Parallax 2019 by Parallax-Online

PARALLAX 2019 Editor-in-Chief: Delany Burk Junior Editor: Ryan French Poetry Editor: Priyanka Sebeni Fiction Editor: Kalista Puhnaty Dramatic Writing Editor: Leo Yang Nonfiction Editor: Cheon “Alan” Lee Editorial Staff: Rome Smaoui Visual Art Editor: Linda Lucia Santana Layout and Design: Omar Razo Creative Writing Department Faculty: Kim Henderson (Chair), Caylin Capra-Thomas, Abbie Bosworth, Billy Wallace Visual Art Department Faculty: David Reid-Marr (Chair), Chris Groth, Jasmine Peck, Shaunna Lehr, Linda Lucia Santana, Kyle Thomas, Melissa Wilson, Rachel Welch, Cristie Scott Parallax Award Guest Judge: Kelly Luce Idyllwild Arts President/Head of School: Pamela Jordan Idyllwild Arts Academy 52500 Temecula Drive P.O. Box 38 Idyllwild, CA 92549 (951) 659-2171 Parallax Online: www.parallax-online.com Copyright 2019 Idyllwild Arts Foundation All rights reserved. No work is to be reprinted without the written consent of the author and the Idyllwild Arts Foundation.

CO NT E N T S parallax 2019

CREATIVE 8

Watermelon Birthday | Rome Smaoui (Winner of the Parallax Award)

Displacement | Yujia Li

Be Aware of Unidentified | De Zhen “Jeremy” Xu

Libra, An Excuse | Kalista Puhnaty

The Forest | Becky Wohlforth

Vitiligo | Priyanka Sebeni

Nails And Wood | De Zhen “Jeremy” Xu

I Think I Have Monachopsis Because | An Lin Hunt-Babcock

The Mindless Diary of Edmund Roy | Delany Burk

Paradise Lost | Veronica I Faulks

DNA | SooYeon Kim

I’M COMING HOME, AND IT’S NOT BECAUSE i love you. | Rome Smaoui

That Thing That Goes Bump in the Night | Cheon “Alan” Lee

Enlightenment | BaS

Our Poplar | Ryan French

Rewind | Woohyung “Garfield” Jung & Yujia “Yuga” Li (collaboration)

Burned Tree | BaS

Kyung-Bok Palace | SooYeon Kim

No Good Deed | Bailey Bujnosek

Broken | Liia Suprunenko

情 “Qing” | Yujia Li

Satiation | Priyanka Sebeni

Lost | Woohyung “Garfield” Jung

Midnight Moves | Emilia Acevedo

Death | Jiwon “Lily” Nam

Fernweh | Veronica I Faulks

Loving poem | Delany Burk

Creatures | Lea Bronnimann

ART

WRITING

Lovely Poem | Delany Burk

Tobak | Becky Wohlforth

Love Poem | Delany Burk

Pirate Ship | Haveson

Male Consumption | Sharon Lin White Rodríguez

Good Morning! | Kalista Puhnaty

방 (Room) | Woohyung “Garfield” Jung

Poem with Grass Stains | Gabriella Wackford-Muñoz

Poem with Mud Stains | Gabriella Wackford-Muñoz

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Poem with Blood Stains | Gabriella Wackford-Muñoz

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Ascending Front | Rose Reiner

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Elizabeth Lives in Fabletown | Bella Koschalk

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Unidentified | Lea Bronnimann

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Eavesdropping on Narcissus | Nicholas Mammen (Winner of the Non-Major Contest)

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Narcissist | Jiwon “Lily” Nam

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cybergirl | Kalista Puhnaty

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3 AM | Haveson

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Amtrak Adventure | Bella Koschalk

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Neon Bay | Lea Bronnimann

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Creative Writing About Page

116

Visual Art About Page

VISUAL

Watermelon Birthday Rome Smaoui

Winner of the Parallax Award

My seventh birthday; an unforgivable, unforgettable birthday. The last birthday I celebrated. That day, Mama took my fingers in her hands and said, “Moon. We’re going to Mami’s house. We’re going to have a big cake for your birthday.” I giggled and leapt in the air, feet barely touching the ground when I landed. My hair bounced with me. My heart bounced with me. It was only me then. Only Moon. I put on my best dress. A little wrinkled, a little too small. Red like a ripe cherry. I was a cherry that day: the cherry on top. Mama wore her hair up, out of her face, away from her blue eyes. She did her makeup, she put on her fancy slippers, she wore her pearl earrings and a long sapphire dress. She walked up straight. Didn’t smoke a single cigarette. I was born into Mama’s dark world, and she kept it dark. She said, “I named you Moon because I needed a light.” I felt proud of that title, proud to be the light in her life. Sometimes I wanted to ask her, What’s wrong with the moon outside? But the words never made it out of my mouth. Before we left the apartment, she interlaced our fingers and smiled. My heart was butter, my eyes were wet, but I didn’t cry. Her smile was painted the warmest shade of pink, not the usual smudged beetroot red. This isn’t my mama, but I’d like to keep her. We got in a taxi because Mama’s hand-me-down 2010 Beetle had broken down two days before, and we didn’t have the money to repair it. I saw the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. They flirted with mama’s slim body. Her dress was the slightest bit revealing, but she didn’t care. She didn’t look his way or pay him any attention. Her eyes scanned the roads we passed by. She had a gleam on her face, one that I didn’t know. She played with her wedding ring, placed a pink kiss over the small diamond. “Will Dad be there?” I whispered. I had only asked this question three times in my whole life, that being last. She turned to me and smiled the way only a mother could. PARALLAX 2019

“He’s away, but we’ll both see him one day,” she said. I wanted more. “Away? Where? When will we see him?” “Baby, soon, soon. He’s far away—” “How far?” I didn’t stop my tongue from running, even though her face was red and she looked like she was going to cry a storm. “Very far—” “As far as America?” “Baby, no—” “Then where? With Mami? Is he—” I bit my tongue when she squeezed her eyes shut. “Mama?” She didn’t say anything. “Mama. I just want to know where he is!” “GONE! He’s gone. Stop. Just stop, what do you want me to tell you, huh?” She looked like fire trapped inside a glass bottle, with her face the shade of my dress and her eyes glossy like the surface of a rinsed grape. I tucked my bottom lip under my teeth and clutched the car seat. The driver didn’t look at her, he looked at me, satisfied that I was being yelled at. Mama put her face in the palms of her hands as if to calm herself, or maybe to catch her teardrops. “No. No. I’m sorry Moonlight. I promise, Mama loves you, have fun today. I didn’t yell at you, I didn’t hurt you.” I hadn’t accused her of doing anything, maybe she was saying it to herself. When she was done, she rested her hollow cheek on the cool window. Looking out again, missing something, maybe my father, wherever he was, wherever ‘gone’ was. I had forgotten these streets, forgotten the way to Mami’s house. Everything about that day was unfamiliar. Mama isolated us. We were absent in every family gathering. This was a rare day, a blue moon. When we reached Mami’s, I was wrapped in layers of love. Hands were touching me, lips kissing me, fingers playing with my dress. I was the moon in the sky that day. There were tears in Mami’s eyes, she plastered wet kisses on Mama’s cheeks, crying into her hair, smelling it like one would smell the sunshine. Her words came out shaky and quick, scared that Mama might disappear before she could finish her sentence. 9

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DISPLACEMENT Oil on Canvas Yujia Li PARALLAX 2019

“Where were you my darling? How have you been? Oh, you’re so skinny—have you been eating?” “Yes Mami, I’m fine. Three meals a day, I promise.” My mother was all bones and no meat, delicate, she hardly ate. She was lying. Mami didn’t believe her. I didn’t want her to anger Mama, so I looked at Mami desperately. Silently pleaded: please don’t say anything. My cousins, my mother’s sister, my mother’s brothers, they all showered us with questions. I was overwhelmed but every part of me vibrated with energy. This was going to be a play day, a fun day, a sun-over-my-skin day. We were led to the backyard where a little inflatable pool sat in the center of the grass. There was a homemade birthday banner, “HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY MOONY!” I had never seen so much color in my name. My cousins and I stripped down to our underpants. Back then, that was okay. We didn’t have breasts, we didn’t have chest hair. Back then we weren’t boys and girls, there was no telling us apart. We were bare and alienated. We splashed the water out of the pool. When the pool was empty, we took to the hose and spilled more water. We didn’t care. There was no care that day. There was only liquid laughter that echoed down the neighborhood. Mami carried a watermelon, sliced in half with forks and spoons stabbed into its red belly. We spilled out of the small pool at the sight of her, hearts running faster than our feet. She carried the watermelon like a superhero. I could tell she was putting in all the strength her body could muster. Her wrinkled fingers, her hunched back, her grey hair a fountain over her face. She smiled when she saw me light up like the sky. The sun poked holes through the clouds and poured itself over us. The wind still fought against our wet skin. We grabbed at the spoons and forks and scraped the watermelon clean. Within seconds the red fruit was gone, and what was left was a white tub. We filled it up with grapes, we filled it up with apples and dates and cucumbers. This time, we used our hands to grab at the fruits. We were hungry. We were animals. We were noise and energy. This was my birthday cake. “Moon!” My name was silver on every tongue. It hummed between my cousins’ lips, said in voices my ears hardly remembered. 11

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“This is Mia.” My eldest cousin Aya, whom I remember the most, pushed a little girl in front of her. “She was only a baby when you last saw her, do you remember? You remember, don’t you?” Mia tucked herself between her sister’s pudgy legs, hiding her face, hiding her cucumber eyes. I was as unfamiliar to her as she was to me. My other cousins laughed at her shyness and my muddled face. We were relatives, we were filled with the same blood, but I barely knew them. Maybe I did see Mia when she was a baby, but I didn’t remember. I looked her deep in her three-year-old tomato face. She resembled one of those dolls my mother never could afford or didn’t care to buy for me. She ran to her mother, reached for her, reached for safety. She didn’t need to run from anyone else, just me. I turned to Aya, she smiled and told me not to worry, that Mia would get used to me eventually, that they all missed me. When we turned to join the others, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in one of the house windows. Water was dripping from my hair, my damp skin, kissing my sunflower face. This is a picture I never forgot. I was seven. I was gold, pure. I looked at Mama’s reflection in the window. She sat under a parasol, barely touched the fried aubergines on her plate. No glee in her eyes. I wondered what she was doing here, bursting the lively atmosphere with the negative energy she carried around in her pockets. She seemed more like raw meat than anything else. Maybe she was once a seven-year-old, once gold. Here she was ash grey and pale, something that shouldn’t be left under the glorious sun. I looked at Mama and I realized, I’ll never see these people again. It seemed to me then that these people would grow up and go on and I would never know what it was like to be a part of that. Sometimes I picture her under that parasol. I try to unwrap her layers, clammy innocent fingers talking to her skin, taking her apart, figuring out what was wrong with her then. I would have dipped my hands in her blood, I would ask it, What’s wrong? Why did she spill you? Her heart a rotten apple in my palms, I would ask it, Why are you broken? Why do you rattle out of sync? Her lungs in my arms like an unnursed baby, I would ask them, Where can I find the right air to fill you? Why did you suffocate her? I would cry my tears into her mouth; taste me, this is what you left behind. That day I ran around an unchaseable, uncatchable light. I ran with my lungs in my throat, my heart in my feet, my hair trying to keep up with me. I didn’t care. I didn’t have to care. Not for my mother’s blue eyes, not for her sad eyebrows. I should have cared. I should have leapt on top of her, laid myself over her like a blanket, keeping her here. PARALLAX 2019

