Euphrates - SAR HS Literary Journal 2015

EUPHRATES

SAR HI GH SCHOOL L I T ERARY JOURNAL

2015

Credits Photo by Jay Eisenstat

Editors in Chief

Faculty Advisor

Marianna Najman- Franks Benjamin Perla

Mr. Erik Huber

Photo Editors

Artists and Photographers Josh Weiss

Paul Heisler

Ateret Frank

Emily K nopf

Jay Eisenstat

Zoe May

Paul

Elly Schanzer

L ayout Editors

Horowitz

Atira

Rafi K epecs

Ayelet

Zeitchik

L ebe Adelman

Rubenstein

Eliana Rohrig

Dena Rosman Rachel Ordan

W riters Cover by Zoe May

Editors Nate K atz Esther Seligson Madeline Nelkin L aurel Dobkin Henriette Weitzen

Deena Nerwen

Toba Stern

Josh Weiss

Nate K atz

Rachel Rosin

Amram Zeitchik

Ayelet Senderowicz Ariel Haberman

Aidan Smolar

Gabi Cantor

T alia Petashnick

Julia L ustig

Josh Weiss

Eliana Rohrig

Noa K osman

I ttai Sopher

Esther Seligson

Olivia T ulkoff

Tab le of Content s Direct ions by Josh Weiss.......................................................1 .To Myself by Deena Ner wen...............................................2 Da-vain-ing by Rachel Rosin................................................3 Achilles' Heel by Talia Petashnick.....................................4 Head hunt ing Season by Ar iel Hab er m an.....................4 Gib b er ish by Eliana Rohr ig ..................................................5 Escape by Est her Selig son...................................................6 The Rout ine by Tob a Ster n..................................................7 Doub le Date.................................................................................8 My Fear by Julia Lust ig .........................................................11 In Blackw ater Wood s by J ennie Kleim an....................12 I Stand On Stag e by Nate Kat z........................................13 An Aud ience by Am ram Zeit chik.....................................14 Scraped Souls...........................................................................14 W hat My Mot her War ned m e Ab out by Est her Selig son........................................................................................15 Till Now by Talia Petashnick...............................................18 Deat h by 9/ 11 by Aid an Sm olar.........................................19 Beg inning by Julia Lust ig ..................................................20 Mid nig ht Lam entat ions by Mar ianna Na jm an-Franks........................................................................21 Evening Per for m ance at Lincoln Center by Rachel Rosin.............................................................................................22 Mor ning by Mar ianna Na jm an-Franks.........................23 Sop hie's Mom by Noa Kosm an.......................................24 The Tr ut h by Alan Shain.....................................................25

Direct ions

by Josh Weiss

To realize w hat is m issing : LOOK: t hroug h t he g ray haze, b eyond t he cow and her new b or n, b eyond t he road t hat t he tr ucks p ass.

FIND: t he m em or ies you?ve had .

FEEL: t he kisses your g rand m ot her g ave you, t he tear s your m ot her neg lected .

CLIMB: t he t hread t hat st op s halfw ay.

ACCEPT: t he p ast , your child hood .

LIVE: t he fut ure, your life.

Follow t hese step s t o realize t hat m issing void , t o realize t he em p t iness and loneliness you feel ever yd ay.

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Ar t by Ateret Frank

1

To Myself

by Deena Ner wen

I have almost completely forgotten you I barely hear your manic laugh or remember how you looked after that disastrous haircut in fourth grade I can?t picture your pale blue wire-rimmed glasses or even smell the peanut butter scent that trailed you I am sure you were just here your skinny, silent self tucked into the corner of the room watching like a ghost as I searched for you everywhere so I could tell you to leave me alone you who has few friends and spends every night with a book in bed you were mocking my efforts but at the same time wishing you could be me of course but I am me and I am here and I barely know you anymore of that you can be sure you are not at all pretty and you are not popular in the least and you don?t belong in my now so I have almost completely forgotten you you are less than a person nothing but the most hazy memory of a little girl who didn?t belong but you I catch glimpses of each day in the mirror because I?ll never be able to escape from you

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Ar t by Reb ecca Spit zer

Da-vain-ing

By Rachel Rosin

I w at ch her g ing er ly place her weig ht on t he b all of her foot t o create a m ore eleg ant str ide. Her eyes are fixated on an ob ject straig ht ahead of her ; she d oesn't w ant t o stare at any of her viewer s. She keep s her chin level and her eyes up so spectat or s can see her face. Her head and

Ar t by Eliana Rohr ig

shoulder s are st ill as her b od y m oves d ow n t he r unw ay.

