Loyola School Literary Magazine 2022-2023 by Loyola School

DrawingbyKiaraGarcia

EDITORIALSTAFF:

ElizeDzialo‘23-ExecutiveEditor

HelenaFynn‘25-AssociateEditor

OliviaRomano‘25 -AssociateEditor

Ms.KieferSantiago-FacultyModerator

ThankyoutoLoyolaSchoolandespeciallytoallthecreative writersandvisualartistswhocontributedtothisedition!

*Thefollowingcreativewritingpromptsareinspiredbythechapter themesin All About Love: New Visions (2018)bybellhooks.

PhotographbyOliverSmith

ChapterOne:“Clarity”|“GiveLoveWords”

byHannahYoung

Angryraindropspoundeddownonthecitysidewalks.Thefewpeopleoutintherain werejustscurryingtotheirnextdestination,shieldedfromtheharshweatherbydarkumbrellas andcoats.Oneyoungwoman,though,stoodoutfromthecrowd,herbrightredcoat’shood hangingdownandheryellowrainbootsbeginningtofillwithwater.Shestrolledaboutlistlessly throughthestorm,watchingtheraindropsendtheirjourneytotheground.

Thewoman’sheartswelledasshewatchedeachraindropsplatteredagainsttheground. Eachonewaslikeafadingmomentofjoyinherlife,impossibletostopfromending.Hermind spunthroughflashesofwarmthandlaughterfromherchildhoodthatallseemedsoremoved fromthecold,uncaringatmosphereoftherainycitystreet.

Sherememberedhoweasyshehadoncefoundmakingfriendstotellsecretsandgiving hugstoeveryoneforwhomshefeltadropoflove.Eventuallyastherainkeptrelentlessly beatingagainsthercoat,shebegantoshiverandmadeherwaybackdownthestreettoher apartmentbuilding.Thelobbywaswarmandlight.Thedoormansmiledatherandmadesome commentabouttheweather Shesmiledtoherselfknowingthatshemustbetheonlyperson aroundwhoappreciatedsuchheavyrain.

PhotographbyLiliKwonReverbeldeSouza

ChapterTwo:“Justice”|“ChildhoodLoveLessons” byAnnabelKurman

Whenyouareyoung,yourparentsteachyoueverythingyouneedtoknow.Theyteach youhowtosurvive,howtofeel,andhowtoexpressyourself.Youlearnwhatthingsmeanby observingthem,andoftentimesthatwarpsourdefinitionoflove.

Thewayyourparentsexpresslovetowardyou-physicalaffection,gifts,qualitytime, andactsofkindness;orthroughdiscipline,sporadicburstsofinterest,andcriticism-defines yourperceptionoflove,friendships,andrelationshipsfortherestofyourlife.Whetheryour parentsaregoodorbad,togetherorseparated,angryorcalmpeople-theyarethebasisofyour understandingoftheworld.

Thiscanmeanyoufinditdifficulttotrustorletyourguarddown,waryofwhenpeople useandabuseyouandcalltheabuse“love.”Thiscanalsomeanthatyoujumpintorelationships becauseyouaresearchingfortheloveandvalidationyoudidnotreceiveasachild.Ontheother hand,thiscanmeanthatyouarepickywithwhoyoulovebecauseyourparentsgaveyouvery highexpectationsofwhatloveshouldlooklike.Yourexpectationsandbeliefssurroundinglove completelychangebasedonexperiencesyouhavehadasachildandcanonceagainchangeonce youareabletomakeyourowndecisionsanddefinitions.

Yourchildhoodlovelessonsalsodefineyourcomfortsurroundingdifferentlove languages.Thiscanshowthroughanaversiontophysicaltouchoratendencytonotsaythatyou loveothersbutinsteadshowthemthroughactsofservice.

Yourfirstfewrelationshipswillalsooftenmirrorwhatyouhaveseenasachild,whether itisyourparents’relationshiporotherfamilymembers,andsometimesthatishealthy-but oftentimesitcanbetoxic,andyouhavetolearnthehardwaywhatyoutrulyneedina relationship,andwhatishealthyforyou.

Drawingby AnnabelKurman

ChapterThree:“Honesty”|“BeTruetoLove”

byAnnabelKurman

Loveasachild,seemssimple

Aswegrow,itbecomesamoredauntingprospect, Inrelationship, Incommitment, Infear.

Honestybecomesprecious,rareandfoughtfor. Thestrugglesofmarriagearerevealedtous. Werealizenoteverythingisasperfectoreasyasitonceseemed.

Lovelooksmoreliketheoceanthanalake.

Carryingasailboatcalmly, Orcapsizingit.

Lovecanbeloving,calm,gentle. Or

Rough,scary,andtumultuous.

Itcanshowparentsscreamingateachother, Orloversrefusingtoletgo.

Agentlekiss, Orbecomingstrangersinaday.

Loveispain,butifitisworthit, Itisthemostrewardingpainintheworld.

