F
F Frontline Magazine Volume I, Issue III frontline.themsss.com
Official publication of the McMaster Social Sciences Society
cover photo: Stephanie Lau Editors Medina Abdelkader Rohan Nair Photography Editor Stephanie Lau
Contributors Gabriel Chung, Alyssa Comfort, Wendy Cui, Nick Kellner, Mary Koziol
words from MSSS PRESIDENT AMBER DUBOIS Hey Soc Sci! Given that I know that this is most likely the very last time I will address you as President in Frontline Magazine, I am overwhelmed with many bittersweet sentiments. I have spent four years dedicating myself to Social Sciences sudents through a variety of different ways, but mostly through the various roles I have fi lled in the McMaster Social Sciences Society. I find it all too fitting that this issue of Frontline Magazine is fi lled with short stories as I feel that we all have our own interesting anecdotes to tell of the experiences we have during our time at McMaster University. Whether it is witnessing a hilarious prank on campus, barely surviving the pressures we face as students, or catching up with a friend over coffee - we will all be able to look back at our time here and reflect on something that has helped to shape us into the people we are today. While my short story here within the Social Sciences may be ending due to my looming Spring convocation, it is merely the end of a chapter in a much bigger volume for what is to come in this faculty. I will be leaving you in the very capable hands of my successor, Mr. Francis Jun, who has
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DISCLAIMER: the opinions expressed by authors in this publication do not represent the views of Frontline Magazine or the McMaster Social Sciences Society, nor are they affiliated with the Faculty of Social Sciences or McMaster University. Opinions expressed in this publication are those of their respective authors.
FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 2
proven or be an amazing asset to this year’s MSSS executive team and will continue to do so for 2011‐2012, armed with his brand new group of exec who are raring to go. I am so very excited for Soc Sci next year, having seen the momentum we have been able to build over the last four years and know that we will continue to be known on campus for our amazing events, our sense of community and faculty spirit and our genuine concern for students’ interests and concerns throughout their undergraduate degrees. With that, I bid you all adieu and can only merely try to convey what a wonderful experience I have had and how thankful I am for all that Social Sciences has given me. To my fellow peers who are graduating... good luck in any and all of your endeavours. And to my fellow Soc Sci’s who are sticking around for a bit - just know that the last couple of years go by the quickest so make the most of it while you can. Mama SocSci will miss you and best of luck on your finals! Sincerely, Amber Dubois President McMaster Social Sciences Society
contents
MSSS EVENTS & UPDATES
4
MISS RIVER
5
Nick Kellner
MY BABY’S TRAPPED IN NEW ORLEANS
Nick Kellner
6
ON EDGE Mary Koziol
7
THREE BAGS FULL Gabriel Chung
8-9
YOU DRIVE ME BATTY Wendy Cui
10-11
HEALING Alyssa Comfort
12-13
LOST ANGELS Nick Kellner
14
LESSONS LEARNED Medina Abdelkader
15
FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 3
MSSS EVENTS & UPDATES
The McMaster Social Sciences Society is here to keep you entertained, act as a support system and provide valuable opportunities.
