2 I M P R E S S I O N S 2 O
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Impressions 2020
Table of Contents “The World is Blue” Kate Fry ’20; Art, Noah Stoycos ’22.............................................................................................................4 “Give Him a Chance” Maria Hawthorne ’21 Art, Orsi Nagy ’21, Peter Plaggenborg ’21, Frances Thiry ’22....................................................................................................................................................................................................6 “Melting Popsicles” Hayden Feddock ’20; Art, Kennedy Brayboy ’23, Emma Piljek ’23...................................11 “Spooked” Joan Miller ’21; Art, Paige Scheuren ’22, Frances Thiry ’22......................................................................19 Artwork Page 1, Arielle Breuninger ’21, Noah Stoycos ’22..................................................................................................16 Artwork Page 2, Ava Boatwright ’22, Claire Miller ’23, Ari Wright ’23.........................................................................17 Artwork Page 3, Sherry Chen ’23, Kiki Carmenate ’23, Maisy Scalise ’21................................................................18 “Periwinkle Flower,” Kaela Stankiewicz ’20; Art, Natalie Stuccio ’21, Orsi Nagy ’21, Aimée Farnet ’21......23 “Red,” Maria Hawthorne ’21; Art, Kaela Stankiewicz ’20.........................................................................................................25 “Where I am From,” Ashanti Duncan ’20; Art, Grace Rutter ’23..........................................................................................26 “Vignettes,” Kaela Stankiewicz ’20; Art, Yolenny Rivera ’22..................................................................................................28 Artwork Page 4, Kaela Stankiewicz ’20, Ashanti Duncan ’20, Linnea Wright ’21................................................29 Artwork Page 5, Shaan Toor ’20..............................................................................................................................................................30
THE WORLD IS BLUE Kate Fry ‘20 1.
Standing at Rehoboth Beach with my feet in the sand, I hear the waves crashing. I feel the
salt air breeze across my skin, it’s summer. 2.
My eyes are the color of the sky and the ocean, allowing me to see the good things in life.
3.
Blue is the color of my childhood. I always choose it over any other color, my number one.
4.
Walking along the cold sand in the winter, I hear the waves crash one after another. The
wind blowing on my skin as I shiver. The ocean is still blue and bright, filled with life all hidden below. 5.
I look up and see the stars, shining so bright. They each have a place in the dark blue sky,
a purpose. 6.
In Claude Monet’s painting, “Water Lilies,” the pond water is blue and bright, only reflecting
parts of the sky and hiding the rest with the lilies floating on the surface. 7.
Dishonestly is like the ocean, hiding the truth under the sea. Deep down there are sea crea-
tures, even ones we have yet to discover, deep in the blue sea. 8.
Jellyfish live in the ocean, they’re one of many creatures who swim in the sea. Their translu-
cence does not allow them to hide anything--they show their whole selves, and the midnight blue of the ocean through their tentacles while they gracefully swim. 9.
The Northern Lights only show up when the sky is dark, their beautiful colors shining at night.
The lights stand out against the midnight sky. They’re rare, only coming out on occasion. 10.
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In Venice, the waterways are roads, the blue-green water a means of transportation.
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11. The Goðafoss waterfall in Iceland is breathtaking. I hear the water rush down; the temperature is below freezing. I wonder how the water still flows in the cold crisp air. 12. The steamy blue water of the natural springs in Iceland collides with the cold air. Black stones lay under the milky water, reflecting the truth hidden in oneself. 13. In pictures, Santorini, Greece is all white buildings with royal blue roofs, although, in reality, it’s not all what it seems to be. I was disappointed with the lack of white buildings and royal blue roofs. Things aren’t always as they seem, only showing the best aspects of themselves, never the worst. 14. Blue is vulnerable. It’s the color of the world.
Noah Stoycos ’22
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GIVE HIM A CHANCE Maria Hawthorne ’21
Angie didn’t like Mason very much. The whole world told her she was stupid to give up a
chance with such a “nice guy,” that they would be “so cute together.” But Angie knew better.