PaintingbyGiannaGammarati(wave),PaintingbyMasonVohs(boat)

ChapterFour:“Commitment”|“LetLoveBeLoveinMe”

ByAnnabelKurman

Loveiscommitment, likehowthemoonistethered Tothenight––sheswingsaround, brieflymeetingherlover’s warmembrace beforegoingtosleep. Sheiscaughtinthe rhythmofgravity, theEarth’srotation––andthoughshenever feelsthedayonherface, shelivesforwhen itwillshinethroughher

PaintingbyKatherineVillalta

ChapterFive:“Spirituality”byHannahYoung

Haveyoueverheardatreewhisperingitssecretsasthewindgentlyrustlesthroughits leaves?Orhaveyouwatchedatreebranchsnapfromneglectedrotandunleashabandof nightmares?Iknewagirl.Shespoketothetreesforhours.She’dlaughatalltheiroddhumor. Shewasalwayswiththemasiftheywereherfriends.Theyareonthebeatenpathjustbeyond thewoodengatesofanabandonedfarm.

ButIwouldn'twanderbecauseitwasfarfromallthetownsfolkandpavedroads.The othergirlsandboysbelievedinstoriesofghoststhatwouldpreyonlittlegirlslikemewhoever wanderedthatfaroff.Iwasn’tsogullibleastoheedsuchdirectionsfromadultsbutIfeltan eeriepresenceonceI’dleftthewell-pavedroad.

ThefirsttimeImetthegirlwasinautumn,whenalltheleaveswerecrimson,gold,and orangeandflutteredfromtheirrealmaboveandpiledontheground.Ican’trememberwhat drewmethereorwhyIwanderedoff.Istumbledonalargeroothiddenbyleavesandcutmy chinonarock.ThetreesspunabovemyheadandthenthegirlappearedflashShesmiled sweetly Sheheldmeclose,mufflingallmywhimpersofpain.Shesangasonglikethetreesand allmystressesandpainsseemedtovanquish.Whenthelastnotewassung,Isawhersmile brieflybeforeshedisappearedasquicklyasshe’dcomeandmyconfusedselfranbacktothe safetyoftownwithoutasecondthought.

Istayedfarawayfromthosewoodsforthenextfewyearsuntilmycuriosityatlast compelledmeback.Iwanderedfartherdownthefamiliarpathuntilatlast,Iheardherheavenly voicesingingasongmeantfortrees.Oureyeslockedforaminuteortwo.Hereyesweresharp blue,acoldcaptivatingseaofice.Myeyesfloatedtohergoldenhairandskinpalerthanpaper. Shethenbegantospeaktomelikeanyotherpersonandtoldmeaboutthetreesandhowshe couldwhisperabouttheirsecrets.IblindlynoddedalonguntilduskbegantofallandItrotted backhomeleavinghertothetrees.AllthatspringandsummerIwouldcometohereach afternoonandshe'dtellmethestoryofthetrees.Ineverseemedquitetounderstand,andyetto herrecountings,Ifoundmyselffaithfullybackinherwoodseachday.

Thentheweatherbegantochangeandtheleavesturnedcrimsongoldandorange.Each day,Istillcameuntilautumnwasnearlyoverandthewinterwindswerelingering.Ablustery coldthenovertookthelandsandnoneofthetownsfolklefttheirhomesanymorethannecessary.

Iwassafebymyfireplace,warmevenastheduskfelluntilIheardanominousthumpingatthe window.Thegirlwhospoketotreeswastherebutoldandgrayanddying.AgaspescapedasI lookedconfusedyetunderstandingherfierceicygaze.Thefireroaredandemberspoppedout andthenthefaceappearedwitheringintheflames.Myownbodycouldnolongerbesensedand Ifeltthegirl’seeriepresenceeatawaymysoul.Thegirlsanginthelanguageofthetreesandthe colorscrimson,gold,andorangespunaboutmyvision.

PhotographbyOliverSmith

ChapterSix:“Values”|byMeghanTeeter

ChapterSeven:“Greed”|“SimplyLove”byHannahYoung

Thegirlhopestoseeafinishline,foreverjustoutofsight.Sherunstowardsit,mustering upallherenergy,ignorantofwhatbeautyliesbesidethattrackonwhichsheruns.Yetwithevery stepshetakes,herdistancefromthatfinishlineseemstogrow Inhermindthefinishlineis somesortofultimatefulfillment.Ifshedoesn’treachit,couldshebeenough?Andyetshe’s neverseenthefinishline.Shecan’tcomprehendwhatitis,andwon'tstopherrunningjustto realizeshe’salreadypastafinishlinesheonceset.

Shewantstohaveachievements.She’swillingtoworkhard,undeterredbyherstruggles. Shewillgotheextramile,notknowingwhereitwillleadher Shestudieshardfortestsandgets goodgrades,yetusuallywondersifshecouldhavegottenafewpointshigher Whenshefinally getsaperfectscoreshewondersifperhapssheover-studied.Perhapsshecouldhavegottenthe samescorebutallocatedsomeofthestudytimeforsomethingelse.