Constitutional Updates Earlier this term, the MSSS Executive reviewed the Society’s Constitution extensively and proposed several amendments. On February 12, 2011, the Executive officially approved the updates to the Constitution with a unanimous vote. Some of the changes are minor, such as grammar and rephrasing lines to make them clearer. Others are more substantial and greatly influences how the MSSS will run next year. Major amendments include: 1) The position of Clubs Administrator has been dissolved and the responsibilities have been reallocated to the Vice-President (Academic) and Vice-President (Finance). 2) The position of Director of Ads & Promo has been renamed Advertising Coordinator and is now a hired position. 3) Social Sciences Welcome Week Reps have been rebranded as Blu Cru and will now be a year-long initiative that also amalgamates the responsibilities of the Spirit Leader, Welcome Week Planners, and Year Reps. 4) A section has been added to outline the Social Sciences General Assembly, which will be organized and held annually starting this year. The revised Constitution has been uploaded and available for viewing on the MSSS website at http://themsss.com/about/society-documents/. If you have any questions about the Constitution, please contact the MSSS Exec at society@themsss.com
MSSS President Election 2011 results Congratulations to Francis Jun for his election as MSSS President-Elect 2011/2012! The election was held on February 10, 2011 and was conducted through a preferential ballot system, of which he won by a tally of 66% in the first round. Francis is currently in his fourth year, double majoring in Political Science and Economics. He has been greatly involved in the McMaster community, including being a Residence, Maroons and Social Sciences Rep, as well as being a part of the Social Sciences SRA Caucus. Serving as the MSSS VP Finance in the current school year Francis has played a large role in restructuring the way the MSSS provides funding for the departmental clubs. Francis is excited for the role of President and having the opportunity to continue representing Social Sciences students next year!
The MSSS is hiring! A number of staff positions will be hired in late March/early April. Applications and job descriptions will be posted on the MSSS website as they become available, so make sure to check them out!
The Blu Cru As part of the Constitutional amendments, Social Sciences Welcome Week Reps have been rebranded as Blu Cru. This involves some structural changes and redefines what it means to be a rep for Social Sciences, but everything that has been put forward will only increase the spirit of Social Sciences students! For example, the tasks and responsibilities of Blu Cru members won’t end with Welcome Week…there will be Blu Cru-specific events and more opportunities to be involved all-year long! For more information check out the MSSS website!
FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 4
the
MSSS
(McMaster Social Sciences Society)
about
The McMaster Social Sciences Society was formed in 1988 as a representative body for Undergraduate students from the Faculty of Social Sciences. The Society aims to represent students to the Faculty administration, as well as running Social Sciences Welcome Week and other social events during the year.
contact
You can reach us by email at society@themsss.com Come visit us at our office in Commons Building, Room B104/ A. Our office hours are from 10:30am to 4:30pm. Our phone number is 905-525-9140 ext. 24894
this publication
Is printed quarterly (for the most part) and is available online at frontline.themsss.com.
MISS RIVER NICK KELLNER There are spirits in this river, they move slow through the mud, get snagged on the logs. Lift a rock to hear them speak. Clanging like rain in a bucket. Near the ancient shore ruins I listen to the tongue of a black boot hanging on a fishing wire. The sand here is like ash, crispy and dark and tasting of coal dust. The fish dance along the surface when the spirits play in the reeds. How deep it goes I’ll never know, and I can’t see the other side. Light as a shadow I slip under, cool as a cellar. Soaping my limbs in the Mississippi medicine while the darkness comes rolling in.
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MY BABY’S TRAPPED IN NEW ORLEANS NICK KELLNER my baby’s trapped in New Orleans she ain’t got no way to get home I tried to mail her a letter tried to call her on the phone my baby’s trapped in New Orleans and I ain’t seen her for a year she went out to visit relatives and then she disappeared my baby’s trapped in New Orleans I dream about her at night when the moon is just a sliver and my hands are a trembling fright my baby’s trapped in New Orleans and above me someone cries and below me someone climbs the stairs and beside me someone sighs my baby’s trapped in New Orleans so I decide not to shave and from out on the pavement drifts a cat-call serenade my baby’s trapped in New Orleans and I feel I need a fix so I take the record player needle and let Coltrane sooth my itch my baby’s trapped in New Orleans I sleep all day long I’m a vampire sucking on whisky bottles I’m a mistral without a song my baby’s trapped in New Orleans there’s a racket in my brain and I ain’t seen the sunlight since the day she caught that train my baby’s trapped in New Orleans she ain’t never coming home she’s gone into the rising sun and I am left moooooaaan left to mooooaaan and groooaaan, alone.
