Room 18 Issue #5 by The LMC The LMC

ROOM EIGHTEEN-ISSUE V

CONTENTS QUADAJA HERRIOTT-2 BRIDGET DEASE-3 ASIA ALSTON-5 TRÉSEAT LAWRENCE-6 BARRETT SMITH-8 ZOË GATTI-9 GENEVIEVE KULESI-10 ELLIE COHEN-12 ASIA ALSTON-14 GENEVIEVE KULES-15 BARRETT SMITH-16 KHAT PATRONG-17 MALIA WILLIAMS-HAYNES-18 ZOË GATTI-19 TRÉSEAT LAWRENCE-20 QUADAJA HERRIOTT-21 BARRETT SMITH-23

QUADAJA HERRIOTT

SECRET #1: IT BREAKS YOU There’s something to fear in your eyes. The way you look when you’re thinking. There is failure occupying space in your iris. The kind you find in the core of pity. You’re a sorry man. The world digs into your body and pulls you inside out, exposing all your imperfections. Everyone else is perfect. Your being is mutated by alcohol. I can smell your urine flowing from the bathroom throughout that tiny apartment; the scent mocks you, acknowledges your naivety. My dear, you’re killing yourself. And it’s beautiful. Undeniably. The way you continue to drink, gulp down the soured juice and smile. There’s innocence in your thought process, you believe you’re happier that way, drunken. And it’s beautiful, that innocence. You’ve never been steady; you’ve never had a plan. Your life has been minute to minute, day to day, and there is wonder of whether or not you’ll decide to grow up. How long are you going to claim the identity of a bastard child? As delicate as your ignorance may be, it’s selfish. Absolutely selfish, mostly to yourself. Feed the starving child. My words may be contradicting. When restrained, you’re very calm, composed, rational. A nice man, but not nearly as gorgeous...or strong. Glory is found in the inside out body, the mutated one. The sobered being heavily shakes and drops things. You merely manage when without, and though the obvious struggle is almost devastating. Continue to kill yourself, continue to drink your insecurities, the rejection. You’re beautiful that way. The day your liver commits itself to death, I will be pleased.

BRIDGET DEASE

SECRET #2: THE GAME THEY PLAYED I’ve been to Hell. Why? I was among two evils: my family, the lesser of two evils but evil nonetheless, and the game. The game was not meant to be played with strategy, but rather with idleness. The idleness earnestly awaited my judgment. I wished for the departure of several lives that day and the faces I shared amongst them. I woke up to what seemed like a realm of servitude. I felt myself tearing at the flesh of nothing, trying to earn my freedom with bravery; but the empty space angered me, and I fell cowardice to its power. I wasn’t used to having nothing to hold. Not without ruining it. This time it was taken away and there was no choice but to let its absence ruin me. I’ve burned alive, somehow managing to feel some remorse for my actions accompanied by an ailing soul and a charred heart. My ability to trust and be trusted, to love and be loved, to know and not know, gone. The game was simple: Pretend to play. “It’s a secret. You can’t tell,” he said. There were no more points left to score in the game. He and I were even. I thought about him winning, the half-smile on his face and the raised eyebrows showing his surprise by his victory. I scoffed at the reality of it. I wanted to believe that he wasn’t the angel people treated him as, but rather the lack of flesh I saw. The flesh I pretended to admire. The flesh that once defined my identity. Right before the game started, I wished him good luck. I wanted him to know that I was on his side, that he could trust me. I did have a secret, I just proved that it wasn’t one to be kept. From Hell, I’ve learned that you can’t wish for someone else to lose. You’ve got to let them do it on their own. I don’t know if I’ve gone past the point of redemption. I just know that hope still exists. I hope that someday he forgives me. I hope that I will forgive myself. But now that I’m here, I won’t find a way out. Fate won’t allow me to make any more decisions. I’m alright with that. Next time, I’ll play for real.