Shesignsupforeveryactivityshecanbalanceinherschedule,andtriesherbestatevery one.Sheshowsupfaithfullyforeachofhercommitments.Everyonearoundherapplaudsthe demonstratedeffortsheputsintoeverythingshedoes.Wheneversomeoneasksforvolunteers, shejumpsupatthecall,eagerifthere'sanywayshecoulduseaspareminutetobeusefulto anotherperson.

Aroundherfriendsshealwayswantstogettoknowthembetter.Shealwayswantsto celebratetheirtriumphsandmourntheirlosses.She’scharismaticandeveryonesheencounters seemstowanttogettoknowher,andshewillinglyletsthemintoherlifewithopenarms.

“Howaccomplishedyouare!”Everyonepraisesher.“Howgood!Howsmart!How kind!”

Shesmilesinresponseyetisdeaftotheirpraise.“Youmustdomore!”somevoicefrom withinhergoads.“Westillcan’tgraspthefinishline.It’snotevenyetinsight.Wemustpush forwardtoachievethatdayintheshiningsunwhereyouwillhavegonetoagoodcollege,gotten agoodjob,madeaperfectfamily,andthen,perhaps,relaxjustlongenoughtofindahappiness unburdenedbytheitchthatsomehowyououghttodosomethingmore.”

Andyetasshepushesonwardtoinfinity,shebeginstoquestionifthefinishlineisout thereandifitreallycoststhismuch.Andifshedarestoturnherheadandlookbeyondthe inertialtrack,she’llfindthefulfillmentsshe’sseekinghavebeenliningherpathalltheway,cut throughbythepaththatforcedherpasttoembraceherlife.

PhotographbyVeronicaGannon

ChapterEight:“Community”byOliviaRomano

Earthquakesbeginbysoundinglikestampedes.Textbooksdon’ttellyouthat,norcan theyarticulatethatsuspendedsecondofconfusionbeforegravityclosesinandbuildingsstartto topple.Thereisprobablymorethathappensbetweentheinitialrumbleandthemassive destruction,butthosemomentsarelosttothechasmofcollectivepanic.Youlookaround numblyatthetorn-upsidewalks,glassjuttingoutoftheexposedgroundunderneath,andyou wouldtrytopinchyourselfawakeifnotforthepungent,realsmellofsmoke.

Ifyoulookupyoumightseeapileofrubblewherethatbuildingusedtobe,ormaybe partofitsurvived.Lookingtoocloseatthedebrismightshowyouthingsthatyoudon’twantto see,soyoureyeswouldaverttothehalf-crumbledstructurethatlooksfartoovulnerabletoever havestoodupinthefirstplace.

Help! comesadistantcry Itcouldbetwoortwohundredfeetawayandyouwouldn’t feelanylesshelpless.

Someone please help! Thecriesbecomelouder,moreinsistent,butyouknowthey’re comingfromsomewhereaboveyouandthat’sexactlywhereyoucan’tgo.Bitsofcementand brickarestillrainingdownfromthesky,likesnowfallorstyrofoamexcepttheysoundlikehail whentheyhittheground.

Butthen,aloudsnapcomesfromsomewhereinthebuildingtoweringoveryou,andyou canseethecracksbeginningtocreepalongtheouteredge.Hoarse,desperatescreamscomefrom inside.Lateronyoucan’tquiterecallwhatanyonewassaying,butintheheatofthemoment yourmindascribed“desperate”tothem,andnowthat’sallyourememberthemby.

Youjoggedfarawaysothatthedebriswouldn’thityouasanotherbuildingfell,heartbeat quickeningtoarapidmeteruntilitconsumedyou.

You’vealwaysclosedyoureyesatthescarypartofmovies,buttodaytheyalmostdried outbeforeyouevenblinked.Yousawthebigblocksofcementslideoutfromthebase,hugerifts slinkupthecorners,branchingofflikearootlesstree,moreandmorebranchesuntilthewhole thingwastoocompromisedtoholditselfupanylonger.

Thehandsoveryourearsdidn’tdomuchtodullthesoundofthecrash.

Todaywasmeanttobeagoodday,oratleastanotbadday.Mostdayswerethesame. School,study,sleep,repeat.Notanunhappylife,orahardone.Youhavefriends.Youhave hobbies.Youcommuteonthesubway,orthebusifyouhavetimetospare.Sometimesyouwish youwerealonemoreoften.Mostlyyouwishthatdaysdidn’tblurtogether.

Adaybefore,youhadexpressedthisdesiretoyourneighbor.Youdon’tknowyour neighborsallthatwell,butthisneighborbringschickennoodlesoupwhenyou’resickand cookieswhenyou’renot.Herpaisleycouchmakesyourlegsitch.Floralwallpaperpeelsinthe corners.