Angie was a junior in high school. She was a blonde who went brunette the summer after
eighth grade, wanting to reinvent herself. Angie was relatively short and her eyes were grey and indifferent, like the sky on a rainy day. She stood in the bathroom waiting for her friend Mel to come out of a stall. On the door were notes scribbled on with sharpie saying things like, “J + D forever” with a small heart in the middle or “love isn’t real” next to a drawing of a frown. Angie stared at her roots in the mirror and wondered if anyone could remember what she looked like blonde. She hoped not.
“You should give Mason a chance, Angie,” Mel called from
inside the stall. She burst through the mint green stall door and Angie quickly tried to force a relaxed pose, pretending that she had been inspecting her cuticles. Mel, or Melanie, was a tall slender girl who felt completely comfortable staring at herself in the mirror. She had grown up a cute kid, everyone she met told her how pretty she was. As she got older, those cute traits turned awkward, but she didn’t seem to notice. “He really likes you,” she said as she rinsed off her hands and fixed her hair. 6
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Orsi Nagy ’21
“Give him a chance?” Angie said, giggling as if Mel had told her a joke. “I’d kill to have a guy like Mason into me,” Mel said, staring at her reflection. “You should at least talk to him.”
“I guess,” Angie said.
The truth was that Angie didn’t want to talk to Mason, she didn’t even like being around
him. Mason gave Angie a strange feeling. She didn’t trust him. Mason had the type of face that should be pretty a sharp jawline, black hair that flopped over his forehead, and piercing, dark eyes, almost like a shark. It was as if he had all the right pieces, but someone managed to put them together wrong. Mel and Angie stepped out of the bathroom and Mason was standing nearby. He had clearly been waiting outside but tried to play it off as if he had just happened to walk by.
“Oh hey, Angie,” Mason said, feigning surprise to see her.
“Hey Mason,” Angie said, looking at Mel who gestured with her head for Angie to go
talk to him. “What’s up” Angie twirled a strand of her brown hair. They began to walk down the hallway as Mel trailed behind them like a ghost.
“So, you free after school?” Mason said, he rubbed the back of his neck.
Angie looked at Mel who urged her forward with a quick nod of her head. Angie looked
back at Mason whose gaze hadn’t shifted. “Yeah,” Angie said.
“Need a ride home?” Mason said.
After her last period class, Angie walked with Mason to his red pickup truck. On his bumper
was a black and white sticker of a deer head with X’s for eyes. “You hunt?” Angie asked as she climbed into the passenger side of his truck. There was a pistol in Lancaster Country Day School
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the side compartment of the car door. She pulled her jacket around her neck. The car smelled like black licorice and cigarette smoke and the mixture of scents made Angie dizzy. “Oh yeah, all the time,” He said as he started the car and drove off, his hair casting a shadow over his pale face. Mason switched on the radio. “Here’s 96.1with another hour of commercial free music. Up next, ‘Come as You Are’ by Nirvana,” the man on the radio said.
“You gotta turn left over here,” Angie said,
letting go of the grip she had on her jacket to point out the turn.
“Hold on a minute,” Mason said, “There’s a
place I wanna show you first.”
Mason pulled the truck over in an empty
parking lot surrounded by trees. The gravel under the tires made a crunching noise from the weight of the truck. Angie had been here before many times as a child, but for a moment she didn’t recognize where she was.
“Come on, you’ll love this place,” Mason said
as he smirked at her. He watched her every move as
Peter Plaggenborg ’21
she climbed out of her seat. He gripped her wrist and led her to a narrow path. 8
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“Oh, I forgot something in my truck, I’m just gonna grab it real quick,” Mason said, “go on ahead.” Mason ran back to his car and reached into the side compartment of the door. He slid something into his jacket pocket, careful so that Angie couldn’t tell what it was. They came to a small clearing in the woods. In the center, was a single, splintery, picnic table. It looked like it had been painted burgundy at one point, but the paint had chipped off almost completely. They sat down across from each other. Angie could see nothing but clusters of trees surrounding her. The canopy blocked out most of the sun, casting shadows that danced around taunting her. A ray of sunlight shined on Mason’s face and in his eyes. Angie hadn’t noticed it before, but the light gave his dark eyes a slightly red hue. Her heart raced, she wanted desperately to get out of the clearing, out of the woods, away from Mason. “I brought something for you,” Mason reached into his pocket. He had a crazed yet excited look in his eyes. Angie watched as his hand closed around the item in his pocket. She stared, terrified, as he began to remove his hand. “Angie—” Mason said, and placed his other hand on hers. Angie pulled her hand away like he had burned her. She stood up and pulled his pistol out from under her jacket, closed her eyes, and shot him in the mouth. Mason slid off the bench onto the ground, dead. Gracelessly, he hung backwards knees still tucked under the bench, his weight tipping the table towards him slightly. His arms splayed out, his hand opened up, displaying a red rose. Tied around it was a note, “Angie, I think you are beautiful. Will you go to Homecoming with me?”