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ON EDGE MARY KOZIOL
Standing on the bring, fighting with both my feet and head - to not lose my grip... Hustling. Swaying. People, the size of ants flit in and out of buildings A bird's eye view, a labyrinth of home, businesses, roads... Constant movement. Endless activity. The sun traces an arc in the iridescent sky. Cars glitter like beetles, lined up in traffic. Hot rays beating off their hoods. Thick cords of smoke unfurl in the polluted air Slithering and snaking around each other Escaping industry's bowels. I hear the wisps of: Honks, shouts, dogs barking. Their harshess softened by distance... They tickle at my ear A sharp wind cuts through the smoggy heat. Rocks me Revives me Alerts me I stumble. Death sniffs at my heals.
FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 7
THREE BAGS FULL GABRIEL CHUNG Mr. Edsel was ready. He shifted his weight in preparation− his chair, which was far too small, gave a squeak of protest for the hundredth time that day. In his head, he could already hear the applause.
Non Verba, shimmered in the light. Action not words.
The air in the gilded cylindrical hall was uncomfortably warm. Sweat−not from nervousness but from the heat− decorated his forehead. He could feel the stares from behind half a dozen horn-rimmed glasses, looking for the crack in his armor. But there was none. With a wave of his pudgy hand, he brushed aside the scrutiny, and began to speak.
“For the past decade, our country has recruited the best engineers, scientists, psychologists, and thinkers from around the world to formulate an answer to the most urgent global issues.” Everyone leaned forward to catch a better glimpse of the amorphous silhouette framed against the dark opening. “We spared no expenses. State-ofthe-art technology and the most sophisticated engineering, brought together by ten years of intensive research into the most pressing predicaments plaguing our society and the human psyche, has yielded what we are proud to call, The SOLUTION.”
“My fellow visionaries, our world faces a grave and serious dilemma.” The audience nodded in agreement. “In the modern era, we have been presented with both growth of unparalleled celerity and calamity of irreparable consequences.” The politician paused to gauge the reactions. To his right, Mr. Landais had an approving grin stretched across his grey, spotted face. Bushy white-yellow hair fell like curtains on both sides over his ears. To his left, Ms. Hu held her head at a slight angle, neck outstretched to reveal an expanse of powder-white skin. She pursed her blood red lips, spindly fingers stroking the gold earring that drooped from her ear. He continued, “Two thirds of the world’s population hangs from a precipice, supported by a string of humanity which is constantly being gnawed away by a generation of inaction and indifference. As the decision-makers of the world, we must take up arms. We must fight for a better tomorrow!” The nodding became murmurs of accord. He turned his attention to the digital display at the back of the room. Eleven forty-five. Not even noon yet, and he was about to have his fifteen minutes. “Today is going to be a good day,” he thought to himself. A man across the table stood up and the applause died down. “Ah, our young friend from the other side of the world.” Mr. Edsel quipped. Quiet laughter trickled through the crowd. “But Mr. Edsel, I fail to see an intuitive answer. What is your proposition?” the man asked. His eyes were bright with a mixture of eagerness and concern. “My boy.” Again, laughter. “The answer is simple!” Mr. Edsel pointed a grub-like finger in the air. A polished gold band, inscribed Acta
The lights dimmed. On the floor, a circular door gave way to smoke and shadows.
