By all means old friend. Present it.” Greshall’s deep base voice boomed, echoing off the thick stone walls. “Well, what about our doctors and lawyers. If there’s anyone who stands for truth, justice, and benevolence, it is they.” Greshall let out a long, guttural sigh and pushed his plate aside. “We’ve had this discussion before, Bobby. You must bring me specific evidence if that is your argument!” Greshall pushed his index finger into the table top, poking it at every word. “We have been watching for a Millennium! We have observed countless of these doctors and lawyers! Not one has integrity. Not one!” “Allowances must be made for humanity, Greshall! We are mere Mortals! We make mistakes! I know there is someone. There has to be!” “Not that we have seen. And it only gets worse, year-by-year, day-by-day, only worse! Had you not stumbled upon that gem twenty years ago, the human race would not exist today. We have wanted to annihilate them for almost as long as we have known of them in order to give planet earth to someone more responsible. Do you know how many planets there are out there capable of supporting life? A handful. That’s how many. And there are many races who would be much more capable of using her resources properly. We have only delayed because of you.” “I am truly grateful for your delay, but you must give me more time!” Bobby was pleading now. “And what of the condition you were in when you arrived?” Bobby looked down at the table. He had no answer. “Why do you care so much about these humans? Look how they treat you! I have offered you riches and honor and a place at my side as one of my advisors! And you shun me for this!” Greshall pointed to Bobby’s lip. “And what kind of man would I be if I gave up on my own people? How would you expect me to sleep at night when my family and friends are dead?” 62

“The last of your family died last year, and you haven’t had a friend on earth since you started coming here.” “Humans are still my family.” “Well then you may go and die with them.” Greshall motioned for the door and Bobby rose and walked toward it, silently contemplating some last word that might change the King’s mind. A thin film separated him from reality, as if everything that was real really wasn’t. He barely noticed the Dinjin advisor take him by the arm and lead him toward went, and the Dinjin asked him more than once if he was okay. As they reached the door to the outside of the city, the Dinjin wished him the best of luck and Bobby leaned over and vomited before walking out into the desert. The bright sun reflecting off the pale yellow sand failed to penetrate the haze that held his mind trapped inside like a cocoon. The Ilane guards kept their gaze strait forward, pretending not to notice him as he staggered back the same way he came. He couldn’t believe it had actually come to this. Greshall had always treated him with so much respect and dignity. How could he treat the entire human race with so little? Bobby weighed his options, wondering if anyone on earth would believe him if he went public about what he knew. They probably wouldn’t, and even if they did believe him, it wouldn’t matter. Rodina had hundreds of thousands of warriors, all armed with spears like the Ilane’s, and all carrying gems like the one he had in his pocket. His race didn’t stand a chance. As he came to the location that would transport him back to his shop and groped in his pocket for the talisman, he noticed riders approaching. It was three Dinjin, flanked by the two Ilane guards from the front gate. They must be afraid that I will warn my people, Bobby thought. They are here to imprison me. The lead Dinjin dismounted and moved forward. “The King has sent a message for you, Bobby.” Bobby turned and faced him, stolid. “You have failed to see, Bobby, that the King was merely testing you. In the process of trying to prove man’s worth by finding a truly good man you have proven your own worth as the only good man on earth.” The Dinjin produced a scroll. “Rodina would like to offer you this treaty between your world and ours. As long as there is breath in your lungs, humankind is safe, and the King would like for you to continue your quest for a truly good man. If you find him, you are to pass to him your talisman and this treaty, both of which he should bring to our city when you are dead.” Bobby’s hand shook as he took the scroll and unconsciously gripped it in his fist, the thick paper crumpling in the middle. He could feel the tears forming in his eyes, but he didn’t want them to see him cry. He fingered the gem in his other hand, and whispered a quavering, “paloosa” into the air. Jeffrey Nolen