We popped the balloons, ruined the inflatable pool, found new ways to play. The adults had their adult conversations, talked to my mother but she didn’t talk back. My uncle sprinkled our souls with stories and spices. We sugared, we danced. We gathered around the empty watermelon and they sang to me. My aunt sang the loudest, cheered the loudest, clapped her hands like thunder. I was celebrated. We killed the morning sun, we took the sky and painted it shades of blue, then orange and yellow. Time shed fast. When Mama started rubbing the hairs of her eyebrows, eyes squeezed shut, running her hands through her hair like time was moving slower for her than anyone else, I knew it was time to leave. Mama stood and started saying her goodbyes. Real goodbyes. She hugged her sister extra tight, kissed Mami’s hands, closed her eyes and savoured the moment. She almost started crying but she stood up sharp instead, told me to pack my things and shook off the pained look on her face. I clutched Mami’s skirt and cried for the ground to swallow me up. I wept and ripped my throat, yelled with the all the voice I had within me. “Please Mama!” I struggled, she plucked me from the ground, a helpless flower. The taxi driver honked and yelled a cuss word I wasn’t supposed to hear. I wanted to stay. I knew that if I didn’t, she would never bring me back. I did come back, but she wasn’t the one to bring me. Mami cried, held my mother’s cold hand and begged her to stay the night, “God keep you, my child, please stay Sana, look at Moony, God bless you, darling.” She wept, I wept, my cousins wept, the earth wept, the sky wept, we were all crying, except my mother. “Let me drive you home, Sana,” my uncle begged. She said no, her face a little bitter but only because she was trying really hard not to leap into his arms and never let go. I looked at my cousins, helpless. I kissed them all, twice. I hugged them tight as if to say, don’t let me go. There was no fighting this. I pressed my wet cheek up against the car window, sat as far away from Mama as possible. I tucked my legs to my face and didn’t respond to her gentle fingers. I was burning up, cooking anger. “Why do you always take me away? Why is it only me and you? No one else. No daddy, no Mami, no one.” I choked and whimpered, biting back cold tears. I shrugged her hand away and didn’t look at her until she started crying. She cried and the car shook. She cried and it broke me. I was stubborn. I sat there and watched her. The sight of her scared me, cut me open, unraveled me. 13

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“Moonlight, please. Mama loves you. Don’t be mad at me.” Her voice shook like a leaf, she trembled, repeating, “Don’t be mad at me, please don’t be mad at me,” rocking back and forth. I felt my little face crumble. She was the seven-year-old, I was the mother. She didn’t stop crying when we got out of the taxi. She didn’t stop crying as she unlocked the door. She didn’t stop crying when I slipped my hand into her hand. She cried harder. That day, her mind was elsewhere. She cried more than ever before, she had a look in her eyes that said, Let me go, let me leave. So I let go of her hand. She threw herself on the couch and I ran to my room and cried. That was it. The last breathing image of my mother. The small apartment was silent for hours, only the sound of a tap dripping and the fridge humming. It was older than me and mostly empty, sometimes there was a carton of milk, but I was too scared to drink it. I knew the back of the fridge was warm and I wanted to fold myself over and lean against it. Everything was cold. The floor, the walls, the blankets, the picture frames. It was the way mother wanted it, it was the way we kept it. I wanted warmth. I heard her slip into the shower, turn the water on and knock over bottles of shampoo. I didn’t go to her. I slept in her bed, buried my eyes in her pillow. This was how we fixed things. I would wait for her in her bed and she would wrap me in her sugar scent, fold me inside of her, she would say, “Oh how I wish I could just put you back inside of me and keep you there forever.” She would lift up her shirt and pull it over my little head. My face would press into her breasts and I would laugh and she would giggle. I fell asleep waiting that night. Waiting for her to come and be the Mama I loved. When I woke up, the morning was barely pouring in through the small cracks between the curtains. Barely sun. My hands searched for her in the bed, but she wasn’t there. No sign of waxen skin. No sign of silky hair. I moved quickly, feet on the ground, heart in my head. There was a light, brighter than the ‘barely sun,’ it leaked through the gap from the slightly opened bathroom door. I pushed it with both hands and the rest of the light spilled into the hallway. The shower curtain was drawn shut but I could see Mama’s feet propped up on the edge of the bathtub. My face lit up, I giggled, “Silly mommy.” I hummed, skipping towards the bathtub. “Sleepy mommy.” PARALLAX 2019

I drew the purple shower curtain back, “BOO!” I smiled, but only for a second. My eyes fell to her face: pale, cold, still. She was still wearing her dress from yesterday, hair clipped. The white tub, the red water, I was reminded of my birthday cake, but this was no longer my birthday. What happened yesterday seemed like an eternity ago. I didn’t understand. My eyes swelled and watered and there I stood, no longer gold. “Mama. Wake up.” I poked her face with one finger, it tilted to the other side, “Mama.” no response. “Here comes the tickle monster.” My trembling fingers moved behind Mama’s ears, her tickle spot. She didn’t laugh, she didn’t even move. Everything about her was solid, an object, “Mama stop it. Not funny.” I started making unrecognizable noises, laughter mixed with desperate sobs. I didn’t know this bathtub anymore. I didn’t know this Mama anymore. This wasn’t the same bathtub that Mama filled for me with bubbles and plastic spoons because we couldn’t afford rubber ducks. This wasn’t the bath where she scrubbed me clean and kissed my naked limbs. This wasn’t the bath where she climbed in with me when I was scared an alligator lived in the bath pipes. This wasn’t that bath. This wasn’t my mother who loved me. I fell into the tub, drenched in her blood. “Mama it’s not sleepy time! Not sleepy time!” I pulled at her shirt, she didn’t budge. I fell back, heavy. The smell of iron. The taste of iron. I crawled out of the tub, shaking not because it was cold, but because fear was eating me up, chewing my skin hard. I ran into the kitchen, where the real Mama never cooked, where she used to sit on the floor weeping and polishing her wedding glasses. The real Mama cared about those wedding glasses, she would never leave them. “Mama? Mama where are you?” The fridge hummed, the tap dripped. I opened all the cupboards I could reach. “Mama? Mama, it’s not time for hide and seek, please, Mama!” She wasn’t in the cupboards, she wasn’t in the fridge or in the pantry. I ran to the living room. “Mama, come out. Mama!” Not behind the couch or under the table. I looked in the coat closet. I remembered the time we played hide and seek, I searched in all the places she liked to hide. I pictured her popping her head from the coats and yelling “BOO! I got ya, didn’t I?” But she didn’t say that. She wasn’t there. 15

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I searched and searched, every corner of the house twice. Searched because the mother in that watermelon bathtub wasn’t Mama, couldn’t be Mama. Not the Mama that couldn’t sing but sang to me. Not the Mama that told me that the tooth fairy was real. Not the Mama that I watched place money under my pillow when my teeth fell out. Not the Mama that came to every single one of my school performances even though she hated leaving the house. Not the Mama that kissed, hugged, loved me. My Mama was somewhere, I just had to find her. I ran and dripped and cried and howled. I sat in the hallway and yelled at the walls. My voice wasn’t mine, nothing was mine anymore. I saw that light that pooled from the bathroom. I ran to it, half blinded by my tears and desperate to find her there with her plastic spoons and her bubble kisses. She remained the way I left her. I did the only thing I knew how to do when I was scared; I hugged her. I climbed in there, terrified, red. I closed my eyes and hugged her. My small nose in her locks. I breathed her in, every last drop. I ran my hands in her hair gently, the same way she used to caress mine. I whispered to her, tears dripping from my cheeks and onto her eyelashes. “Cry, please, cry, but don’t leave me.” I squeezed my eyes shut, “Moonlight loves you, not mad at you.” I taped myself to her skin, Moonlight loves you, not mad at you. Nobody heard my coughed-up whispers and rattling sobs, nobody needed to. Moonlight loves you, not mad at you.

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BE AWARE OF UNIDENTIFIED Oil on Canvas De Zhen “Jeremy” Xu 17

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Libra, An Excuse Kalista Puhnaty

Late morning shadows graze the tips of my eyelashes. They make it cold in here and I wonder if you will watch drops of pure unpolluted ocean water on my face freeze into salty young icicles. You look at me through that glass and I wonder if you know more than you say you know. I wonder if you are wondering about me. These wonders will fall off a cliff. What’s your sign? Libra. Libra, iron compass, Libra, lover of justice, Libra, valuer of human respect. Your sounds of understanding mean nothing to me, but I pretend you know me. For you, I will be the new Jenna Marbles screaming I’m a Virgo! every time her OCD kicks in, for you, I will look up through marbled eyes and drag out I’m a Libra. Libra, a mask, Libra, an addiction, Libra, an excuse. I wonder if you know how much I know about you now— it’s probably less than you know about me, but it’s enough—I know that you don’t know shit. I know that you will take my past and wrap it up in a neat little gift box with a ribbon in the shape of a balance, baby, I know.

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THE FOREST Oil on Canvas Becky Wohlforth 19

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Vitiligo

Priyanka Sebeni

My thumb was perpetually wet until I was about ten years old. I would suck it during the day, through the night, and even in the shower. It was sticky and pruny and the cuticles were soft, so I could peel them way back until I could see the bone-white of whatever laid underneath. Whenever Mama caught me with my thumb in my mouth, she would tell me that one day, I would get distracted and sever it off with my teeth. Daddy always told me that eventually I would suck all the color out of it and end up with white thumbs, and soon enough, white hands, and then I would look like the man who bagged our groceries at the supermarket. I couldn’t see what was so wrong with that. The man had birchwood arms and legs, a coal-black face speckled with white, and hands that looked like he had washed them in bleach. I liked him. He was funny. One time we were in supermarket buying milk, and when we got to the register, I asked him if his mommy or daddy was a cow. Mama thumped the back of my head lightly, flushing and apologizing on my behalf. “Apologize to the nice man!” she whisper-shouted. “And keep your thumb out of your mouth!” “Sorry, nice man,” I said, my thumb still in my mouth. The man smiled tentatively and said, “Mooooo.” I started to giggle and next thing I knew, Mama was ushering us out of the store, embarrassed. Later, I sat in the bathtub with Mama crouched over me. While she raked a wooden paddle brush through my hair, I asked her a question. “Mama?” “Yes, honeysuckle?”

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“Does the man at the supermarket have a white daddy and a black mama like me? And did his mama and daddy forget to finish making him, and that’s why his skin didn’t mix properly?” She didn’t respond for a while, skimming her teeth over her plump lips. “Some people are born looking different than the rest of us. I don’t know his mommy or daddy but he probably got his skin from his own body being confused,” she rambled. “It’s like when you were sick last year. You had rashes on parts of your skin and we had to take you to the doctor.…” She kept speaking, but at the time I had about the attention span of a goldfish so my thoughts started to wander. My mind drifted, enhanced by the sharp scent of soap and heat from the bath, and I started to think of that doctor visit. The leather waiting room chairs had smooth vinyl seats that looked wet and felt cold. I remembered looking down at my feet which had blisters and red sores all around the soles and ankles. It hurt to speak, and I didn’t know why Mama and Daddy were yelling at each other. People in the waiting room were staring. I didn’t know whether they were staring at me, or at the spectacle my parents were causing. Obscenities were caustically flying out of Mama’s mouth. “Every time I leave, you act like the fucking babysitter! You’re her goddamned father, for heaven’s sake!” she seethed. “How was I supposed to know? The marks barely show up on her skin.” “So what if her skin is dark?! It’s hand foot and mouth disease. Tons of kids get it all the time! You should have known it when you first saw the blisters. You should have known what you were getting into when we got married!” “I do know what I got myself into!” he sputtered. “It’s not just about being a dad, it’s about us being different. You are just as much her parent as I am. You should have known!” Mama looked more sad than angry when she got to the tail end of her sentence. Her eyes started to water and she turned away from him. A tense silence ensued before her mouth trembled and she began again. “I wish you could love her like I love her,” Mama whispered. 21

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The memory faded away and the drone of Mama’s meandering answer circled back into my ears. Eventually all my fingers started to prune up, and my dark curly hair had been slicked up into two puffs on my head by my mother. She rose from the side of the tub and walked to the laundry room to get me a towel. I took my chances, hopping out of the tub and tracking water on the linoleum floor, sudsy footprints following my feet closely. I popped my thumb out of my mouth and turned the corner into my bedroom. Even though I was naked and wet, when I got to my bed, I laid down on top of the covers and closed my eyes. “I wish you could love her like I love her” rang in my ears. I wished my hands were white so Daddy could love them, and my feet were black so Mama could kiss them better. Not medium brown. Not mixed in. Not swirled into one solid color.