The b eat s of t he p rayer s and her p ace m ove in tandem , she m akes her t ur n at t he end , places her left foot at a per fect ang le, as she p auses for a b eat in t he song . Her hip s, shoulder s, and feet are facing t he side of t he pew as her head is t ur ned t o look at t he aud ience over her shoulder. The scent of per fum e infused on her skin jum p s ont o t he crow d . I can taste t he flower y scent t hroug h t he p ores of m y t ong ue. After p osing for a b eat , she pivot s, and g racefully m oves t ow ard her seat . My ear s tr y t o p ush t hroug h t he end less chatter ing of t he w om en, t o find t he sound of p rayer. But t he only noise m y ear s hear is t he stead y chim e of w hisper ing lip s. My fing er s caress t he silky sm oot h p ag es of m y sid d ur. I tr y t o feel t he w ord s t o com pensate for m y inab ilit y t o hear t hem , b ut t he p ag es d on't com e alive. I t ouch m y sister ?s shoulder p ulling her from her p rayer s. Please, m y eyes b ore int o her s; help m e feel som et hing , anyt hing at all.

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Phot o by J ay Eisenstat

ACHILLES' HEAL

by Talia Petashnick

He b uilt a hor se and b reached our w all To find m e lur king in t he shad ow s of she I w ould n't end or se a love so tall So he b uilt a hor se and b reached our w all My line of force star ted t o fall As he t old she: "he w ould only love m e."

He b uilt a hor se and b reached our w all And found m e lur king in t he shad ow s of she.

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HEADHUNTING SEASON

by Ar iel Hab er m an

Tr ud g ing t hroug h t he p ar k Brot her s b eside her Sled d rag g ing Cr isp sm ell of winter in t he air Fing er s like icicles d ang ling from her p alm s Exhausted from trekking up t he hill But a sing le test rem ains At last a vict im is sp otted Baseb all b at swing ing A cloud of snow er up t s As t he snow m an?s head falls t o t he g round Head hunt ing season has b eg un.

Gibberish

by Eliana Rohrig My hear t is a b oneless cow.

If your m out h is 2 inches wide 4 inches long w hen stret ched out , you w ould enjo y eat ing m y hear t .

I sm ell like b lood , I sm ell of salt .

I taste raw, I look destro yed , I d o not m oo, I have no sound .

If you t ouch m e, You will b e feeling flesh.

I m ig ht sm ell dead , But I look alive.

Mr s. Rob inson clim b ed out of t he Sim on and Gar funkel track and cam e t o rescue m e from Los Ang eles I sm ell like cott on cand y.

My hear t w as weak b ecause of a ker fuffle If you g ive m e a cocktail, I will b e Mar ilyn Monroe.

"It 's not like I w anted him t o see, I just showed him " My hear t is a b oneless cow, b ut even st ill m y hear t g oes skiing in Feb r uar y.

Ar t by Josh Weiss

Elsy, you are t oo afraid of t hing s b eyond your control.

This is all m y fate, I see it all hap pening in 23 m ont hs.

You are one fluffy dent ist .

Life is evil and t herefore you should b elieve your kitt y will kill you.

"Ein li koach" The shoelace b eg an t o m ove, it looked like a m oder n d ancer.

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Escape

By Esther Seligson

Phot o by Paul Horowit z

Traveling , I so long for som e escape, for som e w ay hom e, for som eone t hat I know, for lang uag e m ine and eyes t hat d o not g ape, at m e a foreig ner w ho w ant s t o g o.

Here noon, b ut hom e alread y four o?clock-The t im e here can?t keep p ace wit h m y q uick hear t , q uick desire t o b e hom e. I m ig ht just w alk straig ht hom e so not t o b e t oo long ap ar t .

I star t t o w alk t hroug h all t he b roken street s, w here b eg g ar s reach t ow ard m e and ask for aid , and t he har sh sun b om b ard s us wit h it s heat .

I am so t ired t hat I b eg in t o fade.

Just t hen I see t he m ar ket and I t hink

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of coconut s and how I like t hose d r inks.

The Rout ine

by Tob a Ster n

Ar t by Ayelet Rub enstein

She follow s m e, she keep s track.

Ever y d ay, t he tally increases.

The usual rout ine: Ms. Wor r y, I w hisper in b ed , how d o you plan on keeping m e up t onig ht ?

And she d ig s t hroug h her p ur se, r ifling t hroug h m y

anxiet ies.