Angie looked into his dull, wet eyes and noticed how they shimmered in the light. She swiped
a speck of his blood from her cheek with her ring finger. She pulled a handkerchief from her jacket pocket, wiping off the handle of the gun and placing it in Mason’s limp hand. She walked Lancaster Country Day School
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away from the clearing, leaving his bloody body to glisten in the light of the setting sun.
Angie eased into Mason’s truck, looking at her roots in the car mirror and thought to
herself, “Maybe I’ll go ginger this time,” she played with a strand of her hair. “I do look good in red.”
Frances Thiry’22
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MELTING POPSICLES Hayden Feddock ’20
I came through the back door of the house and saw Heather sitting on a stool, brush in hand. In front of her, resting on a cheap easel, was the latest manifestation of her anxiety. An abstract mix of vibrant colors spread across the canvas - reds, yellows, blues. I walked over to her after I set down my worn briefcase at the door next to the bedroom. I knew she wouldn’t hear me because of her earbuds. For Christmas, my big gift to her was a music subscription to Spotify so now she was always listening to music. A few times when I came home, I snuck up and scared her, but recently she hit me in the face with her paintbrush. I was walking up to greet her, and as I
Kennedy Brayboy ’23
walked through our kitchen that doubled as a living room, the wooden floor squeaked, and she whipped her head around. On her face was a smirk that said, caught you trying to sneak up again, and I just smiled back. She turned back to her painting and left me looking at her brown hair which she always put up in a bun when she worked. She wore a pair of beat-up black converse sneakers and an apron that read “STAND BACK, dad is cooking.” It was another gift I had selected for her several years ago as a joke, but she still wore it. Her favorite gifts were the ones that made no sense. I walked towards the fridge to get a Twist Up soda, and made my way over to the couch to watch television. The couch wasn’t the most luxurious thing I had ever purchased, it was shabby and brown, but it did the job and I only paid $120 for it at a garage sale. Unfortunately, Lancaster Country Day School
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I couldn’t buy everything from a garage sale and my work as a data assistant at Wells Fargo wasn’t enough for us anymore. I’d walk into that dreary building in downtown Akron that held my cubicle. A cubicle that was too cramped to comfortably sit, and too dark because the high walls blocked most of the light coming from the center of the office. The Windows logo on the computer screen seared itself into my eyes every time I turned the computer on and filled my entire cube with blue light. The work consisted of me carefully changing numbers in never ending spreadsheets. I often never saw where the spreadsheets went, I was just handed a record of transactions that I typed into a spreadsheet. Everywhere I went I saw money that we were spending. The can of soda: $0.75, the television: $149, the stool that Heather sat on: $20. It all just kept totaling itself up inside my head, like a mental spreadsheet that I kept adding to, and ours seemed to always be negative. I looked back at Heather as she pocketed her earbuds and came over to sit with me on the couch. I wanted to tell her that I was getting scared, that we needed to stop spending money, and that we were digging into our retirement funds, but I didn’t want her to think about the cost of everything like I did. If my father ever taught me anything it was that he should’ve never talked about his money problems. It only made my mother upset. I remember watching my father and mother’s relationship falling apart because they didn’t have enough money to keep them happy. They took this pain out on each other until neither of them could take it anymore. I have always loved Heather and the fact that she has been able to do what makes her happy, and I would never want to ruin that passion for her but, like my father, I also didn’t want to lie to her. “How was work today?” I asked. “It was good, I went for a run and finished the piece from yesterday.” She lifted her arm and point-