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NAILS AND WOOD Clay De Zhen “Jeremy” Xu 23

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I THINK I HAVE MONACHOPSIS* BECAUSE

An Lin Hunt-Babcock

I think I have monachopsis because I constantly find myself trapped in the margins I created, instead of on the line, cradling the dream state I longed for when growing up I think I have monachopsis because I sit in a room filled with people who can soak in their white center of mind then leave me to wonder why I’m here, knowing I sure as hell don’t belong I think I have monachopsis because my friend once asked me why I’m scared of him I told him I’m scared of works of art he’s able to drown in heaps of harsh hues hold fistfuls of honey allowing the world to bathe in its sweetness I think I have monachopsis because I jumped in blindsighted with someone I barely knew, but ended up slipping like water out of their clammy palms I think I have monachopsis because every day I try to convince myself that I’m okay without the things I want, the sinking feeling of watching the world repeat itself the sun sets, the moon rises, the moon sets, the sun rises, I’m just the observer who has time to notice PARALLAX 2019

I think I have monachopsis because I want to become someone else, my mind covering my ears to extinguish the ambient roar of what I could be *Monachopsis: n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach — unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home. —from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Keonig

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The Mindless Diary of Edmund Roy Delany Burk

(1/1/13) We have been here for fifteen years now, The Dog and I. The rhythmic, fast-paced ringing in my ears, like the flatline of a heart monitor, has become monotonous, along with the thump, thump of The Dog’s tail on the ground. The static of the radio, TV, and telephone have become a nuisance, and the waterfall, rushing like blood in my ears, has become a comfort. (1/15/13) I try to do one entry per month at least, but something came up this month that threatened to make that difficult. I do think it was my fault. I went outside the property limit to go to the market, which I should not have done, but I had a large barbed wire cut on my leg that needed some medical attention. I left The Dog at home—He knows to hunt for His own food. The market was a cozy place, but the man behind the counter was a burly, unfriendly man who looked at me with skepticism. He did not speak to me, but as I left, he made a phone call. Walking back took me longer than normal because of my leg, though the ointment seemed to help. This took me about three days round trip. (1/30/13) The man from the store is here, or maybe someone he called. They look similar and it could actually be him, but I don’t know. I’ve boarded up my windows and doors to keep the appearance of an abandoned house, but the property itself looks a bit too lived-in and I fear he may look for me. He stands on the porch every morning like he’s waiting for me to come out. He wears a doctor’s mask, has a stethoscope, and moves quickly, as if panicked. He frantically searches the property, banging on the windows and doors. I don’t know why he has stayed so long. He should be gone by now. (2/3/13) The man has finally disappeared. I think he was tired of waiting for me, or he began to freeze. It started snowing late last night. The Dog whined till three, His tired tail slowing to a crawling, desperate thump every once in a while as he grew cold. There was a windstorm, and now there are large piles of snow around the trees surrounding the house. PARALLAX 2019

PARADISE LOST Digital Art Veronica I Faulks 27

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I woke early and shoveled the snow around the door, clearing a path to the waterfall, which is now frozen. The ice was solid enough for my picks to dig into, and I was finally able to climb to the top of the falls and get the extra supplies from the shack at the top. I built it about five years into my stay here, when extra room was needed. The Dog waited at the bottom of the falls with a large, lopsided grin on His snout. My peripheral vision has been frequently growing dark as of late. It must be the change in temperature, causing dehydration. (2/22/13) I began to set up parachutes across the trees today, to stop the snow. They will be set at angles so that the snow will slide off, away from my doorway. This is so that I can get out to shovel a path and go up to the waterfall again if need be. It may not work due to the fact that some of the trees are too thin to hold up the hooks properly. It may require more shoveling. If I can stay hydrated, this should be just fine. (2/29/13) I’m trying to keep up with writing, but I’ve been busy since snow has been piling up outside. I’ve been shoveling every morning, but it’s beginning to get ahead of me. I’ve had to take breaks as my vision often reduces to a pinprick of white, as if someone is shining a light into my eyes. It flashes frantically, moving quickly in a horizontal direction. It has begun to snow all day, every day, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hold out with the shoveling. (3/14/13) Today we got snowed in, The Dog and I. He slept on my lap for most of the day. When we’re stuck in the house there’s not much we can do, so everything seems to move slowly. I’ll have to wait until the snow melts to do anything productive. (3/26/13) The Dog is still young, but because His fur isn’t growing fast enough, I have to keep Him inside by the fire. We are both still snowed in at this point anyway. We can’t even see out of the skylight anymore, and the reinforced-steel scaffolding I built into the house is finally being put to the test. If the man from the Market has been back, he hasn’t made himself known. I will find him dead in a thawing stream in four months time. Or perhaps he made it home all right after all. PARALLAX 2019

(3/28/13) In time for the spring the snow will melt, but without going outside it feels like an eternity. I saw The Shining four years before coming here. I hadn’t expected living here to be quite like that, but as time goes on I feel myself slowly dissolving, as if I am Jack Torrance. The thing separating me from that path is that I have no one to harm in my inevitable insanity besides The Dog. He seems to watch me. He is too intelligent. Too human. Or perhaps I am becoming paranoid. The blackouts in my vision have persisted through this time and are not simply solved by drinking water. (4/1/13) It is beginning to be clear I can hear water sliding down the walls outside, but I dare not open the door for fear of snow crushing me. The Dog doesn’t make any noise now. He just sits and stares at me. He barely moves. His paws are too soft. He’ll have to build them up again to tolerate the rough rocks and debris once the snow clears. (4/5/13) The snow is light enough now to clear it from the door. As I opened it, this morning I found a path clearly marked, as if I had already come out and cleared it for myself. I don’t remember doing so, but I’m sure it’s possible. That or the man from the market was not out to stalk me and out to help me instead. Is this his way of showing me he bears no ill will towards me? I doubt he would feel safe making the trip here with the amount of snow. (4/26/13) The Dog won’t move from His spot in front of the fire, and when I move Him myself, He somehow manages to be back in the same place as soon as I turn around. The rascal might as well be teleporting. At least He has some hint of determination and self-preservation, though I suppose that is something He was hiding from me. Dogs don’t hide things from their owners. (5/10/13) I’ve been having dreams. Of loud sirens and lights flashing in my eyes, of things pulling on my eyelids frantically and forcefully. I’ve had dreams of electric shock waves that surge through my body, jolting me awake in the small hours. I’ve had dreams of legs shaking, and the silence of non-speech.

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In the dreams, people run around me in a panic. They frantically press buttons and dodge each other. They beg me to stay in the dream but I find it too frightening to continue sleeping only to wake back in reality, terrified and exhausted. The Dog has begun to stare at the skylight and out the open door where the pathway has been cut. He won’t move. His paws are getting larger. Looking more like roots and less like paws. Nails digging into the carpet, like His tail, which no longer wags. (6/13/13) The dreams have accelerated into vivid hallucinations and I see them throughout the day. Lights shine into my eyes, my ears ring, and the rest of the world dissolves into a haze of black and green pinpricks. More people frantically run about me in a haze of panicked yelling. I’m beginning to worry about my solitude. Perhaps it has gotten the better of me. (7/25/13) The Dog has begun to whine. Looking at the door. And back at the skylight. It’s like there’s something out there that he’s waiting for. (7/29/13) The Dog died today. (8/2/13) I cannot remember fifteen years ago. I cannot remember the day I arrived, nor the time of year. I cannot remember building the shack at the top of the waterfall or making the parachutes. I cannot remember how I got The Dog, but I suppose that doesn’t matter, as He is gone now. I suspect the chill of the snow, along with the loneliness, is getting to me. I suspect I am getting on in years.

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DNA Brass and Wood SooYeon Kim 31

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I’M COMING HOME, AND IT’S NOT BECAUSE i love you. Rome Smaoui

Shed me out of my Arabian skin. I was told to fly here. I landed before you, wrapped in light wind and I was reminded of your liquid sun. Sun dried instead of sunbathed. I was reminded of your voice lacing me up undoing me slowly with delicate fingers. Those fingers, I was reminded of the gold, silver lightning that I never saw but could imagine running under my skin, when they touched me. Shed me out of my Arabian skin. I was told to fly here, dipped in what my father calls ‘new American skin’ here, where I would spend days counting the chipped paint on the four walls, stripped of their posters stripped of my artificial childhood. PARALLAX 2019

I was told to fly This time, not for you not for the time you took me to your kitchen and we made love cookies. I was told to fly less of me in my clothes, less of my hair, than you less of me could have ever imagined. I was told to fly back, not for you but for the sake of all that shedding.

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That Thing That Goes Bump in on the word “nighthawk” from the Night [Based The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, by John Koenig] Cheon “Alan” Lee

It begins whenever you close your eyes. You’ve tucked yourself in for the night after that fifty-whatever-page assignment for that one class you never pay attention in and you’ve finally decided to get more than four hours of sleep. Look at how responsible you are, acting like an adult for once. I mean, real life adults probably don’t sleep for any longer than you do, so you should probably take back that previous claim. Either way, it takes a lot of effort to sleep on time, so there still is a hint of organization in your life. You’ve got that going for you. So, back to the bed. To the blanket under which you feel truly relaxed, a safe haven from a world of constant pressure. Nothing can go wrong. Embracing the silky-smooth textures of your covers and sinking into those extra-fluffed pillows, you feel your eyelids slowly close as your breathing gradually decelerates. The ceiling in front of your eyes begins to blur out of recognition; the white concrete walls covered in vintage photos of you and your fellow girlfriends and remnants from an ugly wallpaper job gone wrong begins to look more like an accident at the paint aisle of a Home Depot. Everything is going smoothly, just as planned. There is something touching about this moment, and you can almost feel a tear form in your eye. Then it hits you. Something pulls you out of the trance that was supposed to lull you into a relaxed state of mind, deep sleep, or that thing smart people call “REM.” Just a second ago, you were supposed to fade out and then slowly wake up to the chirping of birds outside, accompanied by that gentle breeze that comes about early in the morning that would grace you out of your linen abode and into the kitchen for a nice cup of Earl Gray. Or Folgers Coffee, if you’re feeling especially brave. You feel a menacing presence, and that is all you need to anticipate the arrival of your much-dreaded enemy. You preemptively curl up into the fetal position; dear God, not again. In comes Nighthawk, destroyer of good sleeping habits, eradicator of all things comfy, harbinger of those times when you would lurch out your hiding spot in a cold sweat and genuinely believe for two minutes that your cat died in the dream you were just having. Stupid, piece of shit, Nighthawk. You wish it had a corporeal form just so that you could sucker punch it in its face. PARALLAX 2019

The maleficent being graces you with its presence, slowly descending onto your bed post so that it appears right over your head. You attempt to ignore it, but that only makes Nighthawk stronger. It begins to shine a disgusting shade of dark purple, the lights covering the farthest corners of your humble little room. It punctures your delicate little eyelids with a painful glare of light that you can’t seem to shield with your puny hands. If it wasn’t obvious enough, Nighthawk has now practically screamed its entrance to you. You attempt to crawl away, but Nighthawk grows a pair of massive talons and pins you against its end of the bed. Every attempt to pry yourself from them fails and a sense of hopelessness begins to seep in. This is it. Your last stand was in vain. Fort McSleepyPants has been lost. Long live the queen. Nighthawk waits until the most desperate of expressions settles on your face before proceeding with its most devious plot yet. Its vile and acidic saliva almost hits you when it smacks its lips, and it takes in a breath so deep and focused, you’d think that a black hole had just formed in the middle of the room, sucking everything away. Come to think of it, it’d be better if a black hole actually did suck you away from this. You brace for the worst as Nighthawk opens its mouth and softly whispers into your ear, “Remember that one time you were twelve and you let out a fart in class and everybody, including your crush, pointed and laughed at you for a solid minute?” You begin to silently sob.