Mayb e she sm iles w hen she find s t he hid den one, d ow n at t he b ott om .

Mayb e she?s ap olog et ic.

Tell m e, Ms. Wor r y, w hat I m ust take aw ay from your g am e.

Make it lig ht , please.

So I can stack in on t op, let it fit in t o t he sp ace left over by t he ot her s.

Wor r y, let m e have a fulfilling d ay and a g ood nig ht ?s sleep like t he ones I used t o have p ure and sim ple b efore I g rew up and m et you.

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Doub le Date Anonym ous

It had b een a w hile since we?d g one on a d oub le d ate wit h t he Cam p b ells. They were w onder ful, really, our old fr iend s, we just never had m uch t im e t o g et out , w hat wit h Izzy and ever yt hing . I?d w anted t o d o t his for a w hile.

We?d all know n each ot her since colleg e, w hich m ade it even harder t o w at ch t he resp onsib ilit ies of ad ult hood p ull us ap ar t .

I?d only b een m ar r ied for t hree year s and t he novelt y w as alread y fad ing int o a t iresom e rout ine: Diaper chang e b efore w or k, w or k, m ore d iaper chang es after w or k, and fig ht s- m ore t han our fair share of t hem .

My t herapist , w hom I?d b een seeing for a few m ont hs now, once asked m e if I had any reg ret s. ?Of cour se not ,? I?d said , t houg h I ad m it t hat after a w hile, t he only rem aining novelt y w as sleep.

Yet som ehow, all t he stress and w or r ies b eg an t o fade aw ay w hen I looked at Olivia. I?d never d oub ted she w as t he m ost b eaut iful w om an in t he w or ld . Her hair w as d one up t onig ht , wit h a few roug e pieces falling out in t he front , and I not iced t hey g ent ly b r ushed her cheeks ever y t im e she t ilted her head t o laug h. I loved how she t ilted her head w hen she laug hed .

Josh Cam p b ell w as laug hing t oo. Som eone m ust have said som et hing funny. I sm iled , t houg h in tr ut h I w as som ew here else, som ew here far from t he conver sat ion at t he tab le.

Phot o by Zoe May

I really loved her. And it w asn?t trad it ional love; it w as deeper. At least I t houg ht it w as. Mayb e ever y m an w ho ever loved t houg ht his w as som ehow m ore special, b ut I w as fine wit h t hat .

Because I w as cer tain I w as r ig ht , and ever yone else w as w rong .

I?d never for g et t he fir st t im e I saw her -- a Wed nesd ay nig ht in 1993, a club called Ment oes. We?d

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b een freshm an in colleg e, and I?d b roug ht a shor t b r unette nam ed Minnie as m y d ate. Not b ecause I?d b een int o her, b ut b ecause t he t houg ht of showing up alone had m ade m e ner vous.

But not Olivia.

She?d show n up alone t hat nig ht in t he m ost ast onishing cr im son d ress I?d ever seen. Som et im es, I could st ill feel m y hand s on her hip s, p assionate yet stead y, as t hey?d b een t he fir st t im e we?d d anced t og et her.

The four of us d id n?t know one anot her yet . Olivia had just m et Bonnie for t he fir st t im e, and I had just m et Josh. I sup p ose it w as b eaut iful t hat we were all st ill t og et her.

It w as hard t o rem em b er a t im e I could n?t look at Olivia and feel her ever y em ot ion, b ut t hat nig ht I had n?t even know n her nam e. I?d just know n t he sensat ion of her w aist in m y hand s, as t he m usic d row ned m e in som et hing I could n?t have nam ed at t he t im e. Desperate, I?d w rap ped us up in t he sm ell Ar t by Eliana Rohr ig

of alcohol and sweat , and hid us aw ay som ew here t he nig ht w ould never end . ?W here?s your head at , David ?? Olivia asked , snap ping m e b ack t o realit y. I looked t o her, Josh and Bonnie, all looking expectant ly b ack at m e. ?Freshm an year.? I said . ?Freshm an year of colleg e.

Rem em b er how we all used t o hang out at Ment oes??

Bonnie laug hed . ?Yes! I loved t hat place. We all m et t here, r ig ht ??

I nod ded carelessly. ?Hey,? I said , as t he w aiter handed Josh t he check, ?Let ?s all g o out for d r inks or som et hing . W hy end t he nig ht here?? ?I wish,? said Josh, ?But we have an ap p oint m ent ear ly t om or row m or ning .?