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ed toward the far wall to the right of the TV. There were many paintings lining the sides of the room, but I knew the one she meant. It was a beautiful orange seahorse with streaks of red and green in the blue water surrounding it. I’ve always loved Heather’s art. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” Heather asked. “I think we finished all the Chinese leftovers last night.” “I had a big lunch. I don't think I’m too hungry tonight,” I said, and I watched her face dissolve. “You haven’t been hungry in a while,” she said. She was right. I had been adjusting my diet recently to accommodate for our loss of money, but I knew I couldn’t hide that from her for long. She lifted her head from my shoulder and looked into my eyes as if she was trying to read my thoughts. She looked puzzled and asked, “Why? What’s going on?” “I’ve just lost my appetite lately,” I said. “You don’t eat when you’re nervous, honey. Is there something you want to talk about?” She ran her hand through my hair. I couldn’t look her in the eye. I set the can on the kitchen counter and shook my head no. “What is it?” She asked again. I felt uncomfortable. I looked at the walls, and found a crack in the paint towards the ceiling. I followed it with my eyes down the dreary tan walls that confined us. We’d need money to fix that crack, we needed money to put back into our retirement funds, and we needed money so that we could eat something other than Chinese takeout every night. “I think we should start to try and save money,” I said. “What do you mean? I asked you this yesterday and you said we were fine.”
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“I just want to have some extra cash for that trip you were talking about. I’ve felt stressed out about saving money.” “I just want to have some extra cash for that trip you were talking about. I’ve felt stressed out about saving money.” “What trip?” She said. “The trip to Peru you are always talking about,” I said. I hadn’t planned on lying to her, and I especially hadn’t planned on going on any trips. “Then I’ll just go back to my old job, and keep painting as a hobby.” “I really want you to keep painting. I know that you love it and I love to come home and see you so happy and relaxed.” “I’ve been painting for over a year and I still haven’t gotten any big offers. I’m beginning to think that painting might just not be for me and I should go back to reception at Equity insurance. We always had enough money then.” “We have enough money now, too. I just want to have a little extra for our trip.” I looked back towards the TV to see why the crowd was screaming and watched as Ohio State scored another touchdown of their fall season. Heather continued to stare me down; she knew I was lying. She could read me like a book, and she was always right, but I just couldn’t let her be this time. I knew that if she kept painting, she’d find the right buyer and she’d make more money than I did as a data assistant. I just needed to wait for her time to come, and support her in her passion like she would have supported me. “Ok,” she said. She stood up and went back to her painting easel. I turned my head and just watched her for a moment. Her brush strokes were shorter and faster than before, and her piece that had looked like a wheel of colors began to look like a melting popsicle. 14
Impressions 2020
Emma Piljek ’22
Lancaster Country Day School
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Arielle Breuninger 21 LCYA Silver
Noah Stoycos ’22 16
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Ava Boatwright ’22
Kaela Stankiewicz ’20
Claire Miller ’23
Ari Wright ’23 Lancaster Country Day School
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Sherry Chen ’23
Kiki Carmenate ’23 18
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Maisy Scalise ’21
SPOOKED Joan Miller ’21
The Suicide Room. That’s what they called it. A room where people with no will to live
went in order to put themselves out of their misery. Nobody knows how it started, or even who began the whole thing. But one thing is for sure: those who entered never came back out. I mean, that’s expected with the atmosphere the name generates anyhow. But I went in, and I was in absolutely no way ready for what lay ahead of me.
Before I entered, I was given a heart rate monitor so that they would know when I died. It
made sense at the time. Shrugging, I took it and hooked it up to myself. Then I took a deep breath, and stepped inside the room. At first glance, nothing was visible. It was pitch black all around, and it was cold. Not drafty, but there was a certain cold moisture to the air. And it smelled like the earth. Once my eyes adjusted to the light, or lack thereof, I could dimly make out gray stone. It was everywhere. The walls, the floor, and even the ceiling seemed to be made up of solid stone. Each step I took echoed against the walls. I was beginning to feel anxious, and my heart started racing. I took a deep breath, and reminded myself that I chose this. There was nothing left for me anymore. Thinking about it, my eyes welled up with tears again. I was so tired of crying, tired of being afraid, tired of everything. But I could do nothing as the tears continued to streak down my face.