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ENLIGHTENMENT Digital Art BaS PARALLAX 2019

Our Poplar Ryan French

SETTING - Olivia Gray’s house in the South. TIME - Now (2018) CHARACTERS Marshall - around early 20s, heavy southern accent. Olivia Gray - around 40 years old.

MARSHALL walks into the kitchen of his mother’s house. On the wooden table is sweet tea in a pitcher. He grabs a cup from the cabinet and pours himself some. He looks around the kitchen and takes a sip. A look of disgust passes his face but he tries to repress it. OLIVIA walks in, pulls out one of the chairs at the table and sits down. She puts her head in her hands, slumping a bit. MARSHALL Mama… OLIVIA brings one of her hands up and snaps at him, but does not say anything. MARSHALL swishes his drink around and looks off to the left. He begins to walk away, but turns back towards OLIVIA, stepping towards her. MARSHALL I got a new job. I just wanted to tell you that. Work at Tucker’s dentistry as an intern. Take down appointments, answer phone calls, calm kids down after they get their teeth removed. They say I’m real good at it. 37

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OLIVIA taps her long stiletto nails on the table. OLIVIA finally looks at MARSHALL, but he is still looking to the left. OLIVIA Why exactly are you back here, baby? (Her voice is soft) You said you wouldn’t come back ‘til after you got accepted into college. MARSHALL Guess we’ll have to wait a bit longer. A breeze shutters throughout the house, and MARSHALL shivers. He walks over to the door and points to it. MARSHALL I didn’t ever repair that door, did I? (Pause) I remember when Pa ran through that door, excited to tell us he got that teachin’ job at the elementary school, and ripped it off its hinges. OLIVIA laughs. OLIVIA Ernest was always excited about the small things. Best thing about him. MARSHALL Yeah… (trailing off) OLIVIA You should have learned that from him. (She stands up and goes to the other side of the table) Enjoy small things. Stop racing to get to an end that doesn’t exist. (Pause) There’s only two real ends and you ain’t reachin’ neither. (She looks over at MARSHALL) Being rich and death, hun. You’re gonna live to be old, just like me, just like your grandfather. You’re PARALLAX 2019

gonna live and you’ll grit your teeth and endure it. MARSHALL Guess you’re right about that… (Trailing off again, wringing his hands.) MARSHALL looks back at OLIVIA, but not at her face, more at her hands. He pulls out his untucked shirt and tries tucking it back in. He takes one of her hands in his, and she puts her other hand on his cheek. MARSHALL Mama, I want to ask about something. (Pauses) Specifically Avery. I just want to know anything about him. OLIVIA Why do you care about him now? Eight years after the whole incident and now you’re askin’ about him. MARSHALL It was no “incident,” (He puts incident in quotation marks with his hands) and I know I’m late to ask about him but please, Mama. OLIVIA (Another sigh erupts from her) Avery was born two months early. His lungs never worked properly, had to use one of those oxygen things for the first two years of his life. (She sighs and waves her hand in front of her face, almost seeming annoyed by the topic) I honestly can’t believe you’re asking about this, don’t you remember anything? (Pause) You know I never named him, right? I thought he was always going to die, no matter what those doctors said. (Pause) Your father named him, actually. 39

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OLIVIA holds herself and rock back and forth. OLIVIA Named him when he hit the six-month mark. Said he couldn’t bear not giving his child a name. (Pause) I never really bonded with him. He seemed shy of me, always buried his head when I held him. Never let me look him in the eyes. (Pause) What could I have done, though? MARSHALL brings the cup of tea to his mouth, but does not sip, and instead slams the drink down on the table, immediately recoiling. MARSHALL What I did wasn’t right. OLIVIA Of course, it wasn’t right. You were too young to know what was wrong and what was right. It was an accident, I know it was. MARSHALL Why didn’t you want to kill me? OLIVIA turns away from MARSHALL, seeming to look directly into the audience for a brief moment, but then looks down at her shoes. OLIVIA The holy way is to forgive. That’s all you can do. Forgive yourself. You have to be satisfied with that fact, or it’s gonna haunt you forever, baby. MARSHALL (His shoulders shake) How can I forgive myself for bringin’ a brick down on his head?

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REWIND Charcoal Drawing Woohyung “Garfield” Jung & Yujia “Yuga” Li (collaboration) 41

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They don’t say anything to each other for a few, long-lasting moments. The cicadas on the poplar grow louder until it’s almost deafening. OLIVIA turns back to MARSHALL. As she does, the cicadas return to their mild hum. MARSHALL His head splattered everywhere. Can’t forget that, ain’t no way to. OLIVIA Don’t bring that up. (Pause) Don’t ever bring that up again. MARSHALL looks back at the door and the hinge of the door seems to grow louder. Beat. MARSHALL (Sits on the table as he begins to say this) We buried him underneath that tree, huh? Should’ve buried Pa next to him. OLIVIA Probably would’ve liked it better than being next to his parents. But he did want to uphold family tradition. (Pause) I think he loved Avery so much. Broke his heart what you did to him. (Pause) Wish I saw what he did in Avery. MARSHALL I bet. He loved Avery more than he loved me. (Pause) That’s for damn sure. Beat. MARSHALL I think I care now because I feel guilty. Didn’t ever feel guilty ‘bout it before. Beat. PARALLAX 2019

OLIVIA I haven’t thought about him in years. Wasn’t a good mother, was I? (OLIVIA turns to MARSHALL) Beat. MARSHALL Brought a brick on his head. Didn’t even give it a second thought. OLIVIA That ain’t your fault. MARSHALL I used to lie down under that tree, (Turns away from her) and pray that he wasn’t dead, that I had dreamed it all. Beat. MARSHALL Wish I stopped myself. OLIVIA puts her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs her off. He takes the cup he was drinking out of, inspects it, then drops it nonchalantly. They both stare at the cup for a moment. OLIVIA You haven’t been a Gray since Avery. Why are you really back? She squats down to pick up the cup, and MARSHALL puts a hand on her back. Beat. OLIVIA Why does it suddenly matter now? MARSHALL leans over and keeps her from standing back, pushing forcefully on her. 43

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BURNED TREE Photograph BaS PARALLAX 2019

MARSHALL How can you live with yourself? You housed a child murderer. A child should never murder another child, least of all, his brother. Why did you love me so much, anyway? Why did you never hit me? Why didn’t you ever discipline me? MARSHALL grabs her by the hair, and pulls her up. OLIVIA grabs for his hands, digs her nails into his wrists, but he only tightens his grip. MARSHALL Why didn’t you want to kill me? Why haven’t you thought about him? Why did you love me? His voice rises to a yell as he shakes her, and OLIVIA begins to whimper. OLIVIA I still love you, baby. I still love you! OLIVIA’s voice is soft but is also clear and concise. OLIVIA You were the perfect boy. Healthy, beautiful. That’s all I ever wanted for Avery. That’s all I ever wanted for both of you. MARSHALL lets go of her hair, and she grabs the table, trying to support her weight on it. MARSHALL You never gave him the chance to be like me. You neglected him. Mama, you did thisOLIVIA No, I didn’t! I loved him, I gave him all I had, I wanted him to be45

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MARSHALL pushes one of her arms that is supporting her, and she almost falls but recomposes herself quickly. MARSHALL You left me to deal with it on my own. Didn’t ever talk about it, did you? You watched me kill him, you watched and you didn’t even scream. You did nothing. OLIVIA I wasn’t the best mother, I know that. But we have to move past what we did. Beat. MARSHALL No. He walks to the other side the table and leans over it. His arms shake, and his breathing becomes painfully audible. MARSHALL grabs his hair and pulls, and begins to pace around the room. MARSHALL No, no, no, no, no. You can’t do this to me. OLIVIA Go home, Marshall. MARSHALL stops to look at his mother. He looks quite distraught. She brushes her skirt with her hands and straightens her back. OLIVIA You came here to be mad at me, you didn’t come here to actually talk about Avery, and now that you’re done, you should go home. Beat. PARALLAX 2019

OLIVIA I don’t care that you suddenly care about Avery now. I don’t care what you’re feeling now, it’s too late. I don’t care. Do you want me to finally say it, Marshall, is that what you want? MARSHALL Say what? (His voice is softer than earlier, scared) OLIVIA For God’s sake! You’re a murderer! I tried to avoid saying it as long as I could, I planned on never telling you, but here we are! You were eight when you murdered your six year-old-brother, and do you know how that felt to me? He shakes his head. MARSHALL No. OLIVIA I thought you were going to kill me or your Pa. I spent countless nights awake wondering if you would. I was always reluctant to check up on you because I thought there would be a dead thing in your room! But oh God, I loved you so much, even when you would become violent and throw things, I still loved you. God, why did I love you instead of Avery? MARSHALL I did my best, I’m soShe slams her hands on the table and he recoils. OLIVIA No, you’re not and you won’t ever be sorry. You killed him, broke your 47

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father, and broke me. I don’t want you in this house. You don’t belong here. MARSHALL MamaOLIVIA Don’t you dare call me that. I ain’t your mother. Not anymore. MARSHALL walks back over to his mother and tries to grab her arm, but she pulls away quickly. OLIVIA You are filthy. You are sinful. You are disgusting. Get away from me. They stand across from each other, staring. MARSHALL fiddles with buttons on his jacket while OLIVIA digs her nails into her hands. OLIVIA Marshall. (Pause) Clean your cup. OLIVIA holds out the cup for MARSHALL and he takes it and puts it in the sink. He turns to look at her again, but she turns away from him. He begins to scrub the cup. A long pause is held between them. OLIVIA pulls out the chair from the table and sits down, straight, focusing on the audience. OLIVIA Remember to get the handle. You always miss the handle. MARSHALL nods and continues to scrub. Another minute or so passes until he turns off the faucet and leaves the cup on the counter. He holds himself up with his hands on the counter. Lights fade to black. END. PARALLAX 2019

KYUNG-BOK PALACE Reduction Woodcut SooYeon Kim 49

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No Good Deed Bailey Bujnosek

Goodbye, Sam said it all the time. Goodbye. There was a lot in that word. It felt heavy in him, on his tongue. That’s why he said it so much, to let it go, spit it out, push the anchor from his chest. He said it the most to Lucille. Every morning when she went to work as a secretary in a little no-name office across town, Sam saw her off from the door. The kids sat in the back of the van, waiting to be bussed to school. And Lucille, makeup on and hair curled, took her place at the wheel, ready to speed off into the world of the working. Not that Sam didn’t work. He had a job. It didn’t pay, though, so most people didn’t see it as a real job. Lucille included—not that she would say anything about it. She was one of those people who are afraid they’re being terribly selfish all the time. “I hate to go,” she said, each time she left the house. She pouted. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” “I’ll be all right,” Sam said. That was a lie. The only way he’d be all right was if he quit his job. It was hazardous to his health. It made him the least okay person on the planet. But to make her stay home—what would that entail? She couldn’t tag along with Sam on his job, that would not do. So he had to lie to her to keep her away, for her own protection. Lucille, for her sake, smiled bright and pretty at his lie, pretending to believe it. “Goodbye,” she said to Sam. “Goodbye.” She kissed him on the cheek and trotted down their driveway, looking by all accounts satisfied with his answer as she got in the vehicle. But then she did something which greatly bothered Sam: she kept her eyes on him as she reversed the van, in a solid, unblinking stare. Sam waited for her to look back but she never did. PARALLAX 2019