Olivia nod ded in ag reem ent , and her litt le front hair s b ob b ed up and d ow n. ?Josh is g ett ing a root canal, and t he

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litt le b aby can?t d o it unless I?m hold ing his hand .? She playfully nud g ed him wit h her elb ow. He nud g ed her b ack, t o w hich she caug ht his ar m and held it t ig ht as she kissed him full force on t he m out h. It w as q uite a d isplay, b ut it w as not hing in t he w or ld of Josh and Olivia.

Under t he tab le, Bonnie g ent ly b r ushed m y fing er s wit h her s. I recip rocated and t ook her hand . It felt nice- t he w ay it alw ays d id - like fam iliar it y.

Once Olivia and Josh b roke ap ar t Olivia caug ht m y eye.

Instead of looking aw ay, she stared int o m e. Throug h m y skin and b ones, p ast m y hear t , and int o som et hing m uch far t her aw ay. Som et hing unreachab le.

Som et hing I saw in her t oo.

I t hink I m ake her sad . It hap pens q uite a lot , or at least m ore often t han it should ; som et im es after looking at m e for t oo long , she r uns off t o t he b at hroom t o freshen up. ?Next Sat urd ay?? she said , our eyes st ill locked . ?We should d o t his ag ain next Sat urd ay.? ?We w ould love-? Bonnie b eg an, b ut I q uickly inter r up ted . ?We have t hat t hing .? ?W hat t hing ?? Bonnie asked .

I t ook Bonnie?s hand in m ine and helped her up. ?Um , we have a, uh, t hing ,? I said . ?I?ll tell you ab out it later.?

We all w alked out t og et her and st op ped in t he p ar king lot t o say our g ood byes. Then I rem em b ered w hy it had b een so long since we?d b een out wit h t he Cam p b ells: b ecause ever y t im e we said g ood bye it seem ed od d ly final. Because g uilt w as tem p orar y, and ever y so often m y hear t ur g ed m e t o rem em b er w hy it w as t here in t he fir st place. ?We?ll see you g uys.? Josh said . ?Yeah,? Bonnie replied . I nod ded .

And t hen we w alked t o our car, p ar ked on t he left end of t he lot , and t he Cam p b ells w alked t o t heir s on t he ot her side. I t ur ned m y head t o w at ch t hem g o.

My t herapist once asked m e if I had any reg ret s.

If I d id , w ould it really m atter ?

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My Fear

by Julia Lust ig I am t he m onster hid ing under your b ed , Taunt ing you as you t hrash and t ur n, Twist ing your b ed sheet s int o a t or nad o, Consum ing you d ow n t o your t oes.

I am t he g ir l w ho sit s b ehind you in m at h class, Tr ying t o sneak a peek over your shoulder Sm ir king at t hat b ig red ?73? scrawled at op your test Even t houg h you sweat t hroug h hour s of st ud ying just for t hat .

I am t he cap tain of t he foot b all team , J am m ing your skinny b ack int o a locker, W it h p ur ple b r uises skewing your vision, And tear s b lend ing int o your swelling face.

Ar t by Paul Heisler

I am t he not hing ness you feel in your coat -p ocket , As you frant ically shove your hand s t hroug h m e Tr ying t o find w hat you know isn?t t here, Just w ant ing t o feed your four child ren.

But m ost of all I am t hat nag g ing feeling in t he b ack of your m ind Restr ict ing you, Hat ing you, Punishing you.

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I n Black water Woods

I n Black water Woods

Look, t he trees are t ur ning t heir ow n b od ies int o pillar s

Look, t he trees are rott ing , w ast ing aw ay, t heir b od ies falling

of lig ht , are g iving off t he r ich frag rance of cinnam on and fulfillm ent ,

t o t he ear t h, w hich reeks of wet , m ust y decay and failure,

t he long taper s of cattails are b ur st ing and float ing aw ay over t he b lue shoulder s

t he long taper s of cattails are wilt ing and d row ning in t he t he g ray m ur k

of t he p ond s, and ever y p ond , no m atter w hat it s nam e is, is

of t he p ond , and ever y p ond , no m atter w hat it s nam e is, is

nam eless now.

Ever y year ever yt hing I have ever lear ned

nam eless now.

Ever y d ay ever yt hing I have ever end ured

in m y lifet im e lead s b ack t o t his: t he fires and t he b lack r iver of loss w hose ot her side

in m y lifet im e is rendered w or t hless by t his: t he fires and t he b lack r iver of loss w hose ot her side

is salvat ion, w hose m eaning none of us will ever know.