The room swelled with anticipation. Quizzical looks were exchanged− from Mr. Altai to Ms. Hu, to Ms. Biellese, to Mr. Katahdin, to Mr. Orkney, to Mr. Landais, to Mr. Leineschaf, and back to Mr. Edsel, who smiled and gestured to the centre of the room. An anthropomorphic steam-punk creature about four-feet tall emerged from the veils of smoke. “C’est magnifique,” mused Mr. Landais, twirling his moustache. The creature was entirely white save for two black foot-pieces which resembled patent loafers. “What on earth is it?” Mr. Orkney asked as he squinted and adjusted his glasses. A low hum emitted from the mass of bolts and plates; a mosaic of whirling gears snaked around its neck and down its front like a tie. “This, my colleagues, is the answer to all our problems.” Mr. Edsel repeated, “The product of ten year’s work, the Semi-automatic Oniochalasiatic Lithium-powered Ultimate Titanium Indestructible Oppression Negater.” Pause. The brief moment of silence was interrupted as the room erupted with bleats of “What exactly is it?” and “What does it do?” Mr. Edsel lifted his hands in an assuring gesture. “As you know, our world faces a plethora of interrelated adverse circumstances. Researchers found that the reason these circumstances are unfavorable, is because they cause suffering. On the other hand, happiness is the only thing people desire for its own sake. People seek health, security, and prosperity in order to be happy, but the quest for happiness itself is the purest and most appropriate pursuit. In other FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 8
words, the provision of happiness is the most efficacious cure to the oppression of suffering.” The group sat beady-eyed, pondering what had just been said. “This little miracle is programmed to scan its user to determine his or her current emotional state using the latest facial-recognition and body-language-interpretation technology.” Mr. Edsel motioned towards the blinking light that glowed a faint blue at the centre of the creature’s cubic head. “Once it has processed this information, using a complex preprogrammed algorithm, it will calculate the most appropriate course of action. All models have the capability to speak over five hundred different languages. They are able to achieve 93.5% human interaction capacity and can store up to 99.9 terabytes of memory. We have even programmed them with the ability to sing and dance.” On cue, the robot began to swing its limbs to the silent music. Several chortled. Around the room, the skepticism was quickly melting under the heat of Mr. Edsel’s enthusiasm. “But Mr. Edsel,” The presenter cast a stern glance across the room at the young man who was speaking, “how is an expensive robot going to alleviate suffering? You mentioned that the criterion for an adverse global issue is the causation of suffering. But conversely, aren’t these issues the root of the suffering? Issues such as overpopulation, or poverty, or maybe the lack of global access to education…” Mr. Edsel smiled. “Your zeal is inspiring, really. Now I will use the decade of research conducted by our extremely qualified scientists, psychologists, and thinkers to address these specific concerns. What is the world population right now? Ten, eleven billion? In an ideal world, we would keep the population at its current level. These heterosexuals reproduce like rabbits; they’re slowly taking over. If you aren’t using some sort of freak cloning technology and you aren’t heterosexual, you won’t have overpopulation, probably. We have to take care of the people now, before bringing in more.” “So what about poverty? Providing sustenance and education to third-world countries? As you said, taking care of the people now?” “People don’t want schools or housing. They want happiness. That is their pursuit, and the only one that matters. What I compare education to is swimming with the sharks. Sooner or
later, you’re going to get bitten by harsh reality, and nobody wants that. Funding for aid towards the less fortunate should be funneled into practical plans of action. Plans that work and have the approval of extremely qualified scientists, psychologists, and thinkers, like The SOLUTION here.” The robot bounced toward Mr. Edsel and scanned his face. Producing a small white handkerchief from its mouth, it proceeded to wipe the beads of perspiration from his face. “And what about disease? AIDS, malaria, influenza! How will a stupid robot fix these problems?” The man heaved, his face red with frustration. “This thing only weaves an illusion of happiness. A dream that distracts from the real issues at hand. Nothing is being solved!” “Don’t be silly. As I have tried to explain, all the problems of the world can be summed up as a lack of happiness. That’s why this is the perfect solution!” “But Mr. Edsel−” the man was interrupted by the mechanical creature that had moved in front of him. A sparkling blue line pulsed down his face, followed by some electrical crackling. Then, the creature spoke, its voice surprisingly melodic, “The truth is irrelevant when a dream is the same. Reality is irrelevant when the sensations are authentic.” The man stood in silence; the creature’s words, so lofty yet fragile, soothed him against his will. Slowly, he sat back down. “I’m glad we finally agree, Mr. Cheviot.” Surveying the room, the older man’s gaze was met with half a dozen faces painted with quiet endorsement. Mr. Leinschaf gesticulated with his fat sausage of a thumb. The digital clock flashed as it became noon. “Now for the next step−” The room trembled. Then everything faded to black− the only source of light came from the red sparks that danced across the small circular skylight. Outside, fire and brimstone assaulted the building; pillars collapsed and flames crept down the walls towards the group. Part of the ceiling came loose and crushed Mr. Katahdin while a hanging beam swung from its seat and pinned Mr. Edsel to the ground. The ring popped from his bloody finger and rolled into a newly opened crack on the floor.