As I grit my teeth, I looked down at my heart monitor and
saw my heart rate rapidly increasing. That was fine. I was going to die anyways. I took another couple steps. To my horror, I heard Paige Scheuren ’22 Lancaster Country Day School
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something behind me start to walk as well. When I stopped, so did the other footsteps. Holding my breath and trying not to shake, I slowly turned around. Nothing was there. I exhaled, thanking whatever god had just been looking out for me. If there was one. I chuckled at the thought that a god existed and wiped away my tears. But again, the second pair of footsteps returned as I began to walk. I didn’t look behind me this time. I couldn’t. I just started to run. I thought that this was a room, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was like a never-ending maze, where you were left alone with your thoughts and whatever this thing behind you was. I kept running. So did the thing behind me. All around me, sounds intensified, my breath heaving as it echoed off the walls, and my hurried footsteps, and the footsteps of whatever was following me. The sound of a rapid heartbeat seemed to be echoing off of the walls. It almost matched mine. The very foundation of the corridor seemed to pulse in sync with it. With each beat, I got more terrified. I wanted to die, yes, I had been living a bland and worthless life for as long as I could remember. But I didn’t want something to kill me. I wanted to be the one to do it. It’s entirely different. I ran. I kept reaching these splits in the tunnel. It didn’t matter to me which tunnel I chose, as long as I was moving.
I managed to sprint through three more tunnels before my legs gave out and I collapsed
on the cold stone, completely out of breath. Everything stopped. The footsteps behind me stopped abruptly, and my harsh gasps and sobs slowly lost their volume and ceased their echo off the walls. The only thing that didn’t stop was the loud heartbeat. I glanced at my own monitor, and realized with a horror that the heartbeat I was hearing was my own. Each thrum of my heart made my fight or flight instinct activate. Over and over I listened to it. Again, and again, for I don’t know how long. Eventually, I rolled over onto my back and risked a glance back the way I came. That was when I first saw it.
It was the most horrid thing I could ever imagine. Every fear, anxiety, and dark thought I
had ever had accumulated into one hideous being. All of my muscles screamed at me to move, 20
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but I couldn’t even find the strength to look away. I was paralyzed. Looking into the eyes of this thing took me back to some of the darkest moments of my life. I didn’t even realize that my heart rate was rising again until it shook the ground.
As that jarred me back into re-
ality, I realized I had to run. This wasn’t a room. This was a tunnel that went to nowhere, and inside of it you were left alone with the culmination of all of your fears and despairs and regrets. They manifested into a being, and that thing was going to kill me. With a sinking feeling that I might never get out of this cursed place where my darkest thoughts and insecurities came to life, I turned
Frances Thiry ’22
around and ran.
I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, and I could hear it echoing down the
hallway. I could hear whatever was chasing me catching up, feel its hot breath breathing down my
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neck. I ran faster. Up ahead of me I saw the first bit of light since I walked into the room. I ran towards it, not caring what it was and what I was going to do next. As I got closer, the light blinded me, my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. I didn’t care. I kept running. I dove into the tunnel of pure light. The creature struggled to grab me as I crawled through the tight passage. I could feel its hands trying to wrap around my heels. I was so close to escaping. I reached out as the tunnel came to an end.
I opened my eyes to see another room that I couldn’t recognize. As I slowly got my bearings,
I realized I was lying on the floor. Grunting as I rolled into a sitting position, I noticed that all of the walls were blank except the one directly in front of me, and my heart rate monitor was gone. This one had a mirror on it. I stared into it. There I was. The person in the reflection looked back at me. They looked like a mess. Tear streaks on both cheeks, runny nose, hair settled in a rat’s nest with chest still heaving from running down those dark and never-ending corridors. I knew I was looking at myself, but I felt oddly detached from this person I was facing. I stared at this stranger, and a moment later as I looked in the mirror again, I saw the being I thought I had escaped. It was drawing itself up off of the ground behind me, its limbs stretching and elongating. As I made eye contact with it in the glass in front of me, I remembered everything that I had tried so hard to forget. Every regret, fear, and anxiety all manifested into this one shadowy thing. I began to shake. Suddenly, its arm shot out, pointing to a gun. I reached out and grabbed it, the cold, black metal curling around my finger. I lifted the gun and placed it against my temple, and closed my eyes.