To live in t his w or ld you m ust b e ab le t o d o t hree t hing s: t o love w hat is m or tal; t o hold it ag ainst your b ones knowing your ow n life depend s on it ; and , w hen t he t im e com es t o let it g o, t o let it g o.

? Mar y Oliver, p oet ,

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1935- 20 15

is st ill loss, w hose m eaning none of us will ever know.

To sur vive in t his w or ld you m ust b e ab le t o d o t hree t hing s: t o for g ive w hat is m or tal; t o set it free from your g rasp knowing if you d on?t it will suffocate; and , w hen all you w ant t o d o is let it g o, t o m uster up t he will t o hold on.

? J enny Kleim an

I Stand On Stag e

by Nate Kat z

Belt ing t he im p ossib le final notes, Before a crow d , g reater t han t he Super Bowl.

Louder t han g unfire, clearer t han g lass.

Tear y-eyed , I w ave, And ab sor b t he ap plause of m y loving fans.

The stam pede of ent husiast s cheer s and shout s, I heave a sig h, and let t heir roar s penetrate.

I open m y eyes, And stare at t he b lank w all.

I tr y t o ret ur n t o m y rever ie, Grasping for m y d ream , But it slip s aw ay.

Per sist ing , I p ress for w ard , St uck, like a child tr ying t o r un up an escalat or That p ulls him fur t her d ow n.

Finally, I g ive up, My eyes wide as an owl?s, I crawl from hib er nat ion.

Sleepw alking t hroug h t he d ay, Long ing for m y nig htt im e w or ld .

Like a tree in winter, shiver ing wit hout it s leaves, As t he d ay yield s t o nig ht , I clim b b ack int o b ed and

Phot o by Zoe May

close m y eyes.

I stand on stag e Belt ing t he im p ossib le final notes, Before a crow d , g reater t han t he Super Bowl.

I?m louder t han g unfire, clearer t han g lass.

Tear y-eyed , I w ave, And ab sor b t he ap plause of m y loving fans.

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Phot o by Elly Schanzer

An Aud ience

by Am ram Zeit chik

Scraped Souls

by Anonym ous

Ant icip at ion r ip ples t hroug h m e as t he over t ure star t s t he crow d b ust les int o t heir seat s Oil strokes visib le on canvas, expect ing t he per for m ing ar t s I take m y p osit ion in t he center t he scr im r ides out t he sp ot lig ht b eam s d ow n I?m full of d oub t But t he show m ust g o on and so m ust I and t he second I star t not one b utter fly alt houg h an aud ience sit s and jud g es m e I can?t b e b ot hered as t o w hat m ig ht b e

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unlevelled and b railled concrete scrapes souls since m ost b eaut y is found under neat h t he careless cracks Wor n Dow n To ear t h, revealing g rass, asp -like, slit her ing and g rasping t ow ard s t he sky g ravit y b ind ing and b end ing t im e and lig ht trap ped in

W hat My Mot her War ned Me Ab out

by Est her Selig son

Phot os by Mar ianna Na jm an-Franks

The room is hot and I am sweat y. I am sur rounded by a t hick r ing of hig h p ub escent teens w ho p refer sex, d r ug s, and rock & roll; I enjo y listening t o NPR, BookTV, and b aking cookies on Sat urd ay nig ht s. Knuckle Puck?s g uitar ist m akes m y ear s b leed as he p ut s his am p on ten. All t he sound s are fuzzy, b ut at least it is b etter t han d oing m at h hom ew or k. Fog fills t he room unt il we are b reat hing in God know s w hat . It sm ells like b ur nt t oast and -- well, it sm ells like d r ug s. Tons and t ons of d r ug s.

My fellow concer t -g oer s look like t he m ug shot s of celeb r it ies: hair soaked in peroxide and pink and p ur ple d ye, ear s t hat have so m any holes t hey look like swiss cheese. And t heir clot hing , m y God , d on?t even g et m e star ted . Hiked up shir t s and shor t s t hat b arely cover t he necessit ies (m ind you t hat it is Feb r uar y and freezing out side). However, m ayb e t heir att ire is m ore ap p rop r iate t han m ine b ecause heat is suffocat ing m e and I w ant t o str ip off layer s of clot hing t o escape from t he red ness r ising t o m y cheeks. They were w hat m y m ot her had w ar ned m e ab out , t he fast lane, and I am r id ing slow as a snail in a car p ool lane.

Half an hour, and All Tim e Low hasn?t even ar r ived yet .