Read the rest of this story online at http://frontline.themsss.com FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 9
YOU DRIVE ME BATTY WENDY CUI ‘If you don’t come down right now I’m going to pick one and watch it without you!’
ter’s hands and jabbed the ‘on’ button of the television.
Alice waited. From far above in the house she heard her sister thundering down the stairs, and then Betty’s feet, legs, and everything else appeared as she walked leisurely down the steps to the basement. Her left hand was splayed out in front of her, the fingernails glistening and bright red.
Betty turned the lights off until the room was lit only by the artificial glow emanating from the TV. It cast large, shifting shadows on the things lumped in the basement – suddenly their brother’s drum set, the extra mattress, the rack of bikes in one corner – all of it seemed stranger and more sinister. Despite herself, Alice moved closer to her sister and pulled a blanket over her knees.
‘Do you like them?’ ‘Mom’s going to be mad when she sees.’ Betty rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll say I had it done at the sleepover.’ Alice shrugged. ‘Fine. Let’s just pick something.’ They knelt to examine the movie discs stacked on the shelf. ‘Oh, this one’s good.’ The movie Betty held up showed a young man in a suit wielding a large knife. The title read American Psycho. ‘I don’t want to see a scary movie.’ ‘It’s not even that scary, trust me. When are you going to stop being such a baby?’ Betty rolled her eyes again for added emphasis. ‘Stop acting like you know everything! If you want to watch it so badly, then be my guest.’ Alice snatched the disc from her sis-
There is a good reason this movie is rated R, Alice thought, as the psychotic main character murdered one person after another, seemingly whenever it struck his fancy. She had never seen so much blood. How much blood, she wondered, shivering, was there in a tenyear old girl? ‘Hey. Do you hear that?’ she whispered. Betty stirred, eyes still fixed on the screen. ‘Hear what?’ ‘That squeaking noise. It’s not coming from the TV. Listen.’ There was a sharp squeak from somewhere above their heads. Betty was the first to see the dark shape fluttering at the corner of the ceiling. ‘I think it’s a bird,’ said Betty slowly. ‘Birds don’t make that noise! That thing isn’t FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 10
any kind of bird.’ ‘You’re right,’ she breathed. ‘I think it’s a bat!’ The shadowy creature, whatever it was, moved in a disjointed, angular way that sent a shudder of terror down Alice’s back. Didn’t bats suck human blood? And worse, didn’t they carry disease and pestilence, as her mother had once said? She thought she could see its sharp little teeth gleaming from its grinning mouth. ‘How did it get in?’ Betty’s face had become pale in the neon glow of the TV. ‘I don’t know. There must be a hole or a vent or something – let’s get a broom and get it out of the house.’ ‘I’m not going near that thing!’ said Alice fiercely, rising from the couch. ‘Let’s just shut it in the basement and wait for Mommy and Daddy to come home.’ Betty looked scornful. ‘Honestly, you’re such a baby –’ ‘Stop saying that! I’m sick and tired of hearing you say that!’ shouted Alice. She jumped up. At that moment the bat swooped down from the ceiling and flapped in their direction. They both screamed; whoever was being murdered in American Psycho screamed. Alice ran up the stairs without looking back, her heartbeat pounding in her chest, slammed the door to the basement