“Sometimesyouneedtotakethescenicroute,”shesaidwithasmile,“Inthiscity,where everyoneisalwaystryingtogetsomewhere,whereeveryoneistryingtodosomething,they forgettostopandsmelltheroses.”

“WhereamIsupposedtofindroses?”

“Ididn’tmeanthatliterally.Ihaveflowersalloverthisroom!”

“Ilikebeinghere.”

“Ifyou’relookingtospendsometimeinnaturewecangotoCentralParktogether.Itake awalkthereeverySunday,youaremorethanwelcometojoin.”

“Idon’tknowifIcandomostSundays.”

“Well,inthatcase,sometimesyouhavetomakeyourownscenery.”

Thereisn’tmuchscenerynow,isthere?Youalmostlaughattheabsurdityofit:an earthquakehittingNewYorkCity.Theverycoreoftheplanethadshiftedintosomething unpredictableandstrange.

Thestreetsfeeldeserted,yetyouknowyouaren’talone.Somewhereunderthebricksand beams,peopleareclamoringtoescape.Theirvoicesriseabovethechaosoutside,intothetoxic smogthathangsaboveyouandmakesyourlungsfeeltight.Survivorsarealreadybeginningto searchthroughtheruins,somecarryingflashlightsandtools,otherscarryingblanketsandwater Youidlylinger,unsureofwhethertostay,orwhetheryouevencouldgohome.Someone hitsyouontheshoulder

“Don’tjuststandthere,”awomanscoldsyou,“Ifyoudon’twanttohelp,then get out of the way.”

“I’msorry.”

“No,don’tbe,”thewomanhuffed,“Justhelpmeoutwithpullingpeopleoutofthis mess.”Hereyesfallonsomethingbehindyou.

Ahandisstickingoutfromunderapileofrubble,starklypaleeveninthegolden sunlight.Withoutgivingyouanotherglance,thewomanrushesovertofranticallypullatthe hand,butthecementwon’tgive.Youbegintodismantlethepilepiecebypiece,abrickfinally uncoveringapieceofthefaceunderneath.Thewomansharplyinhales.Youcontinuetouncover thebodywithinthepile,untilayoungmanisrevealed.

Thewoman’shandsbegintoshake.Somehowthetwoofyoumanagetopullthemanout fromtherubbleandlayhimonthesidewalk.Hisfaceisscratchedandbleeding,stainingpartsof hiswaxyfacecrimson.Yougrabhislimpwristandpressyourindexandmiddlefingerstothe inside.Hiswristiscoldandstill.

Somethingonyourfacegivesthenewsaway,andyouarestartledoutofyourfocusbya chokedsob.Youdon’tknowwhattodo;tocrymightseeminsensitive,andsaying“I’msorryfor yourloss”mightseeminsincere.Yourquestionsareansweredwhenthewomanwrapsherarms aroundyou.

Thestrangercriesintoyourshoulderuntilthegoldenskystartstoturnindigo.Youaren’t surewhattomorrowwillbring,andyoudon’tknowwhatyou’regoinghometo,butunderneath thegroundyoucanfeeltheheartbeatofhumanity.

PaintingbyKiaraGarcia 15

ChapterNine:“Mutuality”byAnnabelKurman

Oftentimesthroughlife,wediscoverdisappointmentinthosearoundus.Wehavehope thatisslowlycrushedasrealityshowsitself.Wearepushedandpulledtowardsthings,toldwhat tobe,andhowtobe,andwetellourselvesthatifwedon’tsucceedinthesethings,wearenot enough.However,weslowlydiscoverthatwecannotchangeanyoneexceptourselves,andeven withthat,wecanonlydosomuch.Wecanchangehabits,interests,andhowwepresent ourselves-butatourcore,wewillneverchange.

Manytimesthroughlife,wewillwanttochangeothers-butwewillhavetoacceptthat theonlywaytochangeothersistochangehowwecontributetothebehaviorofothers,therefore stoppingourowncontributiontoacyclethathurtsyouorthemorboth.Mazieexploresthis conceptinhersong,“peopledon’tchange.”Asseeninthechoruswhenshesings, “Peopledon’tchange, Notevenwhentheywantto. Itdoesn'tmatterit'salwaysthesame. Forgiveandthenforget, Tillwedothatsh*tagain. Oh,peopledon’tchange.”

Aswegrowup,wearesuckedintoanendlesscycleofworking,surviving,andforgiving inordertomoveforward.Wearenotoftengiventimetopause,reflect,orevengrieve.These pauses,oftenbroughtaboutbysickness,loss,orsomethingtrulyterrible,aresomeofthemost importantphasesoflife.Theycanbetimesforresting,workingononeself,orjustsittingwith oneself.Thesetimesopenopportunitiesforself-discoveryandanewperspective.