Fake IDs are b eing handed t o b ar tender s and people are d ancing t o song s wit h p rovocat ive under t ones. I am not one of t hem . I d id n?t know t hat p ot and m ar ijuana were t he sam e 10 m inutes ag o. All I w anted t o d o w as listen t o m usic, not g et a fir st class look at t he w or ld of t he ineb r iated teenag er. I am ap p rehensive of w hat t hey, t he st oner teens, t hink of m e.

The fluorescent lig ht s near ly b lind m e as b and m em b er s r un

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ener g et ically ont o t he stag e. It is p ast m y self desig nated b ed t im e.

I shr iek as t he crow d m akes w ay, car r ying m e and m y fr iend wit h t hem like b uo ys in a st or m y ocean. But som et hing isn?t r ig ht . My voice is hig h pit ched and screechy (m ore t han usual) and m y fr iend and I sound like Alvin and t he Chip m unks.

I am confused .

I am anxious.

I have b reat hed in ab out a g allon and a half of helium , and I feel d izzy.

Som eone is p um ping it int o t he air, and as t he second opening b and , Man Over b oard , plays t heir fir st song of t he nig ht , t heir voices sound just like t hey p rob ab ly feel: hig h as kites.

I tr y as hard as I can not t o focus on t he sket chiness of it all -- t he inked up b ouncer s, t he incred ib le b assist , and t he fact t hat som e g uy just tr ied t o p ut his ar m around m e (I step ped on his foot so hard it m ade him w ant t o cr y for his m om m y, obviously). But t hen I see som et hing t hat m akes m e ret hink even com ing int o t his old p ub t ur ned concer t hall in t he fir st place.

A g ir l wit h t hick wing ed eyeliner, a t wig -like fram e and a teal b lue b eanie is hold ing som et hing in her hand . It is sm all, and m ult i-colored . Scrat ching her nose r ing and sm iling sm ug ly, t he litt le w om an is d ow ning t he m olly (I t hink) like I d o m y Sat urd ay nig ht cookies wit h a tall g lass of m ilk.

I am not one wit h m y environm ent ; usually I fit int o t he p uzzle per fect ly, b ut here I am a p uzzle piece t hat b elong s t o a d ifferent set .

The crow d t hrow s m e once ag ain. Finally, after all of our w ait ing t he m ain attract ion com es out playing a cover of a Weezer song , ?Por k and Beans.?

Excitem ent fizzles inside m e as I hear t hem hit ever y cord cor rect ly. The b offo b eat m oves m e side t o side. The hyster ia is t oo m uch for m e t o hand le, and I am tram pled by w hat seem s like juvenile elep hant s w ho b elong in cag es.

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The t houg ht of g oing hom e and taking a long b at h w hile inhaling t he fum es of a scented cand le m akes m e sm ile ear t o ear. My im ag inat ion d oesn?t let t he t houg ht escape m e, b ut I know if I g o hom e I will reg ret not b eing here.

How can I feel one wit h an environm ent in w hich I stand out like a Frank Sinatra record next t o AC/ DC and Nine Inch Nails.

The m usic chang es ever yt hing . Even m e. I realize t hat I have a lot m ore in com m on wit h t his crow d t han I t houg ht .

We all have one t hing in com m on: we revel in t he m usic.

The heavy b ass, t he q uick, shar p d r um s. Som ehow t he t he per fect ly crafted seq uence of notes float ing int o m y ear s unite us. Music can d o it all: t ur n enem ies t o fr iend s, m utate NPR-loving , cookie-b aking , TV-w at ching 15-year -old s int o helium b reat her s, t he kind of g ir l w ho stand s near anot her g ir l as she d ow ns ecstasy like Ad vil.

I?m d one jud g ing people I d on?t know. People have t he r ig ht m ake t heir ow n choices, and I have t o respect t heir decisions, w het her I ap p rove of t hem or not .

My att it ude has chang ed . I am hap py, and I t horoug hly enjo y t he rest of t he concer t . Even t he cr ude jokes t hey m ake on stag e m ake m e laug h instead of w ant ing t o cut off m y ear s, Van Gog h st yle. The song s are unusual and ar t ist ic t hat d isplay hear t instead of a m anip ulated idea ind ustr ies w ant us t o b uy int o.

The room is hot , I am st ill sweat y, b ut I am hap pier t han ever.

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Novem b er 10 , 1938

by Micah Levy We sat in w ooden chair s as t oug h as coffins, like b unker s t hat sq ueaked wit h ever y shuffle. The g lass on t he wind ow so cold it could alm ost shatter.