hard, and locked it. It was bright and clean and warm in the kitchen, and she sank into her chair at its familiar place at the table before she realized that she had left her sister behind. ‘Betty?’ she called through the wooden door. ‘Open the door.’ Her sister’s voice sounded distant, as if she had not moved from where she sat. ‘Where is it?’ ‘It’s on the staircase, but never mind that – just let me out. It’s kind of creepy down here.’ ‘If it’s on the staircase –’ Alice bit her lip. ‘It’ll get out if I open it. I’m going to wait for it to move away.’ ‘Come on, Alice. Who knows when that will happen. You’re being patently ridiculous.’ At the familiar mixture of contempt and mocking in Betty’s voice, all the anger she had felt towards her rushed back into her chest. ‘But since you’re so brave why don’t you just deal with it!’ she snapped. Just deal with it was one of her sister’s favourite lines. Once at dinner she had said it so many times that their mother sent her to her room. She watched the wall clock, pink and yellow, purchased at Disneyland for her sixth birth-
day. The silence lasted close to ten seconds. ‘What are you afraid of, anyways?’ came Betty’s voice at last. ‘It’s just an animal. It won’t harm you if you don’t threaten it. It’s not even moving right now.’ ‘What if it has rabies? If it bites you, you’re a goner.’ Betty sounded furious. ‘So you’re just going to leave me in the same room with it? Gee, you’re a great sister. Thanks a bunch!’ ‘Go hide in the closet or something,’ she replied harshly. ‘It’s your own fault for always acting like you’re better than me.’ ‘What? I don’t do that. You’re just so touchy these days. I literally can’t say anything without offending you.’ ‘That’s why you didn’t invite me to the sleepover, right? Because I’m too touchy for you and your awesome friends?’ ‘You said you didn’t want to go!’ ‘I only said that because I know you didn’t want me to go. I can totally tell when you’re being fake!’ ‘I’m sorry that I have other friends,’ said Betty sarcastically. ‘Maybe it’s because I’m tired of always being judged.’ ‘Who’s judging?’ Alice snarled. ‘Nobody cares FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 11
what you do.’ She kicked the door. There was silence, a quiet that stretched to a minute, then two minutes. It was so oppressive that she began to be afraid that something had happened to her sister, and that maybe she was lying on the floor, fainted or unconscious (could rabies do that?) and had not even had time to call out for help. ‘Betty?’ ‘It’s gone.’ Her sister’s voice sounded much closer. ‘Really?’ ‘Yeah. You scared it off when you punched the door.’ ‘I didn’t punch – whatever. Just come out in three... two... one...’ She opened the door. There, clinging to the back, was the hideous black shape, only inches away from her face. Every detail of its furry dark body and its scaly wings was perfectly clear. It rustled its wings with a dry, leathery sound. Alice stepped back, too shocked to make a sound, and saw Betty laughing at the foot of the stairs. She stumbled for her room, and then remembered who she shared it with. ‘I hate you! I hate you!’