Sam didn’t correct her. He didn’t want to make her feel more insecure. *** Sam was recruited for his job on a trip to the mall three months ago. He and his family were shopping for back-to-school clothes. They sat around a table at the food court, sipping overpriced lemonades, humming and talking and kicking their tired legs, when a janitor who had just sat down to eat collapsed. The janitor was in Sam’s line of sight. And Sam was the only man in the food court, in a sea of women and children. He sprung to action. He’d like to think he was brave, and that’s why he did it. Closer to the truth was his fear of humiliation if he didn’t save the janitor, as though it was his personal obligation to keep him alive and well, like some freelance guardian angel. Sam’s children egged him on with their eyes. Their feelings on the matter were clear: save the man, or move out. Sam didn’t know CPR but he did his best. He put the man on his back and pumped his chest with rhythmic beats until he coughed part of a chicken drumstick in Sam’s face. The janitor proceeded to get up as if nothing had happened. He took his mop and patted Sam on the back, lightly, before returning to work. The two did not exchange words. Sam went back to his family, who smiled at him in silent congratulations. Up to that day, Sam had been an accountant. The incident dangled a higher calling in front of him. And he took it. It cost him. *** On the night of the mall incident and bleeding into the days that followed, Sam’s family treated him well. When he looked in the mirror, he saw his posture straightened, his countenance firm, and an overall increase in confidence and charisma oozing from all of his pores. He could not spot any negative changes. Lucille could. She did, accidentally. It started when she offered to give Sam a foot massage. Her own feet ached from being crammed into heels all the time, but she couldn’t ask outright for Sam to rub her feet. That would look selfish. Better to 51

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lead by example and await reciprocation. “God!” She said when she saw it. She grabbed his right foot and brought it close to her face, staring at the smooth place where his big toe should’ve been. “What is that? When did this happen?” “What?” He was looking at his foot with as much awe as Lucille. Four toes. He wiggled them. He did not know where the big one had gone. Closer examination revealed no scar. “It’s disturbing,” Lucille said. She dropped his foot in the bowl of water she’d prepared, splashing herself. “I didn’t see that,” he said. It was the truth. But who’d believe it? Lucille had sense enough not to. She said it was nothing he should be ashamed of, but he should’ve told her he’d been wearing a prosthetic when they got married because she remembered him having all ten toes back then. She remembered. All Sam could do was pull on his sock and apologize. *** Lucille dug through the laundry and found his toe in one of his long black socks, a relic of his accounting days. He’d quit at this point and acknowledged his new employment, but his boss—conceivably, the universe—had not assigned him a new case. There was no one new to save. So he indulged in solving the mystery of the missing appendage, specifically how to fix it to Lucille’s liking. He dreaded her being unhappy. It would affect the children. The dirty sock proved a dead end. The crime had been bloodless. The only theory Sam could come up with was one he couldn’t share: at night, someone had crept into his room and cut his toe off. Perhaps one of the children. Perhaps Lucille. They cauterized the wound and, magically, it left no scar. Why didn’t he wake up? He had a tendency to sleep deeply. Preferred dreams to the waking world. It’s plausible he dreamed of puppies and kittens while the heinous act was committed. More likely he dreamt of being alone. That was his biggest fear. PARALLAX 2019

BROKEN Digital Art Liia Suprunenko 53

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Whatever the case, the disaster was no serious impediment, and Sam took it in stride. Lucille tried to forget. She made him wear socks 24/7, even though it made his feet itch and she wasn’t even there from eight to six. He kept them on while she was gone, though, or he’d feel like he was lying to her. *** Nowadays, when Lucille went to work and the kids went to school, Sam prowled the streets, like a journalist looking for a lead. Any scream he rushed to. Cries, even from a playground, forced his attendance. This garnered attention from the local parents, who banned him from the park. He wandered the bad part of town, too, looking for trouble he could resolve. This led to a black eye or two but also saving, and that was so worth it that he refused an ice pack. Each bruise was like a gold star given to a happy kindergartener. And each person he saved was another toe lost. Soon they were all gone, and he was sitting in his room, legs hanging off the bed, staring at the stumps. He had to tell Lucille. But what would she think? Certainly, that it was all her fault. Could he force that pain on her? No. Could he stop helping people out (for at this point, the correlation was clear between his good deeds and the missing toes)? No. It was his purpose. He had to have a purpose. Sam reasoned that since he’d run out of toes, there were no more to lose. He kept silent and started wearing shoes at all times. *** The next good act was saving a kitten from a tree, the great oak in his own front yard. He handed the pet to its crying, elderly owner. Then he fell over. An attempt to get up strained him greatly. He dragged himself across the lawn with his arms. The old woman screamed. PARALLAX 2019

Sam couldn’t turn himself over or stand up. He craned his neck and looked behind him. There on the grass was his right leg. His right pant leg had become empty and flat. He considered crawling back for the leg to reattach it somehow, but there was no point. From the old woman’s reaction, Sam knew Lucille would find out within the hour. He waited on their lawn for her to come home. *** It was one of the kids that noticed him first. Sam’s little boy. His mouth was all twisted up as he got out of the van, and it turned into a frown the minute he saw his father. The kids, a boy and a girl, were elementary aged. They couldn’t handle such a grotesque scene. His son had tears streaming down his face by the time the little girl got out of the van. She cried out. Lucille was nowhere in sight. Sam deduced that the stress of leaving work early and pulling the kids out of school to help him must have burdened her greatly. Most women couldn’t do what she did. They couldn’t put up with him for this long. But Lucille, good old Lucille. She did it all. It had taken her a moment to get out the van, she told him, because she didn’t want the kids to see her cry. She wiped her eyes and shooed them inside. “How considerate of you,” Sam said, and he meant it. Lucille started to bite her nails. “The leg is behind me,” he said. He tried to gesture with a hand but it strained his back. It was hard to see her while on his stomach. He took a few pains to roll himself over. She watched him but did not offer to help. “What did you do?” Lucille asked. “It fell off, like the others.” “No, I mean, what did you do to make it happen?” 55

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“I helped an old woman get her cat out of our tree.” He smiled sheepishly as her lips turned down in disapproval. “It’s what any responsible homeowner would have done.” “Most responsible homeowners don’t have your condition.” “Really?” She came near him and he thought she was going to help him up. He held out his arms to her. But Lucille ignored them and crouched next to him on the grass. She didn’t even mind that her Givenchy mini skirt was stained the minute it touched the ground. A humble woman. The trappings of luxury, especially on a receptionist’s salary, were lost on her, utterly meaningless. Her higher calling must have been to marry Sam. Who would’ve thought it would be this much trouble? “The kids are scared,” Lucille said. She picked some grass from the dirt. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said. “No reason to be scared.” “They think you’re going to die. You are going to die if you don’t stop.” “I’ll stop.” “No, you won’t.” She sniffled. Ah, Sam! If only he possessed her confidence, her grace, the way she had about her that made her selfless in every action. If he tried to give up his life’s purpose, it would be out of greed. He’d do it to keep her. That meant he was selfish, perhaps he always had been, and was just now realizing it. “Don’t make me useless again, Lucille.” She shifted her position so that her legs were tucked under her. “You weren’t useless.” “What did I ever do that was so great, besides being an accountant?” Lacking an answer, Lucille had in the space of silence realized he was right. He could do nothing else but help people. And, because of that, PARALLAX 2019

she could do nothing else but leave. “Help me up,” Sam said. “Please.” She carried him into the house and set him on the couch in the living room. Then she went to their room to pack. Then she helped the kids pack. Then they were gone, all of them, and he was alone. *** One of the neighbors found out about the separation. He brought Sam a wheelchair. He didn’t have to, but he did, along with some homemade casserole. The neighborhood was full of kind beings such as this man. A good Samaritan waited around every corner. Sam’s acts of kindness were pale imitations of true good. He had time to ruminate on this and decided after much thought that he had to keep going until every limb was gone and he had died. Why get this far only to stop? There was no reason to. Reason had abandoned him. He filled up on casserole and wheeled into the street, noticing that his leg remained on the lawn. Perhaps no one felt it safe to pick up. With the toes, Lucille had gathered them up in a trash bag and driven it to the dump. Sam guessed she couldn’t be bothered with the leg—she’d been in such a rush to leave. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. He rolled on by, not even looking at it. A loud cry sounded out after a peaceful hour, and sirens followed. Sam headed in that direction. *** It was a house fire. Out one of the front windows, a little kid screeched for help. Firefighters were already there, gathered below the kid’s window, holding out the makeshift trampoline and asking him to jump. Sam couldn’t help. His disability prevented it. 57

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情 “Qing” Lithography Yujia Li PARALLAX 2019

On he rolled, secure in the notion that the situation was already being handled, and everything would turn out better than if he had been able to help. He came to a stop at the end of the block. Frightened by the noise and spectacle of the fire, a dog ran in frantic circles. Sam watched the dog. Then he reached out to pet it and it bit him. “You should’ve bit the leg,” he said. “I won’t be needing it much longer.” Sam rolled into the bad part of town, the dog and the house fire far behind him. Finally, he came to a bus stop, where a tired-looking woman sat crying. His stomach growled. The casserole was digested, and his hand ached from the bite, but he pushed all these selfish worries to the back of his mind and focused on the tragedy in front of him. “Can I help you?” he asked the woman. She looked up. She was in a red tank top and one of the straps had fallen off her shoulder, but she pulled it back up and straightened upon seeing him. “I—no thank you,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to take anything from a poor old disabled man.” “I’m remarkably young,” Sam assured her. “And I haven’t been disabled for very long.” “Well, I need some money,” the woman said. She resumed her crying, and Sam waited for her to stop like Lucille would’ve. He reached into his jean pocket and pulled out his wallet, removing a hundred dollar bill. The woman took it from his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.” Her tears had dried completely and she was smiling. The sun shone on both of them, glorifying the beauty of the moment. “Is there any way I can help you?” She asked. “Do you need to be wheeled somewhere?” “My leg,” Sam said. “It’s still on.” “It is,” the woman agreed. 59

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“But I helped you.” “Yes. Thank you.” “It should be gone.” He grabbed his left leg at the knee with his opposite arm and tried to pull it from the jeans, thinking maybe the pants were keeping it from falling. But during this process, he kicked out the leg, realized he still had control over it and stopped. The woman held her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He continued to kick his leg and smile like a fool. “It’s still there.” The woman nodded with him, overly eager. False. A physical lie. “Yes,” she said. “It’s still there.” *** Now, this was something. In the following weeks, his leg—and all other limbs—stayed with him, as he helped person after person. It got to the point where there was no one else to help. Besides himself. The bitten hand had become infected, making it harder for him to get around his home. Then, help came, in the form of all the people he had helped. They cooked for him and fed him. Cleaned his house and dressed his wound. The day he came to peace with Lucille’s absence, the elderly cat owner was making him a smoothie. Lucille had left him permanently. No change on that front. He was left to wonder about her motives. It would be impossible for her to have known he would be cured. If anything, her departure triggered it. Leaving and taking the kids was enough limbs lost for Sam to be okay for a long time. But that hadn’t been a good deed by her. Had it? Perhaps, it dawned on Sam, as he noticed over the shriek of the blender that Lucille had taken his favorite painting from the living room wall, she had not been trying to be kind. Perhaps she’d left him out of selfish, dark motives, conceived by the devil on her shoulder, and carried out on her own free will. And still it had turned out right for him. PARALLAX 2019

This was a curse of her own: it was impossible for Lucille to do wrong. Every little action became a blessingâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;even the most maliced, ill-intentioned acts. The blender turned off and the elderly woman poured the smoothie into a glass. She walked over to Sam and held it close to his lips, taking care not to spill it on his shirt. God bless Lucille! In her unknowing malice towards him, she had brought out the best in all the people Sam helped. He felt lucky to be alive at the same time as her. She had taken his painting and his kids, yes, but in doing so she had taken his curse. He wished her well.