The teacher s ram b led on ab out t he President ?s p olit ics w hile ever y b o y and g ir l t houg ht only of t he cold winter ahead .

The w ood t hey w ould have t o b ur n. Their p arent s. The lab or.

The new s sp oke of a st or m , Broken g lass infested t he street s of ever y t ow n. We heard d ays later and tr ied t o b e sad . Our neig hb or ?s cousins st ill lived off in Ger m any.

A p oor fam ily in Brooklyn can only d o so m uch. My str ug g ling fat her could not afford t o spend his t im e m our ning wit h neig hb or s.

We g ave a card .

And on went t he week of Novem b er 10 , 1938 wit hout m uch care for t he g lass on t he street s, t he b lood by t he d oor s, t he fam ilies t or n.

Dinner w as cold and filling . The ice on our g lasses kep t t he w ater shiver ing cold just how I liked it .

I had a test t he next d ay. I could n?t st ud y. I t houg ht ab out t he child ren. W hat could I d o? My nam e w as Levy, b ut I lived in Brooklyn.

I had no m oney for a call. I had no m oney for stam p s.

My hear t w as all I had . It wep t . I slep t . And w oke t he next m or ning t o take m y test .

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Ar t by Ayelet Rub enstein

9/ 11 by Deat h

by Aid an Sm olar I aw aken, alt houg h I never rest , in t he cit y of New Yor k. A scowl b eg ins t o knit it self up on m y face b ecause it 's g oing t o b e a stressful d ay; I even stret ch a litt le t o p rep are m yself. Walking d ow n t he b usy b locks w hile all t he people hust le on by, I yell, ?Get out of here! I alread y have enoug h w or k as it is!? They d id n?t care, seem ed t o have m ore im p or tant t hing s t o w or r y ab out . I w ait ? Finally, 8:4 6, t im e t o g et t o w or k. People r un d ow n t he street s, as if t he w or ld has com e t o an end , as I stroll d ow n t o t he Wor ld Trade Center. * * * SOME OBSERVATIONS * * * The sky w as a m or b id jet -g rey.

The W TC w as r uby red , g lazing t he street .

Buzz...Buzz. My p hone aler t s m e of a text m essag e from The Boss. ?Sor r y 2 inter r up t u w hile ur hard @ w or k, b ut at 9:0 3 ur g onna b e g ett ing som e m ore, and at 9:37 I?m g onna need u in Washing t on - finish up q uick.?

- 613 Great , m ore w or k!

I r un int o t he Nor t h Tower and b eg in collect ing all t he "p recious" souls. W hy d id He have t o assig n anot her job? I need a litt le b reak in m y line of w or k. Ver y seld om d o I sit b ack and take a m inute t o enjo y life.

In t he p rocess of taking yet anot her soul, a shad ow cat ches m y eye. The second plane com es and hit s t he Sout h Tower.

Uch, w hy m ust t hese hum ans fig ht ? ***

MORE OBSERVATIONS * * *

More sm oke, m ore hum ans, m ore color s, m ore w or k. That is all I see.

Screw ?em , t hey?re g one anyw ays.

Ar t by Eliana Rohr ig

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Beg inning

Phot o by J ay Eisenstat

by Julia Lust ig

Have you ever taken t he t im e, Sat d ow n r ig ht t here in t hat chair, To just fig ure it out ?

Not just t he sm all t hing s, t houg h.

Not t he fig ht you had wit h your b est fr iend b ecause she st ole your favor ite sweater.

Not t he constant b icker ing Bet ween you and your sister Because m om p rob ab ly likes her b etter.

Not t he w or r ies you have ab out your b o yfr iend Because he keep s star ing at his p hone w henever you?re wit h him So you know it ?s not you he?s w ait ing for a text from .

I?m talking ab out t he b ig g er q uest ions, The ones t hat haunt your m ind Rig ht b efore you?re ab out t o fall asleep.

The ones you slave over Because not hing seem s t o m at ch up Not hing seem s t o m ake sense.

Have you ever really taken t hat t im e t o fig ure it out ?

The answer is you haven?t .

I know you haven?t .

Because t hat w ould take m ore t han a lifet im e t o d o

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Mid nig ht Lam entat ions

Phot o by J ay Eisenstat

By Mar ianna Na jm an-Franks

The m attress st uffing felt fam iliar ag ainst m y t ired spine And I lay flat on m y b ack Star ing int o t he d ar kness My eyelid s b eg in t o g et heavy But I shake m yself aw ake And sit up slowly I cannot slip int o t he dep t h of slum b er Barely aw are of m y aching lim b s A t hick q uilt of d izziness Cover s m e And I fall b ack ont o m y pillow.