Nonfiction

“Alabama Shakes” - Jeremy Gordinier

Hanging Out at The Beach: Experiencing the 2012 Hangout Festival In 2010, a new beach tradition started in Gulf Shores, AL. Amidst the sand, sun, condos, and ocean blue emerged a music festival. Now, just 3 years in, the Hangout Festival has become one of the premier music experiences in the nation. This year, my friend and photographer Jeremy Gordinier, and I, took to the beach to get an up close experience of the Hangout Festival. What we saw was a series of awesome musical displays and sun-soaked fun and frivolity. The next few pages of words and pictures will attempt to chronicle this fantastic festival voyage. Part One: Thursday‘s Pre-Party Upon arriving at our hotel on Thursday afternoon, Jeremy and I embarked to take part on the Hangout Festival Pre-Party. The main stage and amenity setup had already taken place for the weekend of excitement ahead, but this served as a fun appetizer to the upcoming 3 day main course. The Thursday setup was limited to 2 stages. One, a large main side stage, was mainly dedicated to providing a night club atmosphere of laser lights and high energy EDM music. The other option was inside the Hangout Restaurant complex and catered to a more scaled down string and brass musical element. Jeremy and I engaged in musical viewing at this stage, and we were very entertained by the New Orleans based double header of The Dirty Dozen Brass Band and The Preservation Jazz Hall Band. Both groups emphasize brass instrument led jazz sounds. In addition, they both are very big on audience participation and love to make their respective shows into a Nola style musical party. This was a fun and upbeat musical entrance into what would be an overwhelming next 3 days of musical variety and talent. The Pre-Party itself was well attended and demonstrated, even in scaled down form, the draw of the Hangout Festival. I speculated, at the time, that such a sharp level of interest could eventually lead festival organizers to add a full fourth day to the festival schedule. Either way, the Pre-Party was a success and started the 2012 edition of the Hangout on a roaring good note! Part Two: Friday Fun Day! We arrived at the media area around noon on Friday. To the credit of the Hangout organizers, the media area was all anyone could ask for in terms of work space and accommodation. In addition, it provided a balcony style view of the 2nd Main Stage. This allowed for some great concert viewing over the next three days. Friday‘s schedule started with a raucous beginning in the form of up and coming rock group Sleeper Agent at the 2nd Main Stage. A few weeks prior to the festival, I was fortunate enough to engage in a phone interview with the group‘s keyboardist, Scott Gardner. He relayed to me a great deal of youthful enthusiasm mixed with a mature savvy about his group‘s efforts. I came away from the interview and the band‘s live performance with the distinct impression that this is a band headed for a huge level of success. Sleeper Agent‘s live show truly demonstrates their strengths as a band. Indeed, their stage performance is a mix of high energy rock and tightly mixed musicianship. I always hesitate to make comparisons with past bands because every group has their own magical formula and personality. While obvious rock and pop musical influences come through in Sleeper Agent‘s music, they bring an enthusiasm and swagger that is all their own. A particular draw is the co-lead vocal capabilities of singer Alex Kandel and guitarist-singer Tony Smith. They have a dynamic duo quality that really

serves as a lightening surge for the band‘s live show. In addition, the main core of the band (Justin Wilson on drums, Lee Williams on bass, Scott Gardner on keyboards, and Josh Martin on lead guitar) provides, as the song mood dictates, a thunderous roar or cool breeze of musical backing. After catching Sleeper Agent, I was fortunate enough to sit down with members of the band The Revivalists. Because of logistical issues, I was unable to see their live show the previous day at the Hangout Festival Pre-Party. However, a good listen to their studio and online live recordings gives the lasting impression of a strong musical mix of sharp instrumentation and joyful grooves. I had the pleasure before the festival of giving a thorough listen to their latest 2 albums, Vital Signs and City of Sounds. Both albums are examples of high musical quality mixed with energetic vibes. Based in New Orleans, the band boasts a diverse group of musical elements: (Ed Williams: Pedal Steel Guitar, David Shaw: Vocals, Zack Feinberg: Guitar, Rob Ingraham: Saxophone, George Gekas: Bass, Andrew Campanelli: Drums, Michael Girardot: Keys/Trumpet). Speaking with several members of the Revivalists really gave me some great insight into how a band should go about its business. They really struck me as mature, time-tested, and very knowledgeable musicians. Indeed, the Revivalists discussed their music with passion and a focus on the importance of practicing their craft at a continually high level.