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Satiation Priyanka Sebeni

I. We had much to eat Within the confines of our minds; Root and soil. And earthy honey. Vulgar like maple from Xylem-borne-sap. We ate taro and vittles And sweet, sweet lentils Shrouded in dusty River-water Food of the below Of the gods, Plural until they weren’t; Olokun. II. Porridge made us feel Greedy, Greedy Less guilty than water Because when we drank I liked to think I was Filling my veins Stuffing myself Like taxidermy Glutinous water ebbing out of my seams My chest heaved, heavy Rain-water flooding III. We didn’t know when she was coming She—the meal PARALLAX 2019

Or the next one, Or the one limping after that The meals did the conga in our minds Stew and grain Dancing hazy in our visions Eyes bleeding, if they could. Dripping sealing wax Bright red IV. When she came We filled our souls with her The stuff of dreams and dirt The stuff of the rabelais Crude like oil, and salty like sweat Solid air and aliments We gorged ourselves My mouth still leaks. V. And for dessert? “Yam pie” we chanted! Only the God-Sky could retreat the flood Horticulture the land Produce taro root and sand So he did. VI. She came like the sun in our eyes with the Gods on her back The God-Sky on her shoulder I winced at the ripe, stinging, juices newfound, on my hands Counted once, twice, thrice—to ten until I could go on. Until we were Extinguished; Our mouths were Trenches. And when we were satiated? We became the Gods. 63

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LOST Acrylic on Canvas Woohyung “Garfield” Jung PARALLAX 2019

MIDNIGHT MOVES Emilia Acevedo

SETTING - High school dining hall & Zach’s bedroom. TIME - Now CHARACTERS Esther - 16 years old. Tomboy. Loves to read. Zach - 16 years old. An absolute nerd. He plays video games and reads comics. Clueless to the point where he doesn’t realize when he’s mean. Margo - 16 years old. Doesn’t even know that love exists. Sweet and innocent. Jamie - 15 years old. Zach’s best friend. Huge nerd too. Secretly in love with Margo.

Scene 1. High school cafeteria. MARGO and ESTHER are sitting at one table, and ZACH is sitting at another table across the stage. Only ZACH’s table is lit, the rest of the stage is dark. We can only see ZACH at the table, with his lunch tray perfectly organized, eating. JAMIE walks onstage. JAMIE Hey, Zach. Mind if I sit here? ZACH Hi, sure… why do you ask every time? You always sit with me. JAMIE I don’t know, I just think that it’s polite to ask anyway.

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Sits down across from ZACH and sets his tray on the table. ZACH How are you? JAMIE I’m okay. I had a quiz in English class and it wasn’t too bad. I’ll probably get like a 68. ZACH Oh, sounds okay. JAMIE Yeah! (Speaking with his mouth full) It could’ve gone worse, honestly. I had totally forgotten about it. ZACH This lunch is so good. The lights go on, on MARGO and ESTHER’S side. ESTHER I can’t believe they’re giving us this for lunch. It’s inedible, what is it even? MARGO Zach behind you seems to be enjoying it. ZACH is really wolfing his food down. ESTHER I have no idea how he does it. He was also eating the fajitas on Tuesday last week and the curry on Friday. I bet you he doesn’t even know what he’s eating. Do you know? Pause. MARGO gives her a suspicious look.

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MARGO Not really, but I’m hungry. (Takes another bite) ESTHER I started reading Pride and Prejudice again last night, by the way. MARGO Oh, really??… wait, which was that one again? ESTHER The one by Jane Austen… (Pause) The one with Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth and her sisters trying to find these rich men and Darcy’s all fancy and serious and—Margo, I’ve told you about it a million times! MARGO Sorry, I just can’t stand romance and all that stuff, I don’t get it so it doesn’t even enter my mind in the first place. ESTHER It’s fine. I just have a theory. MARGO I can’t concentrate if I try to read it. It’s boring. ESTHER I just wonder if love is actually the way they describe it in the books, all complicated and perfect, and… I mean, the boys here don’t really seem like Mr. Darcy or like… Christian Gray. MARGO Who’s Christian Gray?

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ESTHER You wouldn’t know. He’s just like… like a man, you know? MARGO You want a man? ESTHER No! I don’t want anything to do with a “man!” I just… I have a theory that someone is like Mr. Darcy. MARGO Someone? ESTHER hints at MARGO about “someone” being Zach. MARGO doesn’t get it. ESTHER (Whispering) Zach! I just have no way of knowing if he is or not. MARGO If he is what? ESTHER Like Mr. Dar—You know what? It’s fine. I just need to find a way to talk to him or, like, watch him to make a final decision. I guess watching him would be the best option since Darcy really isn’t the best at talking or being friendly… Oh! Like that one time that Elizabeth goes to his house and he is super hostile and totally tries to kick her out, and— MARGO Can you pass me the salt? ESTHER (Looks around for the salt) We don’t have any… ooh (Turns to ask Zach for his salt). Hey, could I use your salt? PARALLAX 2019

DEATH Digital Art Jiwon “Lily” Nam 69

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ZACH Oh. Um. Yes. Salt. (Looking around for the salt. He grabs the pepper and passes it to ESTHER) ESTHER That’s pepper. ZACH Oh. Um. Salt. They have a weird eye contact moment. ESTHER Thanks. (Moves back to the table. Takes a bite from her food and spits it out— pause). Oh God… I think it’s crawfish. We go back to ZACH and JAMIE. ZACH Oh, God. JAMIE She really intimidates me. ZACH Esther? Oh, she’s really not that bad. She can be… really smart sometimes. JAMIE Zach, you won’t even talk to her in class. Accept that she intimidates you too. ZACH That’s just because I’m not particularly friends with her, but that doesn’t mean—She’s… she’s fine. Hey, I was thinking, do you wanna come over later? We could watch movies and maybe have a sleepover.

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JAMIE Oh, a sleepover sounds fun! But… uh… I don’t know about today. ZACH What are you doing today? JAMIE Uuuuuhhhh… I kinda wanted to see if Margo wants to go get ice cream with me later. ZACH That Margo? (Points at MARGO) Jamie, have you even talked to her in the first place? JAMIE No… she’s always with Esther! ZACH Oooohhh… you know what? I’m sure it’ll be fine, just come to my house later and we can come up with a plan. ESTHER (To MARGO) I’m throwing this away. I can’t eat it. I’ll see you later. MARGO What? Oh, okay, bye! ESTHER gets up and starts walking towards the exit when ZACH and JAMIE get up too. JAMIE walks off, but ESTHER and ZACH almost crash into each other. ESTHER gets super startled. ZACH Oh… sorry. ESTHER (Looks at ZACH and analyzes him for a second) It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. 71

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FERNWEH Digital Art Veronica I Faulks PARALLAX 2019

ZACH walks offstage, escaping from ESTHER. ESTHER rushes back to the table with MARGO after ZACH leaves. ESTHER Okay, Margo. I have a plan. MARGO A plan? For what? ESTHER I just need to watch him when he doesn’t know it and then I’ll know if he’s really like Mr. Darcy. MARGO Is Mr. Darcy the one from— ESTHER It doesn’t matter! I have a plan. Meet me at my house tonight. (Runs offstage dramatically) Scene 2. ZACH’s room. ZACH in bed and JAMIE on a mattress on the floor. They’re having a sleepover and about to go to sleep. ZACH I just can’t believe we stayed in here all day and you STILL haven’t talked to her, or even gotten close to carrying out the ice cream plan. JAMIE It’s fine. I’ll just do it some other time. You know what? I’m gonna talk to her tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow is a good day. ZACH So tomorrow, then?

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JAMIE Yes, but not before that. ZACH How would you talk to her before that? JAMIE (Mysterious) Who knows? (Pause) I’m kidding. I’ll talk to her tomorrow then. ZACH Okay, Jamie. Goodnight. ZACH turns off the lights. The stage is completely dark; we hear ESTHER and MARGO talking offstage. MARGO (Whisper yelling) No, Esther, stop it! This is illegal! Esther! Esther!!! ESTHER It’s an adventure. Come on. MARGO Nooo, Esther! ESTHER Margo, if you leave it’s ultimate betrayal. MARGO I hate you so much. ESTHER and MARGO climb through ZACH’s window. The stage is still dark. We hear a loud noise of ESTHER crashing into something. ESTHER Shit! MARGO Sssshhhh!

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Lights come up, ZACH and JAMIE are terrified the moment they realize ESTHER and MARGO have climbed through their window and into ZACH’s room. They’re completely still and their eyes are open wide. Complete silence. ZACH and JAMIE stare at MARGO and ESTHER. MARGO tries to go back out but ESTHER pulls her back. ESTHER Uhm, hi. How you doin’? ZACH I… um… I guess we’re good? I don’t know… Am I asleep? I don’t usually fall asleep that fast. JAMIE (Whispering) No, Zach, I think you’re awake. ESTHER Would you rather be asleep? ZACH I don’t really know. Jamie, do something. ESTHER (Mockingly) Yeah, Jamie, do something. JAMIE Uuuuuuhhhhh… how are you? (Terrified) MARGO We should probably go. ESTHER (To MARGO) No. Stop it. I’m good, thank you for asking. JAMIE That’s good… (Pause) Do you want a Pop-Tart? 75

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ESTHER We actually came here to, uuuhm, talk to Zach, but thank you. MARGO I would like a Pop-Tart. ESTHER is surprised at MARGO speaking. JAMIE Oh, God. Okay, we’ll be back. ZACH No, Jamie! JAMIE and MARGO exit. There’s an awkward silence between ZACH and ESTHER, until they say at the same time: ZACH Esther, what are you doing in my—Oh.

ESTHER That was an accident, I wasn’t actually—Oh.

ZACH You go first. ESTHER No, please, go ahead. ZACH Esther. ESTHER Okay. Uh, I just wanted to… I’m carrying out an experiment, you see. ZACH An experiment? ESTHER Yes. PARALLAX 2019

ZACH What kind of experiment? ESTHER I can’t tell you. ZACH This is really weird. ESTHER (Mockingly) You’re really weird. ZACH No, you’re being weird. I mean you’re in my—and earlier Jamie said that you intimidate him, and I didn’t really know what he was talking about but I think now I know. ESTHER Well, Jamie isn’t really my definition of a brave person. ZACH Jamie’s nice and that’s not the point! ESTHER Be quiet! Your parents are going to wake up. ZACH Well then, tell me why you’re here. ESTHER Fine! I guess I just wanted to watch you and— ZACH Watch me? ESTHER No! No, God that sounds weird.