ASIA ALSTON

SECRET #3: THE HAIR PIECE he’ll try to run his fingers through my kinks and curls, try to play in my hair like they do in the movies after making love. i’ll tell him that my hair isn’t like theirs, that mine is special. he’ll laugh when his fingers get stuck & he’ll recall our first date, walking in the park when the late night rain soaked my pressed hair, 3 hours of hard work washed up by the tiny drops. he’ll tease me about the naps at the back of my neck. he’ll pull one. i’ll cringe a little, remember the heat from the hot comb. i used to watch the steam rise from the stove, squint my eyes & hold my breath when my grandmama would hold my head down and tell me, “don’t move cause i sure hate the smell of burnt skin.” he’ll kiss my forehead & follow my hairline with his fingers. he’ll make a joke about women using gel to create “baby hair.” then he’ll say something sweet like how mine doesn’t need gel to lay down. how mine is the “real thing.” he’ll say that he loves my hair when it’s wild & untamed. that he loves every coil, curve & twist, he’ll sing some erykah & tell me we should be sisters, he’ll say he’s into the whole natural thing.

TRÉSEAT LAWRENCE

SECRET #4: I’M JUST TRYING TO HELP “I don’t fuck on the first date.” “What?” he was confused, wide eyed and shaken. “Why you acting like your mother raised you right, you aint shit boy” She was 19, partying a little too much, and failed to realize this little meeting wasn’t a date, more like a rescue mission. He was concerned, just turned 20 and remembers seeing this girl in the library-quiet and to herself. “Let me help you, let me take you home!” By this time he’s grabbing her arms, trying to keep her drunken body up. “Nigga what? I’m 19, a grown damn women! You hear me? A grown damn woman, and I’ll be damned if some pretty motherfucker like you takes me home! Shit boy you don’t even look like you packing, I mean are you?” The girl’s father would have liked it better if she was closer to home. Her grandmother used to always say “Sending a thunder kitten like that to the other side of the country is a big risk! It’s plenty of lions over there.” Her father was a preacher and her mother went missing after her only child’s birth. Her father would always say, “My baby girl, the next Oprah” “Damn girl, what were you drinking? Why is your breath overpowering that smell good you have on?” He was a good boy, church choir singing, ring bearer bringing, sweet boy. He played varsity football for his high school and got into college off a scholarship. He met his mother in his 9th grade year of high school, that’s when she was released for some minor charges that many say should’ve been longer, knowing her ass. He collected the letters she sent from prison that always ended with “Baby! One day you’re going to Disney World” hoping for a cut of that Super Bowl money. By this time he has her in the car her hand adjacent to her elbow laying in the crease of her window. She murmurs out, “I can’t see, I… I can’t see nigga you got me on one of those date rape drugs?”

“Girl what! I don’t want you for none of that, I’m trying to help your drunken ass. Can you just talk about something normal, tell me about you or something.” She looks over at him looking at her. There was a pause. Her voice was still slurred. “You want to know about me huh?” “Yeah tell me about you.” “I don’t like telling people about me, I think it’s dumb, can I just tell you a secret?” “A secret? Sure I guess” It got quiet in the car. She started smirking. She spoke… “When I was 16, I was fucking, and my father is a preacher.” “So I’m guessing you’re proud of that huh” “Maybe, maybe not, you don’t know me anyway why you care, you tell me a secret?” “I watch you, while you look over that psychology stuff, your real pretty you know?” “Shut up, you don’t mean that shit, you don’t know nothing, you don’t know me!” “Let me tell you what I do know, I know your lying about fucking your father’s choir boys and inside you’re dying for attention but nobody will look at you, shit, you won’t even look at yourself.” The car quiet, so quiet you could hear the shitty breaks squeak. “Let me tell you another secret, I’m not a virgin, and you’re wrong, I’m not dying but fucking for attention.”

BARRETT SMITH

SECRET #5: HER BEST FRIEND IS AN EATING DISORDER

The teacher said he seemed like a lovely man. She smiled because he had become a part of her identity. 8

ZOË GATTI

SECRET #6: PRETTY LITTLE SECRETS

GENEVIEVE KULES

SECRET #7: TRUST ME He said: do you wanna? She said: yes, but no, but I dunno He said: it's okay She said: I want to He said: then do it She said: okay He said: relax, stop worrying She said: I always worry He said: well stop She said: ouch He breathed She said: ow that really really hurts He said: is this okay? She said: it's better He said: we'll take it slow

He said: how was it? She said: nice. but how do i know you're not going to leave now? He said: have I left yet? She said: no He said: so trust me She said: it’s not that easy He said: have I done anything wrong? She said: I don’t think so He said: then trust me She said: I’ll work on it He said: good She said: I want you to be my boyfriend He said: I don’t think that’s a good idea She said: why not? He said: I don’t think I’d make a good boyfriend She said: oh She said: okay She said: will you just lie next to me? He said: sure

...