Paintingby DannyRosado

ChapterTen,PartI:RomancebyVitaKlein 17

ChapterTen,PartII:“Romance”byEliseDzialo

Iscanthebooksinmysmallapartment.Thehardcoverspinesof Madame Bovary, Pride and Prejudice, and Jane Eyre standproudlyonthefrontmantle.Beneaththemsitcheapromance novelsfromthecheckoutlineatthesupermarket.Ipreferhowtheirthickpaperbacksfoldinto mylargepalms.These“unsophisticated”worksaredaringandfantastical.Brutemenwooover lusciouswomenonpirateships.ItrytowootheredheadedwomanontheMondaymorning subwaycommutetowork.Aswantransfixedbyasmallscreen,shebendsoverheriPhone. Raisingherdelicateneck,sheshootsmeadisgustedlook.

Thetrainconductor’svoicecracklesoverthespeaker,“34thstreet.Nextstop,14thStreet, UnionSquare.”

Ifocusonthetinyprintfoldedintomypalm,“Ophelialetoutaheavenlysigh,falling intothearmsofFernandoonelasttime.Shepassedawayinlove.”

WithgriefforOphelia,Iwipetearswiththesleeveofmysuitjacketandfumbleoffthe train.Anobscuredhueofgreen,red,andyellowtrafficlightswellinmyeyesasItrekthestreets oflowerManhattantomyoffice.Walkingdownthemetalstaircasetothebasementofan apartmentbuilding,Irevealakey

Iscanmysmalloffice.Psychiatricbookslinethewalls, American Manual of Mental Illness, Personality Disorders In Modern Life, and The Ego and the Id. Iopenmylaptoptomy patientnotesandseemybelovedGloria.SheremindsmeofPenelopefrom Lovers on the Lost Sea,amessywomanwithatendencyforthedramatic.

Gloriaringsthedoorbellofmyofficeandwalksin.Herredhighheelssmackagainstthe hardwoodfloor.Shethrowsherselfdownontotheleathercouch,shovingmyassortmentof psychiatricmagazinesontothefloor.

Shebreaksintoapitiful,heavingsob,“IthoughtIcouldmakehimloveme.”

“Who?”Iask.

“Thisdoctor,Davidfromabar.Hewalkeduptomeandaskedallsortsofthings.WhereI wasfrom.WhatIdo.Thingslikethat,”shepausesforamoment,waitingformyreaction.

“Goon.”

“Ijustthoughthelikedme.SoIaskedforhisnumberandhejustgavemehisbusiness card.”

“Andhowdidthismakeyoufeel?”Iask,sickenedbymyobviousmonotone.

“Awful.Heevensaidthathisneurosurgeryis‘agifttotheworld’andtoldmetocallhim athisWeillCornellofficeifIeverwantedtotakehimout.”

Insteadofshowingsympathy,IstareblanklyatGloria,hopingtoevokeadeepemotional response.Iknowsheneedsme.Iknowsheishelpless.StrandedlikeKaterina,thedazzling womanfrom The Ocean of Love,onlyIcansaveherfromthetidesofgrief.Istareatherwitha stoicface.Iamheranchorofwisdom,hercalmamidstthestorm.

Glorialeavestheoffice,handingmeamanilaenvelopeofduechecks.

Iaddtothepatientnotes,“Emotionallydamagedinfragiledatinglife.Dependentonthe presenceofpowerfulmen.Re:Freud&childhoodissueswithfather.”

Isavethedocumenttomyclientdatabaseandtypeintoanewtab,“DavidWeilCornell.”

Thereare26,367matches.TheyareallsuccessfulsurgeonsnamedDavid.

Ineedtogetmorespecific,“DavidNeurosurgeryNYCWeillCornell.”

Ifindhim,“DavidR.Cohen.HeadOrthopedicSurgeonWeillCornellEastAvenue Branch.”

Iscratchtheaddressontomynotepad.Itearthepageandhurryoutoftheoffice. EmergingoncemoreonLowerManhattanStreet,Ihailacab.

“East70thandYorkplease,”Isaytothedriver.

NewYorkCityblocksflickerpast,aslowprocessiontoDavid’sfate.Thetaxicabismy shiponthetidesoflove.Mycrewmateandcomrade,Brianthedriver,steersthevehicleaswe accelerate.Bondedinourvoyage,Ifeelhispresence,hisquietknowingthatourjourneyisfora greaterpurpose,aprofoundsavingofagirlfromthethrowsofconceitedmen.Inexplicably boundbyaquietunderstandingandneedforoneanother,GloriaandIareone.

IpayBrian.IenterthroughtheautomaticdoorsofWeillCornell.Asterilesmelllingers asIwalkthroughtheassortmentofhospitalwings.

Igrabawhitedoctor’scoatfromanearbycloset,blendingintothehospitalstaffwitha nametagthatreads,“RobertMcCarthy:AssistantPhysician.”