HEALING ALYSSA COMFORT
After it happened, I couldn’t speak. The IV bag that hung near my bed brought a sweet relief from the searing pain in my arms, and slowed my thoughts. Mostly I slept. When I tried to speak to my father, my lips and tongue were too heavy to move. It felt like a decade of semiconsciousness, although my aunt told me later it was only a couple weeks. By the time the deep gashes that ran from my wrists to my collarbone had begun to heal, my speech seemed clumsy and loud. The night they moved me from the ICU to the children’s ward, I woke up to find my mother standing in front of my bed. I rubbed my eyes on my shoulder, arms weighed down by heavy casts. The pain in my arms told me this wasn’t a dream. “Mama?” The words stumbled from my mouth, “Is that you?” She came around to the side of the bed. I saw she was wearing her nicest warm coat, and carrying a suitcase. She was crying. “Mama? What’s happening?” I thought about my brother and sister. James was in the ICU room beside me before I moved. I hadn’t been well enough to see him then. Even now I wasn’t allowed to visit Liz, and she was on the same floor. My mother reached her hand toward my face, but pulled it back suddenly and sat down. “My babies,” she whispered, and broke into sobs. “They’re gone.” That’s how I found out that James had passed away. I already knew about Sarah. When Andrew dragged me out of the water I saw her lying on the beach, blue lips a stark contrast to cold, white
skin. Blood poured down Liz’ face from a deep cut on her head; it smeared across Sarah’s cheek as Liz clutched her tightly, screaming. The paramedics ran across the beach, but they were too late. Sarah’s head lolled to the side, her chest horrifyingly still against Liz. My baby sister’s lifeless eyes stared right at me. I screamed and everything went black. After she told me about James, my mother kissed my forehead and told me she had to go home, to England. The rest of our conversation was lost in my memory. I woke up early the next morning and my lungs ached as though I had been crying. In the following days, I started to feel stronger. The deep cuts on my arms closed; the smallest ones already turning into thick, raised scars. I was allowed to eat solid food and walk around the room. I asked my father when I could go home but he always avoided the question. He was devastated that my mother had left us. One morning my aunt was there. She told me that I was going to join her family for a while… in England. At first, I imagined my mother had sent for me. She wanted me to come live with her! But my aunt quickly explained that my mother would be living with her parents in another town. They didn’t know I was coming. In fact, she explained, they had cut off all communication with this part of the family. My silence was broken completely. I cried, begging to stay in Maine. I pulled at my father’s arm and clutched his leg, ripping open the stitches in my shoulder and getting blood all over his jeans. He picked me up and sat me on the bed. FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 12
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I blubbered, “I didn’t mean to do it, please don’t send me away, please let me stay.” Looking up at him through blurred eyes, I thought for a moment that he would give in, but then his face hardened. “No. Be a good girl now. Your aunt is going to take good care of you…better than I can right now.” After the doctor had re-sewn my shoulder, Aunt Laurie took my hand and my father handed her a suitcase full of my clothes and toys. We took a cab to the airport. Three hours later I was on a plane flying across the ocean. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Liz and Andrew; I guess my father thought it would be easier that way. England was much more crowded than our tiny town by the ocean. There were people and cars everywhere, and the air felt heavy. My siblings and I had always laughed at my cousins’ accents when they came to visit, but now my voice was out of place. They put me in school that fall but I didn’t make many friends. I was the weird American who always wore the same three outfits, those that my father packed me. My aunt offered to buy me new clothes, but I refused. I sat in class and ignored the teacher, waiting for my father to call and say I could come home. I imagined my mother showing up at my aunt’s house and seeing me. She would laugh and cry and hug me, and bring me home to America. One afternoon at lunch, I was sitting in the schoolyard and I thought I saw my mother walk by. I put down my sandwich and ran across the yard onto the road. She turned the corner and disappeared down into the metro. Gasping for air, I ran down the steps after her, catching up at the turnstile. It was her!
“Mama!” I shouted, pulling at her coat, “Mama, it’s me, Anna!” She turned around. I smiled and reached out my arms to hug her, but she stumbled backward. Her face was chalk white, her eyes wild. “What?” She cried, her hands grasping chunks of her hair. “What are you doing here?” My eyes filled up with tears. I tried to get closer. “It’s just me, it’s Anna!” “I killed you,” she sobbed, backing away into the crowd, “You’re dead! You’re dead!” I fell to the ground shaking. My lungs burned like they had that morning in the hospital, the night after she left. I gasped for air, and finally, I remembered. My mother kissed my forehead and told me she was going home. “I should never have come here,” she said, “I should have stayed in England and finished school. I never wanted kids, you know.” She seemed to be talking to the air in front of me. “Five kids was too many. I could never take care of you all. This is my punishment. That’s why they died.” My stomach hurt and inside my cast, my palms were sweaty. I wanted to call the nurse. “Mama, what are you talking about?” “It’s okay baby.” She had a strange look on her face, “I’ll make things right. Here, let your mama fix your bed.” I leaned forward obediently while she tucked in the sheet behind me and watched as she changed my pillow case. She offered the pillow
to me and I reached out to grab it, but then the pillow was pressing against my face, covering my mouth and nose. I screamed but no sound came out. I could hear her saying sorry, sorry, it has to be this way, I’m so sorry, and I tried to push her away but I could only feebly bump her hands. My eyes were closing on their own, and the last thing I felt was the pillow being lifted off my face and a kiss on my forehead.