ELLIE COHEN

SECRET #8: A GIFT

ASIA ALSTON

SECRET #9: DEMONS 1. a daughter’s first love is her father. her provider and protector. the man who caught her way before she could even hit the ground, whose presence was all that was needed for security. the one man whose love was genuine from the start and he always made sure she knew that. in her eyes, he was god. 2. what’s the diﬀerence between a boy and a man when they all look at you the same? when you’re too impatient to give your innocence so instead you had it taken. when conversations become uncomfortable because the only question you can ask is “who have you de-virginized lately?” & his response being a simple smile that frequents your nightmares. 3. a daughter’s first heartbreak is her father in absence. growing up without guidance, her mistakes will be constant. she just wanted to be daddy’s little girl. & what she lacked from him, she found in them. so when the demons crawled in her bed she didn’t refuse them. their company was better than none.

4. when a mother is forced to give answers to things she would never question, how does she explain to her child that god doesn’t love them? her reasoning being that if he did then he wouldn’t have allowed her to make the mistake of creating a child with such a demon. having to watch her child hurt because of something out of her control, she asks herself why god couldn’t be as merciful as the devil.

GENEVIEVE KULES

SECRET #10: BROKEN

BARRETT SMITH

SECRET #11: GOOD GIRL He is kneeling on the carpet, his pants still unzipped. She sits in the corner of the room, her shorts bunched up and uncomfortable, watching him clean up the white remnants of their mistake. She’s scrubbed her hands clean but she can still feel his disturbing pulse inside her fist; she can still feel his grimy fingers beneath her cotton underpants. She thinks of all her friends who have talked to her about hooking up. Sound bites flash through her mind: “I never thought it was this much fun.” “He did this thing with-sorry, it was just so fucking great.” “I really need to hook up.” “I’m so stressed out, I just wanna fuck, let it all out.” and she wonders how they could have said these things. She doesn’t feel free or relieved or even good. She feels like she just broke her mother’s favorite vase and is sitting among the sharp pieces of it. She doesn’t feel the pleasant high she gets when laying in bed alone and she feels like she can never be touched by anyone, in any way, ever again. Tomorrow, she will go to school. She will wear a floral dress and braid her hair. Her eyes will be makeup-less and her hands scrubbed pale. Her aura will be ripe with virginity, the scent of which will disguise her fear.

KHAT PATRONG

SECRET #12: BALLOONS He put the binder in the trash bag and resisted the urge to take it back out and add it to the other piles of Ariane’s binders. It didn't feel right to throw her stuff away, what if she came back? She would think that he'd given up on her, just like the investigators. Just like everyone else. He hesitated to put in another binder, he wanted to let go, and needed to; but his letting go is not like a child and a red balloon. The child letting go because of her curiosity and spite. Once he and his little sister went to Paris with their parents. They saw all the tourist sites and on a hot summer day, while their parents were getting ice cream. Carly saw a man selling a big bouquet of balloons. She ran up to him and he ran after her, afraid of losing his sister. When she pointed to a red ballon, he paid for it with the little change he had in his pocket. He turned around and tried to find the essential point they were standing waiting for their parents to come back with ice cream. Resisting the urge to panic and frighten his sister, they walked around together, Carly occasionally looking up at the balloon. Finally they stood at the corner of a street trying to scope out their parents, he realized, standing at this corner so many things can happen around you at once. Carly screamed and he looked down at her. Realizing she was staring straight ahead, he looked in that direction and he saw his parents coming towards them with melted ice cream dripping off of their hands. In all the excitement Carly let go of the balloon, knowing that something better was ahead. Couple of days later, Carly asked for another balloon. "I can't do this," he told Noël. "It's going to be hard at first but its been eight months since she was missing and keeping all her stuff isn't going to help you let go of her," she said. Noël opened the bag wider, "Let her go.”