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ZACH Sort of. ESTHER I wanted to talk to you but I guess this wasn’t the greatest idea. ZACH So you just climbed through my window in the middle of the night to talk to me? ESTHER Jesus, it’s nine. And I already said that I know it wasn’t a good idea. ZACH Then…? ESTHER (Under her breath) Wow, you really do act like Darcy. ZACH What? ESTHER Nothing! You’re just being kind of an asshole. ZACH You broke into my house! ESTHER For the love of—I said I’m sorry! ZACH That doesn’t fix it. ESTHER What do you want me to do? I’ll climb out that window right now if you want me to. PARALLAX 2019

ZACH Wait, no. Uhm, (Pause) Sorry I acted that way. I guess I—I don’t know how to…Sorry. (Pause) ESTHER I’ve just never really talked to you and there’s always way too many people at school and they’re very distracting… I also don’t particularly enjoy their company for the most part. ZACH Uh-huh. ESTHER It’s just better to get to the point and talk to you when there’s no one around. And I don’t usually feel like talking to anyone— ZACH Apart from Margo. ESTHER Apart from Margo. And even she gets annoying sometimes, although she’s my best friend. ZACH Jamie has a crush on her, by the way. ESTHER Huh, really? Tell him I’ll kill him if he hurts her. ZACH Okay…? MARGO Anyway, I wanted to meet someone new and I… I just… I mean… you kinda remind me of this character in a cool book. 79

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ZACH Oh, what character? ESTHER It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to see if you’re like him or not… And then earlier at lunch— ZACH I said I was sorry and you said it was okay! ESTHER Ssshhhhh! (She covers his mouth. They have a moment) It doesn’t matter. I just took that as a sign, you know? To approach you, so to speak. A pause, ZACH is very confused. ESTHER sees Pride and Prejudice sitting on ZACH’s bedside table. ESTHER Are you reading this? ZACH Pride and Prejudice? I was reading it for English class but I got a bit bored. I think I’m more into comics. ESTHER is deeply offended. ESTHER Oh, well, it’s a great book. Definitely better than the comics you read. ZACH I just didn’t really like the characters, I guess. But you’ve seen me reading comics before? ESTHER Well it’s… I just prefer books. (Avoiding the question) It’s just that… isn’t it frustrating that you can’t imagine PARALLAX 2019

anything that’s going on because it’s already on the paper? ZACH I don’t know. I guess I just never really thought about that. (Pause) Maybe we should read something together sometime. ESTHER Do you want me to sneak into your room again? Or…? (Chuckles and suddenly snorts, surprising herself) ZACH Maybe. It’s actually kind of nice to talk to you… (Pause) You’re not as intimidating as Jamie thinks. Or anyone else, for that matter. ESTHER Thanks, I guess. I don’t really get why people think I’m intimidating. (Sits on his bed, close enough that it is intimidating). ZACH I don’t think you’re intimidating. Anymore.

ESTHER

ZACH Yeah, I guess that’s true. ESTHER I am actually a pretty friendly and loving person if you’re on my good side. ZACH Am I on your good side? ESTHER I don’t know yet. But I think I’m leaning towards yes. 81

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ZACH You have been pretty friendly. ESTHER … and loving? ZACH (Now he gets it) Uuuuuuhhhh… In the romantic sense? ESTHER Yeah. ZACH I don’t really know about that one. I’ve never been interested enough or very good at it I guess. ESTHER Yeah. Silence. There is a moment where they are just sitting there, together. It is comfortable and nice. Suddenly, MARGO walks back in with a Pop-Tart in her hand. JAMIE comes in after her with a smile on his face. They are disgustingly giggly. MARGO Guys, what do you think, are Pop-Tarts better warm or cold? ESTHER … Um… definitely warm. MARGO See? I told you! JAMIE But that’s too much work! MARGO We are heating them.

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MARGO takes JAMIE’s hand and they walk back offstage. ZACH and ESTHER are surprised. ESTHER Well, they look like they’re having fun. ZACH Yeah. ESTHER Anyway, Margo has a curfew so we should probably go for her to make it in time. ZACH Oh, okay, that makes sense. ESTHER (Kisses ZACH) See you later, Zach. ZACH is in shock. ESTHER walks out in the same direction as MARGO and JAMIE. ZACH Bye, Esther. End.

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Loving Poem Delany Burk

when he touches my back i feel the clipped stumps of my shoulder blades and something stirs just beneath the skin and bone and if he holds his hand there long i will leap into the air and soar out the window

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CREATURES Graphite Lea Bronnimann 85

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Lovely Poem Delany Burk

a deer wanders past my window each night his antlers big enough to touch the sky and when he shakes his head stardust freckles my cheeks

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TOBACK Oil on Canvas Becky Wohlforth 87

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Love Poem Delany Burk

if i am in love then love is an ocean of crocodiles tears and he is the boat i cling to as i float

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PIRATE SHIP Digital Art Haveson 89

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MALE CONSUMPTION Acrylic on illustration board, tape & Sharpie marker Sharon Lin White RodrÃguez PARALLAX 2019

Good Morning!

[After “The Babysitter” by Robert Coover] Kalista Puhnaty

It’s Olivia’s first day at her first internship, and she can feel her hands shake as they press the button for the eighth floor. When the door opens, she is greeted by many pleasant, smiling faces. The office itself is rather bland: rooms and cubicles in various shades of bluish gray accompanied by printers and fluorescent lights. The people inside wear clothes that almost camouflage them with their surroundings; another sea of dull colors. Olivia says hello, then looks around for her boss’ face. When their eyes meet, her boss, James, beams and Olivia is filled with relief. His eyes are a pale blue, bordering on gray. The deep brown hair on his head is slicked back, and he is wearing a sharp black business suit. Olivia asks if there is anything James would like for her to do. He tells her a cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt and winks at her. She swallows her indignance and turns to look for some kind of coffee maker. * Olivia doesn’t know how her boss likes his coffee and is too afraid to ask. She creeps around the office, trying not to be seen, and asks the other interns if they know. One of them thinks they’ve overheard him ask for strong brew, so she goes with that. She bustles back to the kitchen. Her pencil skirt feels incredibly limiting in times like these, and now she wishes she’d worn pants instead. * James watches his intern’s ass as she walks away to get him coffee from the coffee maker. He wonders if she knows how he likes his coffee, but is soon distracted by his manager, Helen. Her breasts are nearly bursting out of her blouse as she leans over his desk to ask him something completely fucking mundane. It’s a wonder she hasn’t caught him staring yet. * Olivia struggles through making coffee in the Keurig. She brings her boss a cup with two sugar packets, two creamer cups, and two stirrers, all separated. Her mind is elsewhere as she methodically puts everything on a paper plate, so she doesn’t realize that she should 91

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have only put one stirrer until it’s too late. James takes the coffee while Olivia watches him pour in one sugar packet and both creamers. Olivia makes a mental note for next time. He doesn’t comment on the stirrers. He takes a sip and smiles at nervous Olivia. He sends her off to do some completely fucking mundane errand he doesn’t really need done right this minute. He takes another sip and makes a face, adding the second packet of sugar and stirring vigorously. He hopes it will wake him up. * James asks his intern to buy him a coffee, handing her his Starbucks card and telling her his exact order. She writes it down on her notepad in shaky lettering and rushes off to walk to the nearest Starbucks, which, as it turns out, is right next door. As she goes down the elevator, she feels drowsiness overtake her. She wonders if she will be able to help him with anything important today, or if this is all the internship will be. * Olivia wants to make a good impression on her boss, so she walks right up to him and introduces herself, stuttering only once, and asks if she can get him a coffee. He says that a coffee would be nice, and points the location of the Keurig out to her. She hurries off, trembling slightly, and swears that she can feel his eyes on her as she walks away. She wants to be angry that he hasn’t given her actual work to do, like helping with paperwork, but the sound of the Keurig making coffee distracts and hypnotizes her to the point where she forgets what she was thinking about. * Olivia decides to shake off her first-day nerves by treating herself to a Starbucks and buying her boss a coffee instead of making it herself. She asks her boss what he wants in his coffee, and then completely spaces when he gives her his order. She shows up to Starbucks realizing that she doesn’t remember what he wanted, and is too afraid to go back and ask. * James drinks his Starbucks and watches Olivia’s ass as she walks away to do some completely fucking mundane errand. He almost pities her.

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He drifts off into his memories of being an intern himself as a young man in college, only to be awoken ten minutes later by Olivia handing him some papers she picked up from a lower floor. He sips his Starbucks again, hoping it will wake him up. * Olivia brews coffee in the Keurig and pours in five creamers and no sugar, bringing it to her boss with no stirrers. James takes a sip of it and asks for a sugar packet. * Olivia orders her boss’ Starbucks from a barista named Helen. She waits for that coffee for what feels like a hundred years, entranced by the people moving around her like machinery. She forgets why she is there in the first place. It’s nothing like the office, she thinks, almost mournfully—the moment you enter the building, your brain gets fogged up like a mirror after a shower. It’s no wonder her boss wants a coffee. Oh, shit. Her boss wants a coffee. She looks up in panic. How long has she been here? * James was an intern once. He pities the girls, still, because they always have it worse, what with the tight pencil skirts and red lipstick that ticks every box in every office guy’s fantasies. That doesn’t stop him from looking at them, though. Looking and daydreaming. * Helen rushes up to Olivia, almost tearful, apologizing for forgetting Olivia’s order. She asks if Olivia wants a free drink, but Olivia is already halfway out the door, so Helen presses a note into Olivia’s hands. It indicates that Olivia is entitled to a free drink the next time she visits, if she ever visits again. * Olivia orders a plain coffee and a Frappuccino at Starbucks and brings the coffee back to her boss, who takes it from her and gently places it in the trash receptacle. He sends her back for another coffee, without telling her what he wants differently. Olivia walks out and breaks down in tears on the sidewalk. No one notices. * 93

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James orders the intern to buy him a Coconut Crème Frappuccino with whipped cream and chocolate and caramel syrup from Starbucks. Her eyes widen in fear and she scurries off. * Olivia has decided that she now lives at Starbucks. The cold tiles on the floor will prove a good enough bed for her, and she will eat the free leftovers that the staff members give out at the end of the day. She can look out the window and dream of a paycheck. If she gets bored of that, she can go into the bathroom and stare into her own green eyes for a while, trying to get her reflection to blink. * Olivia hands her boss a cup of creamer. He drinks it in two gulps and lets her stand there and watch him while he works for the next hour before sending her off to do a completely fucking mundane errand. * Helen, the new intern, serves James his coffee. Olivia looks on in distaste from her manager’s office, brushing a lock of red hair behind her ear, before going back into her memories of being an intern. * Olivia serves her boss a plate of coffee stirrers. He nods and begins his day’s work. Olivia goes to the break room and watches YouTube videos on her phone for the next seven hours and fifty-five minutes. * Olivia hands her boss his perfectly brewed coffee. He takes one look at it and tells her to get on her knees. She complies, shaking, and the sound of James turning the cup in his hand barely registers before she screams at the burning hot coffee running down her scalp. Olivia does not move. * James watches Helen’s ass as she walks away to do something completely fucking mundane. Her blonde ponytail swishes in rhythm with her behind, and James imagines pulling it, hard. * PARALLAX 2019

Helen orders James to make her some coffee. He goes to the kitchen and carefully, meticulously brews a green tea, just the way he likes it. One and a half sugar packets, carefully measured out, almost as if he is counting the crystals. He stirs the tea until he is sure that the sugar is dissolved, then walks straight out of the building and does not stop walking until he has finished his tea. When he takes his last sip, he freezes mid-step, refusing to move without more tea in his cup. The other people on the street ignore him entirely, believing him to be a statue. * James orders a “Helen” coffee from a barista named Olivia at a coffee shop. It is a nice coffee shop: warm, with dim lighting and quiet lo-fi music floating through the air, although James does not see any speakers. He does not know how he got there, nor does he have any intention of leaving. Olivia gives him his coffee with a stirrer in it. James puts the stirrer in his mouth and takes a bite. * Olivia comes home from work and fills her bathtub with iced coffee. She does not strip, simply sits in the bathtub in her pencil skirt, heels and cobalt blue blouse. She does not move for ten minutes. The tips of her hair are soaking up the coffee. She tilts her head back a little and wonders if the coffee is doing anything for her skin or her hair. Then, she sinks to the bottom of the tub and does not come up for air. * Helen orders Olivia, her intern, to grab her an iced coffee from Starbucks. Olivia orders a piping hot green tea, walks straight up to Helen and throws it in her face. Helen nods and continues her day’s work. James pokes his head in to ask Helen about something completely fucking mundane. * James asks Olivia to get him a bowl of coffee beans. She complies. When she smiles, there are splinters of wood stuck in her teeth. * Olivia kisses Helen deeply. They are sitting in a giant cup of green tea, with creamer and sugar. They are content. 95

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James takes the stirrers from the cup Olivia gave him and swallows them whole, one by one, his eyes glazed with a faraway look. * Olivia brings her own coffee to work, black, in a gallon container. She drinks the whole thing in one hour and eleven minutes. She takes her last sip and then frowns at the container. It has failed to wake her up. She fills it all the way up with green tea. Olivia becomes even sadder and gets up from her desk to look out the window. She wonders what floor she would have to jump from in order to die on impact. * Helen is sitting on James’ lap, and they are making out. Helen moans. James’ hands are all over her. Olivia walks in and joyously dumps an entire pot of coffee onto their heads. Helen and James continue making out, gripping each other and picking up speed. Olivia begins to cry, but James and Helen still ignore her. She stops crying, strips naked, goes to a window and opens it enough for her to climb through. She dies on impact, and green tea pools around her. Passersby stop for a taste. * James is licking the green tea off of Helen’s face. * Helen serves Olivia a cup of her tears. Olivia sips it and hands it back, asking for more sugar. * Olivia wakes up naked at 4:55 p.m. in a swimming pool filled with coffee beans.