Aunt Laurie and I went shopping. I bought clothes that fit properly and a new pair of shoes. Every year we made a tradition to package up my old clothes for charity and buy new clothes. A cleansing process. I became a part of the family. My cousins were my new siblings. My aunt was my new mother. I thought of my life before eight as a blurry nightmare that I should try to forget.
I woke up on the ground of the subway. I could hear people yelling around me, and all of a sudden I was being picked up. A burly policeman set me upright and looked me in the eye.
In the end, forgetting proved to be impossible. When I was seventeen I met Josh, who wasn’t afraid of my scars. He kissed the angry, raised signature the rocks had left on my arms and told me that he loved me. I followed him back to New York for school. He wanted to be an artist and I wanted to study journalism. That’s when the nightmares and the flashbacks began. I couldn’t close my eyes without remembering clinging to those rocks, thinking that everyone else had drowned. Feeling Andrew pry me away. Seeing Sarah’s dead body on the beach. I realized that memories like ours can’t just be thrown into a drawer and locked away forever. We needed each other to put the pieces back together.
“You okay Ms.?” I thought about it, and nodded. “I want to go home.” He took me back to my aunt’s house. When she opened the door I threw myself into her arms. She was surprised, but she hugged me back, smoothing my hair and thanking the police officer. “Sweetheart, what happened? The school called me when you didn’t come back after lunch. Where did you go?” “I was lost.” I repeated, until she stopped asking. It was easy to forget any hopes about my mother after that. She never wanted me in the first place. And while I knew she never really loved us, in her own horrible way she was trying to help me that night. I would never see her again. As the year went by, I realized that my father wasn’t going to bring me home either. I had been edited out of the family, just like James and Sarah. In some ways it was a relief to stop waiting for his phone call. FRONTLINE MAGAZINE • 13
I got Liz’s email address from my father’s parents, pretending to be an old friend. As I hit the send button on my message, I crossed my fingers that she would answer. Two weeks later, I got the response I wanted. We made plans to meet for coffee. For the first time in years I felt good about the prospect of seeing my lost family. We had been torn apart that day; finally we were coming back together. It would take a long time to mend the tear, if it was possible at all. But at least it was a start.
LOST ANGELS NICK KELLNER Once a dusty desert lot, (I could have bought it for a poem) now the earth is rich and red, full of burning young angels. A new one born yearly. Nothing grows old, it becomes lost long before that. Death is for others, not yet for you. Do not weep at your own empty casket. Do not look at the lost angels, swaggering stubbornly, with the smell of success on their breath, vines still weaved in their hair, speaking with a hint of religious bitterness. Waking heavily each morning and sleeping lightly every night. Watching, disappointed, from spires and crests and archways. Look angel, no promises were made in Heaven, there’s not room for everyone here. Burrow a hole in the Hollywood hills and watch the screen show with your lights off and your airways open.
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LESSONS LEARNED MEDINA ABDELKADER Oh siphon, leader. A firey passion Will find more meaning in a hot blaze than in cold creek. Oh ready, swimmer. To succeed over this current will feel less brave with simple strokes and easy winters. Oh harbour, feelings. For satiety is no friend of impatient hints and humble gestures a-plenty. Oh hush, recipe. You may have found a sure thing but you are nothing but simple chemistry. Oh quiet, lovers? Filthy, bickering mouths can only so long leave room for clumsy breath and hasty hands. Oh hanker, engine. You are a bustling crank in the virtues of a machine made of men.
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