MALIA WILLIAMS-HAYNES

SECRET #13: TEMPTATION My cheeks were still cold from having been outside when I sat down on her bed. I took off my gloves, rolled them up, and sat them next to me, but I kept my jacket on. “Do you want me to hang up your jacket?” asked Cece from across the room. “Yeah” I said, as I pulled my arms through the sleeves. “And can you get my phone out of my pocket please?” I asked, before I remembered what was in my pocket. “Never mind” I said quickly, but it was too late. “Is that my ring?” she asked “Why is my ring in your pocket?” The room was silent, I was too scared to answer. I thought a few hours back, before we left to go to the mall. I had examined the ring every time I saw it sitting on Cece’s dresser. I really loved the ring and I had never seen her wearing it. I picked it up and slipped it onto my finger, it fit perfectly. Just as I was about to put the ring down, Cece walked in, startling me. The ring fell to the floor. “Hey, you ready to go?” she asked “Yeah” “Okay, let me go grab my jacket.” she said. When I could no longer hear footsteps in the hallway, I picked it up off the floor and tucked it into my pocket.

ZOË GATTI

TRÉSEAT LAWRENCE

SECRET #15: RELEVANCE She found comfort in the fact that she was relevant to someone.

Lacing up her bleached burgundy Converses with passion because she knew that she was wanted and needed somewhere. Coat zipped up and side bang laying nicely over her left eye. The person that gave her relevance Wasn’t at school today, and hasn’t been for the last 2 weeks. She digs the ink deep into her journal repeating the question,

Where is she? She wasn’t relevant anymore, not to anyone not even herself. She stays in her room a lot lately, facing the wall and leaning her forehead gently into it She cries. The only thing that comes to her mind is the revolving idea of love and the thought that taking her own life was not not considered a crime.

QUADAJA HERRIOTT

SECRET #14: A PIECE OF ILLUMINATI 1. no time for condoms cause theyd run out of fucks fuck ing her goal was to gain loving his was to keep coming she told him my body isnt sacred through slow moans and no whispers could not lay there to be held or stay over & her cigarette was to be lit on the way out the door abstract as it was he chose to understand the reasoning of reasons he presented to the shes why he didnt care to reconvene im no good for you the silence of the quiet never burnt him this is the kind of shit he was used to although never conscious of the reason he attracted the same kind of hers his pride swelled despite dismisses theyd try to cling to him this only heightening his vain touching of the first & only time held most aﬀection anything consistent was a learned lesson and he wanted youth i am immortal he told himself i am immortal 2.

goodbye forever the she would ask no last breath

BARRETT SMITH

SECRET #16: OBSESSION my first glimpse of theology happened when i was fourteen. i don’t know when i started to notice Her but as soon as i did it filled me with an ache. all over my body i felt this Yearning. but for what? Sex, i thought, it was Sexual, always Sexual with teenagers, but no, i didn’t want to hold Her, to be held by Her. i didn’t want to feel Her under me. the next instinct was Idolatry, but being raised by Jews, Idols didn’t sit well with me. the yearning, i found out, was for Knowledge; i wanted to know everything about Her, every thought in Her Mind, every moment in Her History. i started to watch Her, stare at Her whenever my eyes could find Her Body. i listened to the Stories about Her and eavesdropped on Her conversations. i began taking mental notes. i noticed the slight limp in Her walk, the way Her hips Danced with every step. i noticed that Her skin glistened and Her Hair flew. i noticed that She was Beautiful and Talented but She always walked Alone. i noticed that She was Confident. but after a while, i realized that She was Fragile, made of a translucent glass, Her veins spilling through. She glued Herself together with her air of Confidence. when the room was Silent and She was Still, Her Hands would be Busy, picking at Her skirt or Her pen, sometimes picking the skin oﬀ each other. it seemed like boredom, like, from Her throne, She was above our Playful banter.

but what if She wasn’t the Queen? what if She Shook in Nervousness? Her thin Hands Moving to escape the tenseness of her Mind? what if, not Strength or Queen but, This and She, were the personification of God and Holy? She was a Goddess hidden in a queen. Her majesty Hid her Divine Beauty but also hid her Pain. we knew only the Gossip She told us. there was Divinity in her Secrets. i hadn’t Thought of Her in ten years, but last night i Dreamt of Her; She stared from the sky at my Children Playing. at this point, i no longer Questioned my Jewish Faith, but seeing Her, i Wondered once again, where Divinity lay.

SECRET#17: I HOLD SECRETS IN THE PALM OF MY HAND

lorem + elementum!

ROOM 18 - ISSUE #4- DECEMBER 2011 ROOM 18-ISSUE #5 - M ARCH 2012 PRODUCED BY THE LITERARY MEDIA & COMMUNICATIONS DEPARTMENT

PRODUCED BY THE LITERARY MEDIA&COMMUNICATIONS DEPARTMENT