“Sleeper Agent” - Jeremy Gordinier

Throughout the entirety of the festival, our concert selection was very diverse and to be sure, there was not a bad show on the docket. On Friday, The Alabama Shakes played the 2nd main stage and really energized things. The group has come on strong over the last year due to significant live show buzz and a great debut album entitled Boys and Girls. Originally from Athens, AL, the group specializes in a strong mix of STAX Records Memphis style R &B with straightforward rock and, at times, punk and pop influences mixed into their songs. The star of the group is lead singer Brittany Howard. Her voice was in fantastic form for their Hangout performance. Not to be outdone, her band mates provided a wonderful wall of sound to complement her powerful leading role. It was a treat to see a local band on the verge of international stardom bask in the glow of an enthusiastic home state crowd. After the Shakes show, we grabbed a bite to eat and took a break until the Chris Cornell solo acoustic concert on the Main Stage. Cornell‘s most famous for his very successful years as lead singer of the rock group Soundgarden. That band, which helped define the alternative rock scene for two decades, recently reunited and is due for big things in the future. However, in the time since their last run, Cornell has kept quite busy. He spent a few years in a very successful venture as lead singer of the band Audioslave and embarked on several highly regarded solo tours. His acoustic show did not disappoint and really highlighted his superior vocal range. Mixing a unique and well selected mix of original and cover songs, Cornell revved up the large early evening crowd with a soaring one man show. As a longtime fan of the MTV Show Unplugged, I have always found it a fascinating treat to see hard rock and typically “plugged in” bands perform in an acoustic live performance. With just his acoustic guitar and not much else, Cornell wailed beautiful music on ballads and rockers in a way that was a great fit for the energetic beachside atmosphere. The finale of Friday was a stellar show by the illustrious Jack White. Attaining his greatest fame as the lead singer and guitarist of the blues rock band the White Stripes, White set out on his own this past spring. In doing so, he released a very highly thought of debut album, Blunderbuss, and embarked on a tour with 2 separate backing bands. Both bands took their turn on the stage at the Hangout Festival, and each brought their own unique groove. White‘s show demonstrated his powerful guitar chops and a wailing vocal style that kept the energetic beach side audience in a cosmic blues-infused frenzy. Indeed, his show was a fantastic way to end Friday‘s festivities.

Part Three: Saturday Special One of the highlights of the Hangout Festival truly was interviewing some great up-andcoming bands. On Saturday, I was pleased to talk to the band, Tauk. Based in NYC, the band exemplifies funky musical experimentation and rock-infused sounds. I was fortunate to sit down with the entire group: Matt Jalbert (Guitar), Charlie Dolan (Bass), Alric “A.C.” Carter (Keyboards/Organ), Isaac Teel (Drums). The band demonstrates a great chemistry, and their camaraderie made the interview a real joy. Since the interview, I have listened to their 2011 debut album Pull Factors several times, and with each listen, I am continually impressed by their intriguing musical stylistics. All three “up and coming” bands I was able to interview at the Hangout Festival (Sleeper Agent, The Revivalists, and Tauk) are all very special groups that deserve a long listen at your earliest opportunity. All three have the musicianship and energy levels that will allow them to make magical contributions to the music scene for years to come. Saturday’s concert festivities kicked off with the great Randy Newman. Mr. Newman’s bestknown claim to fame is being the song writer and singer of many a great pop and pop rock hit from the 1960s forward. I was very excited about finally getting to see him live. Newman put on a fun show that included of some of his best-known hits like “You`ve Got a Friend in Me” and “I Love L.A.” However, perhaps the highlight of the show was when Mr. Newman ventured into local territory and talked about forming his great song, “Birmingham,” about the Magic City just up the road. Next, the stage was cleared for a set by the punk rock band Gogol Bordello. Their concert was energetic, raucous, and led to one of the more festival friendly mosh pits I have ever seen in my many concert experiences. My partner in crime Jeremy, while taking a number of great photos of Gogol Bordello, also partook in the mosh pit festivities. It was something that, by his own account, he’d probably not done since the late 1990s. Continuing the punk rock theme became the task of Flogging Molly. A unique mix of Celtic folk and fast-paced punk musical overtones, the group mixed in familiar and new cuts. A particular highlight was a new song about the former British military dictator, Oliver Cromwell. Cromwell infamously launched bloody attacks on the Irish people during the mid-seventeenth century. Indeed, he had no love lost for the Irish, and this is something the band noted in the song‘s introduction. It was a fitting historical note for a band that, in their show, demonstrated a clear knowledge of and musical tip of the hat to the best of Ireland‘s grand musical legacy. The Saturday Finale was a rip roaring set by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. The ever-present Flea on bass guitar and Anthony Kiedis on vocals led the main stage extravaganza. Flea was definitely the show‘s highlight with his otherworldly ability to play the bass. However, Kiedis and Company did a near perfect job accompanying the bass virtuoso as RHCP put on the best show of the entire Hangout Festival. I was blown away by the entire spectacle, and it ranks as one of the great live performances I’ve seen in many a year.