Theceilingsofthehospitalarelow IfeelasifIamtrappedinanenclosedcrawlspace, inchingtowardmydeathorswimmingintheRiverStyx,likeIamdecayingwitheverypassing moment.

Anelderlywomantugsonmywhitecoatwithherfragilehands,beggingformercy.

Ithink,“Willthisbemyfate?WhenIamdying,willIbegforfreedomormercy?Isthere adifference?”

IthinkthatGloriawouldnotleavemeinoldage.Wewouldcareforeachother.Butnow, sheisyoungandabundantinbeautyandlife,andshehasbeenstolenbyaegotistwhofancies himselfasavior.

Seeingadoctoraheadofme,Idecidetotrailbehindhim.Hedutifullychecksoffrooms onaclipboard,likeaprisonguardmonitoringtheoldandsuffering.Hemaneuversthroughthe mazeofhallsandIfollow.Weturnleft.“NeurosurgeryClinic”isprintedabovethehospital wing.Iduckmyheadandenterthroughthetwodoors.

Aflurryofdoctorsandnursesquietlyanalyzecharts.Ihear“corpectomy,”“CTScan,” and“hydrocephalus”andvaguelyrecognizethemfromgradschool.Neverinterestedin neuroscience,Ihadaproclivityfortheories,especiallythoseonlove.Analysisofthebrain explainsattractionandwhyItaketothedramaticromancesfoundinthebooksofthegrocery store.Thecheapnovelsgivemeanostalgicwarmth.Theywerescatteredaroundmychildhood home.Withsporadicboyfriendsinsteadofmyfather,mymothertooktothestoriesofwomen whowerelovedandsavedbymenfromthestormofunpaidbills,foodstamps,andchronic depression.Wantingsoearnestlytosavemymother,Ireadthebooks.Ienvisionedmyselfasa

grandhero,astheforcebywhichtheconceitedmenoftheworldwouldchange,andmymother wouldbehappy.Theyneverdidchange.Instead,theywereheroesintheprofessionalsphereand dogmaticmonstersinthedomesticone.Cravingsecurityandorder,mymothersleptwith bankers,lawyers,anddoctors.Theyneverstayed,justmailingmanillaenvelopeswithchecks.

Noddingatdoctorsandnurses,Davidwalksintothehospitalwing.Assertinghis dominance,heremindsmeofadogpeeingtoclaimhisterritory.Ismellhispretensionashe boastsandlaughswiththeotherdoctors.Heveilshisinsecurity.LikeRobertotoPenelopein The Ocean of Love andTony,thelitigationattorney,tomymother,hethinksofhimselfaboveGod. BlockingmefrommyGloria,hisdisgustinglyhandsomefacesnarlsandchuckles.Inhim,Isee Tony,George,Mike,andChris.Iseethemenwhostolepiecesofmymother,andstrippedherof herbodyanddignity.Iseethemlaughingandtauntingmefromthedepthsofmemory.Ifeel myselfbeginningtocry,topourmysaltedtearsliketheseaontothefloor.Asifreturningtomy hospitalbirth,Iamababyoncemore.

Ileavethehospital,heavinglikeGloriafromthemorningsession.Iseeaneonredsignin frontofme,reading,“DINER.”Iruntoitsbathroom.Inthecrackedmirror,Iseemyself.Isee theabstractionthatIhavebecome—amanstolenbyjealousyandresentment.IhaveTony’s blueeyes,Mike’stwistedlips,andGeorge’sscarabovethebrow Myfeaturesarean asymmetricalmessofidentity—stolenpiecesofpowerfulmenIwishIcouldbe.Inrageand sorrow,IrememberGloriaandourbelovedshipfloatingacrossthetidesoftime.Davidisthe storm,theforceveeringusoffourcoursetowardparadise.IneedtomantheshipasGloria watches.Ineedtosaveus.

Igathermycourageandwalkontothestreet.Ire-enterWeillCornell.Idon’tbotherwith adoctor’sjacket.Ipushthroughthedepressedhallways,immortalthroughtheRiverStyx.I finallyseeDavid.Herunsthroughthewing,rushingtoacenterdesk.Heispanickedandunsure, listingthepossibleproceduresforapatient.

“No,doctor.That’snotgoingtowork.Letushandlethis,”anothermemberofthe medicalstafftellshim.

Davidturnswhite.Withhisheadlow,hewalksoutofthewing,andIfollow.The remnantsofhispridearestrippedaway.Behindhisoutwardsuccessisasmall,scaredman.

“Wait,”Icallafterhim.

“No.I’moffmyshift.Askthedeskifyouwantsomething,”hesays.

“WhatdoyouwantwithGloria?”

Hedoesn’treply.

Istartagain,“Theclumsywomanwiththehighheels.Youknowher.ShelikesrealityTV andromancenovels.Youmetheratabar.”

“I’msorry,Buddy.Idon’twastemytimewithwomenlikethat.Itellthemtoreadreal books.Theydon’tlisten.SoIdon’tbotheranymore.”