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Natalie Stuccio ’21
Orsi Nagy ’21
PERIWINKLE FLOWER Kaela Stankiewicz ’20 My periwinkle flower, you inspire me to write. How I love the way bloom, breathe and smell. Invading my mind through day and through night. You are more vibrant, playful and perfect than I could imagine. White breeze flaps, the charming dancers of May. Springtime has sprung my periwinkle flower. How do I love you? Uncountable in many ways. You have grown so large. Thinking of your timeless beauty fills my days. My love for you has become a great charge.
Aimée Farnet ’21
Now I must depart with a merry heart, Remember my words whilst we’re apart. Lancaster Country Day School
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Ruby Nemeroff ’23
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RED Maria Hawthorne ’21
How strange it is That such a beautiful color only shows itself After we have gone through pain. We hurt, We bleed, And we are beautiful.
Kaela Stankiewicz ’20
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WHERE I AM FROM Ashanti Duncan ’20
I am from homemade desserts every holiday, the land of two Christmases, two birthdays, two Thanksgivings. I am from family movie nights on Saturdays, every Adam Sandler film, no matter how terribly corny. I am from bike rides and beach trips, From Destinne and David, the young dumb lovers. I am from bug infested yellow dandelions freshly picked from the weeds in my yard, going straight to my mother’s left ear. From loud conversations and thin walls, the damned recurring phrase: “You’ll understand when you’re older.” I am from crock pot chili, enough to feed the family for days on end. I am from Mount Zion, from the Sunday choir, the pew mouse and gossiping nellies. From the active world of a child, from little league soccer, from babes on the basketball court, from drowning in the pools. I am from family walks on dirt trails behind the Wyomissing pond. From responsibility and five younger siblings
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From “Treat others how you wish to be treated” and “Don’t let anyone walk over you.” I am from leeches scraped off my legs and salt-water lakes. From Brownie level Girl Scouts and buggy camping trips in the woods, Camp Swatara, rope climbing and rock walls. I am from bear hugs, great, tight, loving squeezes. I am from backyard barbeques with relatives I cannot name, but no matter the name, I can feel the love. We greet and hug. I am from where blood runs thick.
Grace Rutter’23
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Yolenny Rivera ’22
Yolenny Rivera ’22
VIGNETTES Kaela Stankiewicz ’20 I. Remember me by my color. Blue. II. Blue is everywhere. Blue is in the sky. Blue is in the ocean, while the salty breeze blows through its tide. III. We took a walk in the park that day. It was warm and beautiful outside. The bees buzzed through the sky and the tall green grass swayed to the rhythm of the swift air. IV. Through the path we walked. We passed a bluebird singing his sweet melody in the oak tree by the pond. His tune was accompanied by the rippling water. V. Our walks brought me happiness and tranquility. I long to have those days back.
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VI. Wild blueberry bushes were hidden behind the overgrown ferns. We gathered as many blueberries in our pockets as possible. VII. I’ll remember you by your color. VIII. Blue is my heart now that bees are hidden, the blueberries are frozen, and the bluebird’s song is silenced. IX. Where have you gone? Now that it is grey outside, you have vanished from my eyes. But blue, I will remember.
Kaela Stankiewicz ’20
Ashanti Duncan ’20
Linnea Wright ’21 Lancaster Country Day School
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Shaan Toor ’20 Honorable Mention LYCA
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Impressions 2020
The 2020 Impressions Staff is responsible for the contents of this publication. Literary Staff: Creative writing through contemporary Literature class Designers: Magdalene Gelgot, Dory Naftzger, Elia Hurtt Faculty Advisors: Donna Wilcox, Meghan Kenny Cover Art: Riley Eckman Cover Design: Elia Hurtt
Š2020 Lancaster Country Day School