Part Four: Sunday‘s Finale Sunday’s festivities began with the great Mavis Staples on stage in the early afternoon hours. Staples has long been a legend in gospel and blues circles, and she is well-known for her great live performances. On Sunday at the Hangout Festival, she very much lived up to her reputation. The highlight of the show was her touching tribute to her longtime friend, the recently passed away Levon Helm, of the great rock group, the Band. With her cover of the Band song “The Weight,” Staples demonstrated a special, spiritual connection with the late Helm and the beach side audience. Next up on Sunday was musical virtuoso Steve Winwood. Long a rock ‘n roll star, his past musical highlights include turns in rock supergroups Blind Faith and Traffic. Backed by a stellar backing band, Winwood provided a clinic in superb live musicianship. His magnificent handling of both the guitar and keyboards was an amazing viewing experience. The concert demonstrated his expertise in blues, rock and soul music. Indeed, Winwood`s performance showed why the label “musical genius” is properly applied to this British rock legend.

“Revivalists” - Jeremy Gordinier

The early evening festivities revolved around the second main stage for a spectacle of all spectacles. Specifically, this one involved the band The Flaming Lips. Long known as a festival scene mainstay, they performed a mix of their own tunes and a special full rendition of the legendary rock album Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd. The show was filled with over the top pyrotechnics and an excellent musical frenzy. In total, this would have easily been a proper main event at almost any festival. Finishing off the Sunday lineup fell upon the legendary jam band rock group, the Dave Matthews Band. I left the show most impressed by the great musical capabilities of their powerful lead guitar player, Tim Reynolds. Matthews himself is a bit understated on stage but does an effective job, making sure that all the excellent musicians in his jam band party group get their moment in the spotlight. Hanging out on the beach, listening to DMB cause its fans to sing and sway in unison, was a fitting way to bring a smooth end to the festival. The Hangout Festival demonstrated the best of life at the beach, music, and fellowship. I was blown away by the energy of the performers, the enthusiasm of the crowd, and the solid organizational structure of the festival. The Hangout Festival is a tribute to the people of the Gulf Coast. With this musical cavalcade, they have a diamond in the sand to enjoy for many years to come. Zac Alexander

Steven McCallister 70

Greg McCallister

Index Ashley Kitchens ................................................................................................................................................ Front Cover Ashley Kitchens .................................................................................................................................................................. 24 Elise Mikell ............................................................................................................................................................................. 8 Erica Glover ......................................................................................................................................................................... 12 Erica Glover ......................................................................................................................................................................... 20 Erica Glover ......................................................................................................................................................................... 25 Erica Glover ......................................................................................................................................................................... 29 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 13 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 16 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 20 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 26 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 27 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 31 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 32 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 33 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 34 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 35 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 37 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 38 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 39 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 40 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 41 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 42 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 43 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 49 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 57 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 58 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 59 Greg McCallister .................................................................................................................................................................. 7 Greg McCallister ................................................................................................................................................................ 71 Helen Companion ............................................................................................................................................................. 16 Helen Companion ............................................................................................................................................................. 17 Jeffrey Nolen ....................................................................................................................................................................... 60 Jeremy Gordinier ............................................................................................................................................................... 64 Jeremy Gordinier ............................................................................................................................................................... 66 Jeremy Gordinier ............................................................................................................................................................... 69 Kimberly McWhorter........................................................................................................................................................ 14 LaGina Mathis ..................................................................................................................................................................... 19 LaGina Mathis ..................................................................................................................................................................... 22 LaGina Mathis ..................................................................................................................................................................... 23 LaGina Mathis ..................................................................................................................................................................... 56 Laura Secord ......................................................................................................................................................................... 7 Pam West .............................................................................................................................................................................. 50 Rachel Hague...................................................................................................................................................................... 21 Sharon Carter ...................................................................................................................................................................... 14 Stacy Scott ........................................................................................................................................................................... 11 Stacy Scott ........................................................................................................................................................................... 24 Stacy Scott ........................................................................................................................................................................... 25 72

Stacy Scott ........................................................................................................................................................................... 28 Stacy Scott ............................................................................................................................................................................. 5 Stacy Scott .......................................................................................................................................................... Back Cover Steven McCallister............................................................................................................................................................. 30 Steven McCallister............................................................................................................................................................. 44 Sulakshi_Danapala. .......................................................................................................................................................... 46 Susan Yager ......................................................................................................................................................................... 15 Treasure Clolinger ............................................................................................................................................................. 45 Treasure Clolinger ............................................................................................................................................................. 47 Vero Vanblaere ..................................................................................................................................................................... 9 Whitney L. Echols .............................................................................................................................................................. 12 William Squires ................................................................................................................................................................... 18 Zac Alexander ..................................................................................................................................................................... 65