“Youmeanyoudon’tlikeher?”

“Ineverlikeanyofthem.Theychatteron.Itellthemtotakemeout,andthatusually doesthetrick.Womendon’tlikethat,youknow Theyliketothinkwewantthem.”

Davidwalksbackintothehospitalwing.HeisgonefromGloriabutwasneverthereto beginwith.Iexpecttofeelhappyandemboldened,offtosaveher.Butheneverwantedher,and didn’teither.Iwantedtosaveherandsavemyself.KnowingnothingofherIwastoobusy fantasizingaboutbeingheroictolisten.Shecouldhavebeenanyotherwoman.Shecouldbemy mother.

Sickenedbymydelusions,Iwalkbackthroughthehospitalwings.Iseetheoldwomen sittingaloneintheirrooms.Victimsoflonelinessandisolation,Ineedtosavethemwithmy therapy.

“Iwantthem.”

“I’msureyoudo.”

DrawingbyLindsayHsu 21

ChapterEleven:“Loss”byAnnabelKurman

Lossissimplyacontinuationoflove,withnowhereelsetogo. Itisanowemptyspacewherethatloveusedtogo.

Itispainful,deeplyso,andonlythroughloss,doyoudiscoverthedepthofyourlove. Manyareafraidtoloveforthesakeofloss. However,loveistakingtheriskoflossbecauseoftheworthofthatlove.

Lossisanache.

Apainfulone. Onethatcannevertrulybesoothed, Butovertime,itwillbecomeacomfort.

Amemory

Areminder

Lossmakespeoplelashout. Buteventually, Makespeoplekinder Moreunderstanding. Morepatient.

Everyonesays,“itwillgetbetter.”

Doesitevertruly“getbetter?”

Ordoesitsimplybecomeapartofdailylife?

Nolongernoticeable, Becausethepainissofamiliar.

Thepainbecomesyou, Andistuckedaway, Somewheresafe, Whereitcanrestinyourheart.

DrawingbySavannahMcManus

ChapterTwelve:HealingbyEliseDzialo

Mytwoclosestfriendsdefinemyunderstandingoffriendship.

Oneofmyclosestfriendsisagirlwhogrewupintheapartmentdirectlybeneathmefor twelveyears.SheandIbothlivedinrent-controlledapartments.Herapartmentwasdirectlya floorbeneathminewiththesamelayout.Myfatherandhermotherwereverysimilar,bonding overbooksandsharingShakespearianquips.

Likeourparents,myfriendandIenjoyedeverythingtogether:books,movies,parks,and music.Wegrewupbyeachother'sside.

Beyondourmanyjoyousmoments,laidpain.Bothhermotherandmyfatherstruggled withseverementalillness.Hermotherwentinandoutofpsychiatricwards,andmyfatherdied. MyfriendandI'srelationshipshiftedfromthenon.Wecametoseeourchildhoodas terriblydistinctandourexperiencesasinstrumentalinwhoweare.Timehadshrunkforus.My fatherwassupposedtopasswhenIhadgrownandfoundsomesemblanceofwhoIwas supposedtobewithouthim.MyfriendsatbesidemeathisfuneralasInervouslylaughed.She satbesidemeasIweptinprivate.Shelistenedandkeepslistening.

MyfriendisthefriendwhomIhaveimmenselovefor Iloveherbeyondthepleasureof herjokesortheuseofherinsight.Iloveherfortheveryfactthatsheexists.Ilovethatshe bringsjoytootherpeople,thatshehastremendouscharacter,isresilientandcompassionateand iskinderandmoreunderstandingthanIcouldeverhopetobe.SheisamongthefriendsI deliberatelysurroundmyselfwithtobecomebetter Shepushesmetobemoreunderstanding.I haveexperienceddeeppainwithher,andIhopewecanbehappylikeourparentsnevercould be.

Anotherdearfriendofmineisagirlfrommiddleschool.She'smyfunniestfriend.I rememberalmostpeeingmypantsinmiddleschoolcountlesstimesinherpresence.Wewould goontheseescapadescalled"FreeWednesdays."WewouldrobStarbucksofalltheirwhipped creamandthenproceedtoWestsideMarkettogetthefreecheesesamples,eventuallyendingat thedeliandbeggingthebagelmantogiveusafreebagel.

Beyondjustmakingmelaugh,myfriendisadistinctivethinker.Sheapproaches problemsandworldissueslikealogicaldance.Iamleftinawewhenwearelaughingone momentandwrestlingwiththemeaningofraceorsexualityamomentlater.