Shard s of m em or y Fade in and out of focus And t he sam e p air of eyes Cont inue t o reap pear Like t he sun Hid den b ehind tall trees: Alw ays t here But not alw ays in clear view.

It s ir ises were colored a soft g rey Gat her ing cloud s b efore a st or m Covered in a t hin film of for m ing tear s. It sees int o m e All t he d ar kest cor ner s of m y soul And t hen t he lig ht t ur ns on.

A flood of w hite fills m y eyes, And I flip ont o m y st om ach in fr ustrat ion.

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Phot o by J ay Eisenstat

Evening Per for m ance at Lincoln Center

by Rachel Rosin

The esteem ed wind ow s of Lincoln Center b lazed wit h lig ht d irect ly stream ing sout h d ow n Broad w ay; we hur r ied int o seat . Then b aller inas b allonnĂŠe-ing Balanchine?s p oised p anache, t hen Vag anova, ap peared t o inhale wit h t heir fer vent d iscipline, step by step, t he zest from t he p recise pink pirouette, t he b lazing b lue b att lem ent , so t hat t he listening p upil saw instant ly t he t hick b lack lines, in shapes of shield and cross and str ut and b race, t hat held t he holy g lim m er ing im ag e t og et her.

The d ance swep t , t he g lim m er b ecam e a silk, a sig ht t o t he ear, a g low eb b ed unt il our leaping hear t s, our b aller inas were cur tained by t he long b ut nar row sheet s of velvet d raper y.

22

Mor ning

by Mar ianna Na jm an-Franks The fog over t hrew t he sky t his m or ning Seeping slowly b ehind t he naked trees Their b are ar m s and tr unks am b ushed , collap sing Under t he heavy g reys of air we b reat he.

The sky w as a conceited , g ar ishly ro yal b lue Paint ing t hin strokes of rain on wind ow s But fog is a relent less m ud d y hue Erod ing Novem b er ?s g listening g low s.

Sud denly t he fog m er g es wit h t he cloud s Trees em b race t he fluffy b reat hs of winter And t he sky is hum b led , p olitely b ow s As b eaut y m er g es in a g or g eous b lur.

The w hole w or ld sig hs, g ig g ling like a new b or n At fresh, tranq uil scent s of Decem b er ?s m or n.

Ar t by Ayelet Rub nstein

23

Sop hie's Mom

by Noa Kosm an Sop hie?s m om opened t he d oor Her eyes looked cr ystallized hair w as t ousled hand s shaking Her face t ired Like she had n?t slep t She looked older t han she w as Sop hie?s m om had st op ped taking her pills In school Sop hie cr ied all t he t im e Ever y d ay I tr ied New w ays t o cheer her up But it w asn?t t hat easy We b oug ht b ir t hd ay p resent s for m y g rand m ot her t og et her Spend ing as m uch t im e in CVS as p ossib le Decid ing w hich per fum e sm elled b est I g ot a call from m y m om Sop hie will spend a couple of nig ht s wit h us her m ot her t hreatened her husb and wit h a knife The p olice cam e Sop hie lost Her once lovely m ot her To an illness t hat chang ed her Sop hie?s g rades suffered And she w as m ean t o people She had b een nice t o But she never g ot ang r y at her m om .

Her m om never t ook her pills ag ain Sop hie w anted t o g et over it

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Phot o by J ay Eisenstat

For g et w hat hap pened W hen I w as ab out t o leave I saw her m ot her read ing a b ook on her b ed Beneat h a pict ure of Sop hie and her from long ag o.

I w anted t o take it And r ip it t o pieces.

The Tr ut h

by Alan Shain

We hold t hese tr ut hs t o b e self-evident .

As t he g over nm ent w at ches ever y m ove: w r it ing , read ing , talking , t weet ing .

W ho w at ches?

They w at ch.

Does God w at ch?

He d oes.

No he d oesn't !

Heret ic!

Sit d ow n!

Phot o by Zoe May Take your seat .

My r ig ht s t o w r ite t he freed om of t he m ind , m ind you, we're b usy b eing w at ched , chained , g uarded .

By w hat ?

It seem s t o m e t hat if you can't see, The Being t hat tr ies t o b e The End All and b e All. There is no ot her.

Is t hat Tr ut h self-evident ?

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SAR Hig h School Literar y Mag azine 50 3 W 259t h St , Riverd ale, NY