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방 (ROOM) Acrylic on Canvas Woohyung “Garfield” Jung 97

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Poem with Grass Stains Gabriella Wackford-MuĂąoz

I hit you with a baseball bat yesterday and your nose went right down digging into the dirt. I coughed up an apology and you coughed up a buzzing wasp nest of profanities but by today all has been forgiven as you lie to our mom about why you have dirt all over yesterdayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s clothes.

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Poem with Mud Stains Gabriella Wackford-MuĂąoz

wet with disappointment the gang goes down to the bridge to bully frogs they catch eight, lick one, scare all the others off they come home with muddy feet and ask why the weatherman lied to them like that.

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Poem with Blood Stains Gabriella Wackford-Muñoz

In the Olive Garden bathroom she realizes she’s dying not literally, she knows this won’t kill her but in the sense that now she can’t keep on pretending that she was never made to grow up past twelve.

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ASCENDING FRONT Ceramics, Mixed Media Rose Reiner 101

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Elizabeth Lives in Fabletown Bella Koschalk

She eats almonds and cashews by the Costco container. It’s a coping mechanism. Her life is a thin yellow broth, fermenting in jars that once pickled chicken feet. Raids the medicine cabinet and my great uncle’s aging wine. Considers herself the quintessential Robin Hood. Her knee is a coastal town, lobster town. Broken economy, you know the one: off-brand sneakers and hay rides. Her life is luggage, absolute luggage. Something came undone near her right clavicle. Snapped. Untangled. Screamed So, there’s a breaking point after all! I watched her unspool. She kneads out her impurities, bakes them, makes them edible.

Makes them her solvent.

The hardware store hires fourteen-year-olds. sell rat traps. She tastes just like the movies.

All we did was

And her brother got pool water in his mouth. And her sister built kingdom after waterlogged kingdom in the fountains. I learned the mechanics of snow cones and addiction. I learned that I need her to scream underwater because no one else will do that much for me.

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UNIDENTIFIED Acrylic on Canvas Lea Bronnimann 103

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Eavesdropping on Narcissus Nicholas Mammen

Winner of the Non-Major Contest

POOL “May I kiss you?” Yes. The fluttering of his lips on mine shatters my glass façade for the first time. My surface ripples, and his reflected visage shatters into fleeting shards of eggshell and corn silk. “Where are you?” I am here, my love. “Why have you left me?” I have not. “Please come back!” he cries, anguished. Guilt grabs the deepest part of me, and I still myself; still his reflection. He stares at me, through me. I hold myself frozen so that he will not leave. “I love you.” I love you, too. “I love you, too.”

ECHO “May I kiss you?” He bends down to kiss his beloved, his slender back curving delicately over the water’s surface. Golden locks, soft as twilight clouds, fall over his eyes, obscuring them. Envy dances in my throat. I step forth, close enough to touch him, but he has all but melted into the pool’s murky emerald waters. His lips part slightly, relaxing his face into a wondering childlike expression. He draws a breath. So do I. “I love you.” I love you. “I love you, too.” I brush my hand against the soft skin of his neck, trailing down to rest on his shoulder. I love you, too.

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NARCISSIST Drypoint Jiwon “Lily” Nam 105

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cybergirl Kalista Puhnaty

i was raised by the internet. wish i was joking. three years old with a mouse in my hand. earliest memories: those games meant for teaching little kids how 2 read. mama didn’t even know i knew how 2 read. kept that a secret from her. kept it until i was ready. kept a lot of secrets that the internet told me when mama wasn’t looking. shhh! internet has everything u need 2 know, kiddo. come here. let me show u something. >be me >5 y/o >no concept of life n death, no concept of spirituality, no concept of reality >decide that for some reason i am going to hell >go to mom’s room >“mom, can u google hell so i know what it looks like?” >scoping out real estate i guess my crib was structured with old forums. my blankets n pillow cases were sewn from old threads. guinea pig youtube videos dangled from my mobile. my pillows were stuffed with zoombinis. when the world told me i could never look as good as those skinny bitches in the magazines internet told me otherwise. when the world told me i could have no friends bc i was rapunzel i went online n internet gave me some. when the world told me i was stupid internet sat me down n taught me math n science n history. when the world said “ur writing’s silly” internet kept my stories in a locked box n gave me the only key. gn to the girl who believed her mama when she said fat = ugly PARALLAX 2019

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gm to That Bitch who went to h&m n found clothes that hugged her curves in ways that made her mama jealous bc hon, thicc is gorgeous gn to shying away from sharing ur writing bc ur still practicing n think u’ll just be mocked gm to posting that fanfic on wattpad n going back 6 yrs later n deleting it bc it was fucking stupid but it’s ok bc u were young n it helped u get better gn to thinking u’ll never succeed in life bc ur mama called you stupid gm to patiently figuring shit out for urself bc ur mama was impatient n unhelpful n honestly rude gn to thinking no one else like u has succeeded n ur odds r slim 2 none gm to learning abt a successful man who beat the game with ur same setup gm to strength gm to beauty gm to hope mama blames my social anxiety on that damn phone but we both know damn well u kept me locked up in the house for 2 many years. u deprived me of the social skills i needed n i was lonely so lonely so fucking lonely n those dumb playdates n park days u started sending me 2 @ 11 were 2 little 2 late. im made of binary code not complex enough 2 understand human emotion but smart enough 2 b able 2 infodump about things i or other people like n that is how i make friends now. u did this 2 me. u. n honestly i cannot thank u enough for it. bc when u shoved me aside with the “mommy’s working” spiel i got 2 explore the web n make friends n learn things i prolly shouldn’t have. u threw 3 heterosexual biology focused sex ed books @ me when i was 11 so i went online 2 figure out what kinks r n why i like girls. found my role models here. found my interests here. found my life here. found myself here. found that strangers could parent me better than u ever could + they gave me no bedtime. my humor evolved here. im only a funny bitch today because of internet jokes teaching me how 2 b funny. 107

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u think im joking when i say i live off memes but bitch i live off memes. *slaps the top of my skull* this bad boy can fit so many memes. professional meme connoisseur 12 yrs in the making. could put that on my fucking resume. maybe i’ll get hired as a social media person for some big company instead of 38 yr old “tech savvy” dumbasses who still use 2009 memes w/ impact font. internet raised me. strangers raised me. i call internet my babysitter n u my mother but really it was the other way around. i wouldn’t have had it any other way. internet showed me who i was n showed me how 2 stick with it despite despisers. internet gave me everything u lacked n more. internet raised me up 2 b the biggest baddest bitch i can b n if u beg 2 differ then beg.

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3AM Digital Art Haveson 109

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Amtrak Adventure Bella Koschalk

I traveled from Baltimore to New York, by train. No, I don’t do it every week. No, I am not a compulsive liar. I traveled on Amtrak, clutched the ticket tight. This was my first time traveling alone. I sat next to the window. I sat next to the window and watched. Philadelphia was blue and grey and I wanted to cross that bridge, to eat those fog encompassed skyscrapers. It felt like there was someone sitting next to me. When the food cart came around I bought a Coke because I wasn’t with my mother, and I asked how fast we were going. 120 miles per hour. That Coke was five dollars. It felt like there was someone next to me who wanted to play chess. I don’t know how to play chess, but my brother and sister do; they went through a phase where they called each other Sir and Madame and sat in the dining room, playing chess on a marble board. I hate chess. I don’t know why. I just imagine deaths as easy as picked flowers. I just imagine the pieces as my little stone children. The person that is, but isn’t, next to me has never been to New York before. The person that is, but isn’t, next to me sips black coffee, PARALLAX 2019

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black because black is the only way to drink coffee. The person that is, but isn’t, next to me has two daughters and a wife at home, in a brick house, vines crawling up the walls and shutters. The person that is, but isn’t, next to me is undiagnosed. Why am I going to New York? My aunt told me I could sit on the roof of her apartment building. She said I could sleep on her couch and have a subway card. I’m twelve. The person that is, but isn’t, next to me doesn’t know that, because I lied about my age. The person that is, but isn’t, next to me has a reason to go to New York. I can’t go to the bathroom because you have to step over a gap between two cars. When you look down you can see the blur of tracks moving underneath you. I can’t go to the bathroom because I imagine falling through that crack. The person that is, but isn’t, next to me goes to buy another coffee. The person that is, but isn’t, next to me can step over the crack. The person that is, but isn’t, next to me doesn’t think about death nearly as much as I do.

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NEON BAY Digital Art Lea Bronnimann PARALLAX 2019

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CREATIVE ABOUT THE DEPARTMENT Idyllwild Arts Academy provides an ideal environment for high school students interested in developing as writers. Our Creative Writing major, combined with the college-preparatory academic program, prepares students for writing fields in college and beyond. We study all literary genres and round out our studentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; education with public readings, a student-run print and online literary magazine, and excursions to cultural and environmental experiences. Idyllwild students take charge of their own education by participating in writing workshops and literature seminars, and shaping individual tutorial projects around personal goals. We place equal emphasis on writing and reading, studying texts from many eras, continents, and sensibilities. Students develop an expansive background in literature and the fine arts, varied historically, intellectually, geographically, and culturally. PARALLAX 2019

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WRITING

Classes are small, usually fewer than ten students, with department enrollment no greater than twenty-two students. Creative writing teachers at IAA are a mixture of full and part-time faculty who are experts in their field. Distinguished and emerging visiting writers teach master classes and provide feedback to students. Students participate in competitions appropriate to their level, and senior creative writing majors are accepted into a variety of well-respected writing colleges and universities in the United States and beyond. Please direct questions to Kim Henderson, Creative Writing Department Chair, at: khenderson@idyllwildarts.org.

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VISUAL ABOUT THE DEPARTMENT Visual Arts students at Idyllwild Arts come from all over the world, creating a rich cultural and aesthetic mix. Their backgrounds are an important part of the community of visual artists and the school as a whole. The training they get at Idyllwild Arts gives them a broad foundation in the formal and theoretical aspects of visual arts. The faculty also come from many different backgrounds, which means the students are exposed to a broad spectrum of disciplines, including: drawing, painting, sculpture, printmaking, ceramics, digital and darkroom photography, jewelry making, architecture, and all periods of art history. All of the faculty are practicing artists who show their work regularly. This is an important part of the instructional environment, as it means they are engaged in the same or similar challenges that the students face every day in the studios. PARALLAX 2019

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ART

There is an emphasis on sequential instruction through the grade levels, so that all students feel they are developing a solid visual language, while they are also encouraged to develop a strong individual voice, which reflects their life experiences. This balance of the formal, practical, theoretical and imaginative aspects of art making is central to the way we teach and learn, and means that graduating seniors are not only well trained artists but are also aware of their place in the world. Please direct questions to David Reid-Marr, Visual Arts Department Chair, at: davidr@idyllwildarts.org.

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