Myfriendalsoshowsupforme.Thissummer,wehadanicebeachdayonLongIsland withmymother.Fordinner,wewenttoLittleItaly.Mymotherdecidedtoapproacharestaurant ownerwhocausedmyfathertobefiredfromhislawfirmsixyearsago.Theyhadaconversation abouthisdeath,andIfeltthatmymotherhaduseditasanobjectagainstthewoman.Ifeltthat hisexistencehadbeenreducedtoapawn,andIwentthroughthesubsequentwhat-ifs."Whatif hehadn'tlosthisjob?""Whatifhewasmorestable?""Wouldhestillbealive?"Iranandcried throughtheblocksofLittleItaly,onlyseeingstreaksofredandgreen.Myfriendfollowedme. ShesatandlistenedasIsobbedmywaythroughthewhat-ifs.SheheldmetightlyasIsobbed.

IwouldliketothinkIwoulddothesameforher.Sheshowedupformeinmymost vulnerablemoment.Shemademefeelunderstoodandsane.Likemyotherfriend,Iloveher beyondjusthowshetreatsmeorthatshemakesmelaugh.Iloveherbecausesheshowsupamid theruinofgriefandhelpsmerebuildwitharidiculoussmileonmyface.Ilovethefactthatshe exists,thatthereisadeeplygoodpersonwhomIwishtheworldfor.

MixedMediabyAveryRoseAmes-Karvounis

ChapterThirteen:“Destiny”byTeodoraLukic

All About Love bybellhooksdescribeshowindividualsshouldcreateasocietythatis morelovingandnurturingthroughdemonstrationandcare.Ithinkdestinyisalargepartofthat demonstrationandperhapsevenmanifestation.Theshortstoryofadoptionrepresentsbringing aboutthatlovetoothersthroughdestinyandthequestionofwhy,andhowdestinyisbrought intoourlivesifitexists.Isdestinyaphenomenonorpureluck?

OneexperiencethatIhadwithdestinythatmademebringaboutlovetootherswaswhen Iadoptedmyfirstpuppy,Juno.ThiswasamovingexperiencethatIhadthatmademefeellikeit wasdestinedtohappenbecausewhenweadoptedheritwassooutoftheblueandsudden.It seemedlikeaonce-in-a-lifetimeopportunitythatIotherwisewouldnothavehadiftheadoption centerhadnotadvertisedtheircompanyonthestreet.Nottomention,ourfamilyhadtriedto adoptapuppypreviously,howeveranotherindividualinterestedinthepuppyhadendedup submittingtheadoptionpapersfirst.

Thewaythatmyfamilycametoadoptourpuppywasthroughtheoccasionofpassing throughtheboroughsontheweekendaroundAprilacouplemonthsago.Wealmostnevertravel outsideofourboroughinthefirstplacesobeingtherewasararecircumstance,itwasjustoneof thoseoccasionswherewestoppedbytoexplore,andfoundacanineadoptioncenteronthestreet withdogslookingforownership.Whenoneconsiderssomethingtheyyearnforoftentheyfind themselves.Wetookalookandalthoughthereweremanydifferentbreeds,therewasonlyone breedthatstoodouttousfromtheothers.Shewasamixedbreed,onethatmusthavebeenmore rarebecauseIhaveneverseenadogquitelikeherbefore.(Nottomention,shehada“adoptme” bandanathatwasjustsoadorableandirresistibletoallofus.)Sowetookcloserattentiontoher andwatchedhowsherespondedtohercaretaker’scommands.Sheseemedveryalert,respectful andsmart.Sowedecidedtothinkaboutadoption,takingitseriously.Whenonefindsan opportunity,onedesirestotakeit.Thinkingofthepossibilityofanaspirationyoucanbecome verydeterminedtotakethechance,sowewentbacktotheadoptioncenterassoonaswecould toreceivetheadoptionpapersandadditionalinformation.Thecenterwasgettingreadytopack upandleave,thedogswereinthevansandreadytobetransportedbacktotheirshelter.Justas thecenterwaspackingup,weaskedforthepuppy,(whowaspreviouslynamedGamora)and toldtheshelterwewereinterestedinadoption.Thenextday,thepaperswesigned,andthe centertoldusthattheyhadacceptedthepapersandallowedustoadoptourpuppy,Juno.

NotonlydoIthinkthatthiswasanactofdestiny,becauseoftherarecircumstancein whichthiswastakenplacein,butIalsothinkthatthisexperiencebroughtloveandnurtureto societythroughouractofadoption.Ithinkadoptionhasalottodowithshowingcareinsociety throughtheactofkindness.Justlike All About Love bybellhooks,adoptionissomethingthat emphasizesloveforothers.Italsoshowsthatifyoudemonstratecareforothersenoughyou mightbeabletodestineyourselftowhatyouwant.Ifyouarereadytoacceptthepetasapartof yourlife,apartofyourfamily,andyouknowyoucantakeonthatresponsibility,maybeifyou desireitsomuchyoucanmakeithappen.

PaintingbyRaeganMuttart

PaintingbyMayaStaunton(dog),DrawingbyGiannaGammarati(pattern)

DrawingbyEllaGuarino 29

PhotographybyMichaelFarrell

DrawingbyLilyDeSpirito